Night Intrusion - The Short Story

Guys. I wrote a story. Not my usual kinda of story. The narrative is odd... inadvertently inspired by Actual Cannibal Shia LaBeouf. It's based on a true story, of something that happened to me the other night. Without further audio, I give you:

Night Intrusion

Gather round everyone, settle down. I have a story to tell. You all settled- Clarence that's not a chair. Okay, everyone ready? Good.

Now before we start, take a moment to imagine yourself in your bedroom. You sleep downstairs, while the rest of the family sleeps above. It's past midnight, and you're the only one who's still awake. Not an unusual occurrence. You finally settle down, setting aside your book. You dawn your pajamas, and climb into bed. It's outlandishly hot. Or rather, you're a born and raised Washingtonian, so seventy five degrees feels outlandishly hot. You turn on the fan beside your bed, and it blows into your face lulling your eyes shut. It takes time, but finally, sleep is yours.

Now the story may begin.

Your sleep is dreamless and peaceful. In your state of unconsciousness your body had deemed it comfortable to contort itself into various odd angles, tucking your limbs into positions only comfortable when in a deep, comatose like sleep.

But you're interrupted. You wake, groggy and your mind screaming bloody murder at whatever dare take you from such lovely rest. Perhaps goings to bed early was for naught. Sleeping in another half an hour sounds nice as you glace around to see what woke you.

Nothing is apparent. The tension rises. Something feels very wrong, but you can't quite place it.

It's still dark outside, and in these Summer months sunlight seems to peak at five in the morning. Or maybe it's six. Honestly you don't care. All you know is you've only managed to sleep a few measly hours.

The fan is still blowing, so the power didn't go out. No figures stand in the hallway either. Not within visible view, that is. The cat is ruled out immediately. His tried and true method of waking someone is pushing everything off their nightstand. Usually books. Which tend to be very loud when hitting hardwood floor. Makes for wonderful heart attacks.

No, whatever woke you is much more... menacing. Your thoughts shift to the sliding glass door. Silently you curse the bad decision not to buy curtains. Anyone or anything could be staring you down through that window. When you build the courage to shift your neck, you see nothing outside.

A bit odd. The floodlight isn't on. Quite frankly you would be relieved if it was. Opossums frequent the backyard at night, mistaking it for an animal highway. Sometimes there are even neighborhood cats that pay you visits in the dark. But no, nothing outside woke you either.

Your thoughts turn once more to the odd feeling from when you first woke up. Realization hits. You groan out of annoyance. Did you really just wake yourself up by sleeping in an uncomfortable position? Did you really just read a story about waking up due to weird sleeping habits?! Exasperation flowing through your body, you pull your arm limbs out from underneath you.

But something is wrong. Very wrong.

WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY- THERE IS SOMETHING IN THE BED.

It takes a moment for your brain to register. But you're pretty sure there's an arm in your bed. I repeat THERE IS AN ARM IN YOUR BED. It takes even long for you to realize that it's your arm. This heavy, warm, squishy thing is connected to your elbow. And finally it dawns on you.

You were sleeping on your forearm.

Looking back, the problem was quite obvious from the start. It would seem there was not enough blood movement in your arm. Easy fix. Just to be sure, though, you grab your wrist and lift your arm. The feeling of lifting your dead, uncomfortably warm and squishy arm is enough to drive rationality from your brain. In a last desperate attempt to keep your befuddled brain from exploding, you try to move your fingers. Suddenly you understand what the phantom pains from losing a limb is like. Your fingers don't move, but their ghost does.

Finally you lay on your side, repeating rational thinking as the feeling creeps into your arm. You sigh happily as your fingers move upon command once more. You eagerly await the painful needle like jabbing as blood rushes into your veins like an alien symbiote taking control of your body. It will be a restless night after all...


So tell me, am I the next best selling author or what? Did you enjoy my story? Was it horrible? Let me know in the comments.

Stay classy my friends.