My wife, Emily, had always been a sleepwalker. We’d been married for ten years, and I had grown used to finding her standing in the hallway or rummaging through the kitchen in the middle of the night. It was unnerving, but ultimately harmless. However, over the past month, her sleepwalking had taken a sinister turn.
It started with small things, like finding knives placed on the edge of our bed or dead birds on the kitchen counter. I initially brushed it off, thinking maybe she had found the birds outside and, in her sleepwalking state, had brought them in. But as the weeks passed, the incidents grew increasingly more disturbing.
One morning, I woke up to find Emily sitting on the floor next to the bed, her eyes glazed over, and her hands covered in blood. I felt my stomach twist as I frantically searched her body for injuries. But there were none. Instead, I found the mutilated corpse of a stray cat lying beside her.
“Emily, wake up!” I shouted, shaking her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped, staring at the gruesome sight.
“What… what happened?” she whispered, horror in her voice.
“I… I think you did this while sleepwalking,” I said, my voice trembling. “We need to get you help.”
That very day, we went to see a specialist. Dr. Martin, a renowned sleep disorder expert, ran a series of tests and prescribed medication to help Emily stay asleep throughout the night. It seemed to work for a while, but then one night, things took an even darker turn.
I awoke in the middle of the night to find Emily standing over me, holding a knife to my throat. Her eyes were blank, devoid of emotion.
“Emily, please, wake up!” I begged, trying to remain calm.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “But I have to do this.”
My heart raced as I tried to think of something, anything, to say that might snap her out of it. “Emily, it’s me, your husband! We’ve been together for ten years. You don’t want to hurt me!”
For a moment, I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and she lowered the knife. But it was quickly replaced by that same eerie, blank stare. “It’s not my choice,” she said. “They demand it.”
“Who? Who demands it?” I asked desperately.
She tilted her head, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “The voices,” she replied. “They won’t let me rest until I do their bidding.”
I managed to subdue her that night, but I was terrified. I couldn’t go on living in fear that my own wife would kill me in her sleep. The next day, we returned to Dr. Martin. I told him about the incident and the voices Emily had mentioned.
“Sleepwalking is often accompanied by hallucinations and vivid dreams,” Dr. Martin explained. “It’s possible that Emily is experiencing these voices as part of her sleepwalking episodes. I can adjust her medication and recommend therapy to help her manage the stress that might be triggering these episodes.”
We followed Dr. Martin’s advice, but nothing seemed to help. I even began sleeping in a separate room, locking the door for my own safety. But one night, I was woken by the sound of someone pounding on the door.
“Please, let me in!” Emily screamed. “They’re coming for me!”
I hesitated, unsure if this was another sleepwalking episode or if she was genuinely awake and terrified. But something in her voice convinced me to unlock the door. As soon as I did, Emily burst into the room, her eyes wide with fear. She locked the door behind her and collapsed into my arms, sobbing.
“They… they were in the living room,” she gasped. “Shadowy figures with red eyes. They told me that if I didn’t do their bidding, they’d hurt you.”
I tried to comfort her, but I could feel my own fear creeping in. This was no ordinary sleepwalking episode. Something was very, very wrong.
The next day, we went to see a psychic, hoping to find answers that science couldn’t provide. The psychic, Madame Zara, listened intently as we recounted our experiences.
“You are being haunted by malevolent entities,” she said gravely. “They are using Emily’s sleepwalking as a means to control her and force her to do their bidding. We must perform a cleansing ritual to remove their influence.”
We agreed, willing to try anything to rid ourselves of this nightmare. That evening, Madame Zara arrived at our home, armed with candles, incense, and other tools of her trade. She instructed us to sit in a circle on the living room floor while she performed the ritual.
As she chanted and burned the incense, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change. The air grew heavy, and I could feel a sinister presence pressing in on us. Suddenly, the candles flickered, and the room went cold. Emily gasped, her eyes darting around the room.
“They’re here,” she whispered.
“Stay strong,” Madame Zara urged. “They will fight, but we can drive them away.”
As the ritual went on for hours, the tension in the room grew palpable. Finally, as the first light of dawn broke through the curtains, the weight in the room seemed to intensify rather than lift. Madame Zara’s chanting grew more desperate, beads of sweat forming on her brow.
Suddenly, she gasped and collapsed to the floor, her eyes wide with terror. “I… I can’t do it,” she stammered. “Their power is too great. They’re… they’re resisting my every effort to banish them.”
Emily and I exchanged panicked glances, unsure of what to do next. The shadowy figures with red eyes seemed to be everywhere, their sinister laughter echoing through the room. It was clear that they were not going to let us go so easily.
In the weeks that followed, Emily’s sleepwalking and violent incidents grew worse. The sinister presence in our home was stronger than ever, and no matter how many specialists we consulted or rituals we attempted, nothing seemed to make a difference. It was as if the entities had latched onto us, refusing to let go.
I began to fear for my own safety and for Emily’s sanity. I moved out of our home and into a small apartment, hoping that the distance might weaken the entities’ hold on her. But it was to no avail. Emily continued to spiral into darkness, the voices and their commands growing more insistent and malevolent with each passing day.
We tried everything, but it was clear that there was no way to win this battle. The entities had taken control, and they were determined to keep their grip on Emily, using her as a vessel for their evil intentions. It was as if our love and our lives had become a twisted game for them, one that we seemed destined to lose.
In the end, Emily was institutionalized. Her sleepwalking incidents became violent attacks on the staff and other patients. I visited her every day, desperate to see some glimmer of the woman I loved, but it was like staring into the eyes of a stranger. The woman I had married was gone, replaced by something dark and sinister.
As I sat by her side, holding her cold, unresponsive hand, I couldn’t help but feel defeated. The entities had won, and we had lost everything. Our love, our home, our lives— all destroyed by a force we could neither understand nor defeat. I grieved for Emily, for myself, and for the life we had once shared, now a distant memory overshadowed by the darkness that had consumed us.