Dream Lover

What we will do for 'love'.

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Dream Lover

You are the black knight
from my nightmares of old
fingers reaching for me
feel so brutally cold

    Marie, half asleep, watched the shadows dance on her bedroom walls. She felt his presence. It was always the same- a sudden jolt to her senses. Alert now, she felt him near. Her heart pounding, she shivered and drew a breath. As she exhaled, a stream of frosty mist escaped her lips. She drew her covers close only to watch in horror as they were pulled back by invisible hands. He had come. Marie fought the familiar, as she had done so many times before. She knew what was going to happen and it filled her with conflicting emotions of both dread and delight.  The presence was  bred from evil, she knew that from the start, but magnetism drew her to him. She was powerless to resist. She moaned as an ice cold hand caressed and pinched her skin. Her invisible demon lover had only just begun.







    Marie was an ordinary girl with an ordinary life until she moved into the house on Clark Street. Rumor was the house she had rented was tainted by the suicide of a previous owner. Words and accusations spread like fire.

"The man was said to have dabbled in the dark arts."

“That house is haunted!”

“Only a fool would move into that hell house!”

“That man, Micheal Jeffries, was the devil himself!”

    She was not concerned by the small-town rumors, as folks always needed something to gossip about. The low rent and her need to escape her parent’s suffocating clutches made it impossible for her to wait until something more desirable came along.  Her days and nights, living in the house, were uneventful until the evening she found a diary under a loose floorboard. Only one page had writing on it, a poem of some sort? She read it out loud; the words were beautifully haunting. The author of the journal begged for release from his torment, beseeching the powers that be to set him free. He asked his God to permit him to roam freely in a different realm of being, and to allow him to escape the mundane existence of mankind. She turned the page to find it covered in fingerprints, stamped out on the page by what looked like dried blood. She felt a tingle down her spine and put the journal back, feeling she had unearthed something more than a simple diary. Did this belong to the man who had committed suicide? The poem didn’t seem so beautiful anymore, but it still felt haunting. She shook off an ominous feeling of dread that was building inside her and started to prepare for bed.

    Something came to her that night for the first time. In a dream-like state, she felt cold hands touching, pulling, and pinching the most delicate areas on her body. She did not dare open her eyes as she felt the covers pulled down and her nightgown pushed up to her chin. Hands molested her body, as a crushing weight covered her.  She felt something hard sharply entering her most private place. She moaned despite the pain and searing heat, still unwilling to open her eyes and find out what was bringing on this obscene pleasure. She was almost to the point where she could no longer stand the pain or her sick enjoyment of the rape, when everything suddenly stopped. The hands were gone, her cavity felt empty, only lingering sensations remained. She opened her eyes slowly, afraid of what she would see. The room was empty and she was alone in the dark.  Drenched in sweat, she shivered and pulled her gown down and the covers up to hide her shame. She was confused. What had happened? Was it truly only a dream? She felt dirty, like she had been touched by something unholy. Dream or not, she still felt the wetness and pulsing between her legs. She was left feeling the need for more. More of what? She rose out of bed quickly, ran to the shower and tried in vain to wash away her memory of the lusty interlude.

Hands molest my body
fornication fueled by lust
greedily feeding on my shell
leaving my soul in the dust

    He came to her the next night; again, she refused to open her eyes, but realized this was not a dream. This was real, whatever it was, and she was waiting for it to come. She almost wept in shame as she felt her immediate response to the touch of this ‘thing’.  Marie had never had a good lover. She had lost her virginity at the age of 18, only a couple months earlier.  The boy had groped clumsily at her, tore off her jeans, and finished the entire act in less then two minutes. It was an act by an immature man and did not elicit any feeling of passion or desire in her. She was happy when the boy finally rolled off her. It was nothing like what she felt now. Trying to rationalize what was happening, and with whom or what, was impossible. She could not hold onto an intelligent thought when she felt searing hot breath on her breasts, felt the hands explore every part of her body, reaching places inside her that had never been reached before. She called out to Jesus to forgive her sins as he entered her with steel, hard manhood.  The rapid pumping and deep penetration erased her prayers and she started calling out, not for God, but for more.

    The following days were always filled with anticipation. She became a slave to her invisible lover. She knew she had given her soul over to this dark, perverted thing that seemed to enjoy her absolute yearning, her need, for its return in the shadow of night. It took her brutally each night, sometimes waiting until she was calling out, screaming for him to come and satisfy a vile hunger. She was always left in the end feeling alone and immoral. She did not want to feel this way, but her fear and loneliness did not affect her addiction to his touch. Her body was covered with bruises and stinging scratches but she longed for more. She was frightened by the knowledge she was dancing with the devil himself, fornicating with an evil incarnate, yet she did not call on her Christian God for redemption or help. She was forsaken.

My dream lover the incubus
hobgoblin in nightmare
thoughts of you still linger
as I fight sunlight's glare

    Marie became increasingly withdrawn from society. Soon she quit her job and lived on what savings she had accumulated. She alienated all friends and relations.  Her descent into madness went on uninterrupted. She hardly ventured outside; the sunlight blinded her and made her feel ill. She sat brooding in her bedroom, day after day, curtains drawn. At times, she would suddenly scream out; a long tormented keening that would have gone on forever had she had enough strength to continue wailing her sad song.  She would scratch at her skin, begging for mercy, facing a pain akin to a heroin addict without his fix.  Her thoughts were muddled. She rarely ate. Marie didn’t need the sustenance of food, she only hungered for the hideous creature.  Her only purpose now was to serve her incubus lover, nothing else mattered. Her desire was now insatiable. She would spend the daylight hours throwing herself against the walls of her bedroom, pounding her head with her fists, spitting and cursing, waiting for dusk…waiting for him. Each day that passed, her wait seemed longer.

  As soon as the sun began to set each night, Marie would lie naked on her bed, close her eyes and wait. He would seem to come as soon as she felt she could wait no longer, was he watching?. She would be shaking, begging for him, calling out for him by name, calling him Michael- the name of the previous owner who had killed himself. He responded to his name,  breathing her own name into her ear as he worked over her body. He was a tad bit gentler, even though he was still leaving marks on her flesh. She became accustomed to the pain and relished in his being near her. When he left each morning, she would cry in anguish unsure if she could make it through the day. She did not feel alive without his touch, without him.  The torment of knowing he was dead and she had to live this life without him was starting to tear at her heart.  A decision was made; she felt she had no other choice.

I go with you willingly
into your dark abyss
giving up my soul
for a taste of your kiss

    Marie was trembling as she took out the diary from under the floorboard once again. She opened it to the page with the only words Michael had written and recited them again.  She was unsure what she was asking exactly, but positive this would lead her straight to him wherever he was. After reading the words she slashed deep into one of her wrists with a razor blade. The blood starting to pour onto her bedroom floor, she picked up the journal again and reopened it to the page where there were stamped finger prints. She clutched her bleeding wrist and laid her own fingers on the page leaving a series of four bloody marks. Please God forgive me. She took the blade and slashed into her other wrist. Crimson stains marred the rug on which she laid, her life force waning with each drop of blood. Her sight became blurred and she knew her time on this earth was ending; she would be with him soon she hoped. She called out his name weakly and she heard laughter; a cruel sound that seemed to mock her as she lay dying. She turned her head to see him for the very first time. A man stood over her, solid in form, but tainted by death. Half his head was missing from what looked like a gunshot wound. Dried blood distorted his features and decay was setting in. She saw the smirk in his face as he reached for her, she retched from the sight of him and recoiled from his touch. What have I done? She felt him suck on her wounds as the blood drained out of her; she knew she had made a fatal mistake. Shrill laughter rung in her ears as she shut her eyes for the final time. Marie whispered her last words, “My Lord forgive me, for I know not what I have done."



(word count = 1787)

Note: This is the 'first chapter' in a what I plan on becoming a continuing story. The story will flash back and take you to the basic origins of Micheal, as a human, highlighting his life. It will again flash back to expand on Marie's life before Clark street. It will then come back to this point and go into even more detail. The book will end with a startling surprise for the reader (hopefully). The ending will open up the possibility of a second book.