Have you observed her at all as she’s been sleeping? It might be worth watching her and seeing what you notice. This sounds like it might be astral projection. If she’s especially limp when unconscious, if her eyes roll back in her head, and if she’s really difficult to wake up, that would be my guess.

thatsahumanperson

Dude, no way, I’m not gonna watch my sister sleep, that’s way too creepy.

chuckxavier

I don’t see how you expect to figure it out otherwise. Careful observation and study is the only way to be really certain of something.

thatsahumanperson

Yeah, I guess. I’ll look into the astral projection thing. Thanks.

LATER

I’m not even sure I can find the words. Or, even if I could, I’m not sure I can physically write them. I feel like something has crawled into my brain and made a home there. Like something is lingering just over my shoulder, breathing on my neck, but when I turn to look, it disappears just out of sight, back into the shadows.

I’m shaking, I can barely write. I’m just sitting on a bench in some square in … Cambridge? Maybe? I don’t know, nothing looks familiar, but I just had to get off the bus. I woke up screaming, flailing in the hard plastic seat of the bus, opening my eyes to see everyone around me staring at me like I was some kind of dangerous, wild thing.

I should start over. My thoughts are a mess. I was just on the bus. Writing in this journal. On my way from the restaurant to the doctor—my actual doctor—for a checkup and then: lights out.

I was at home in my bed. Feeling safe and warm and like nothing in the world could ever hurt me. No work, no kids in the house … just me, able to linger in between the dreamworld and real life for as long as I wanted.

A chill passed over me. There was a light scraping sound running along the hallway outside my bedroom. The floorboard in the doorway creaked and my entire body tensed in a false rigor mortis. Except I couldn’t open my eyes. I could feel someone—something moving closer, breathing, their heavy footfalls making my stomach drop in dread.

I tried to open my eyes, to move, but I was stuck. Wide awake but paralyzed. The bed sagged under a new weight as something moved above me, crowding me, hovering over me, pushing down onto me. I finally was able to open my eyes but seeing the figure close up did nothing to make them clearer. But I knew, I knew, that this was it. This was the end of me and I tried to surge up, run away, push my body into action, but large rough hands circled around my throat, squeezing squeezing squeezing—