My girlfriend talks in her sleep. She’s been saying the most horrible things recently… By RyanMatthews

I’m infatuated with her.

Utterly infatuated.

And it wasn’t at a healthy level. Far from it. I would think about her every moment she was away. I would sometimes sit on my couch and just stare at my phone waiting for her to text. I’d tell myself “Don’t contact her. Don’t. It will come off as too strong.” But then I’d still find myself clicking her name on my contact list before my inner voice would continue, “You don’t want her to know how desperately smitten you are with her. It’s unattractive. It will scare her off. No, you must wait for her to call you this time.”

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But it was excruciating and exhausting. Almost unbearable. I once heard that the ancient Greeks believed that falling madly and irrationally in love with somebody was a curse that you would wish upon your enemies. I could never understand what they meant. After all, isn’t falling head over heels in love the ultimate goal nowadays? But now that it’s happened to me, I have to say… the ancient Greeks were right. This is a curse. I was barely in control of myself. Almost as though my infatuation with her had… possessed me.

The two of us were sexually active together but still in the “dating” phase. We were at that make or break era of a blossoming relationship where we’d either have “the talk” and formally be in a relationship or we’d start to slowly drift apart. The latter of which I don’t think I’d be able to cope with. Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to. Almost everything about her captivated me. The way she held her hand over her mouth when she laughed. How she’d caress the pendant of her necklace when she was frightened. How she’d twirl her hair in her finger when she was excited. All of it. Her smell. Her smile. Her eyes.

Yeah, I know. It probably makes you sick reading about it. I feel the same way. I was never the hopeless romantic type. But now I can’t stop fantasizing about her. I’d think about us doing the long three-hour hike up to that magnificent view from one of our first dates. To that first kiss, as we overlooked the lights of the city. But this time I’d get down on one knee, bring out the ring, and… well… you know what would happen next.

Alright, fine. I’ll stop. Yes, this is a girl I’d only been casually dating for a couple of months. I shouldn’t be thinking about proposing yet. I know that. I’m just barely able to control myself any longer. I feel as though I’m losing power over the decisions I make.

And that brings me to why I’m here writing this out at the moment. It started with the first real thing that troubled me about her. We’d never actually spent a night together. No matter how late she was over, once either of us showed signs of being tired, she’d up and leave. She wouldn’t leave awkwardly or in anger. Just a casual kiss good night, a smile, and a “call me soon”.

It was something I didn’t really even notice the first few times she did it. But after almost 8 weeks of dating, it was becoming strange. I’d have to ask her about it.

It took drinking almost an entire bottle of wine before I had the courage to do it. She looked almost defeated when I asked and lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “I knew this talk would come eventually,” She started. She took in a deep breath with a long drawn out exhale. “Recently….“ she paused again. “I’ve started talking in my sleep.” She shook her head in embarrassment. “It’s called somniloquy, I looked it up.”

I shrugged and laughed out loud. My demeanor seemed to say “That’s it?”

“No, Stephen… listen” she said. She wasn’t laughing. “It’s bad. It… It’s completely out of control. It’s not just random words or gibberish. No. It’s horrible. I say horrible disgusting things.” She was starting to raise her voice, breath heavy, and tear up.

I approached her and held her. I told her it couldn’t be that bad. I told her to spend the night. I told her she was probably exaggerating.

I was wrong.

That night she stayed at my house. But she warned me of something before falling asleep. “Whatever you do, don’t wake me up. It makes me really scared and disoriented if that happens. And don’t respond to me. Just ignore it.” I nodded and agreed. “If it becomes too much,” she continued, “just leave the room and sleep on the couch. I won’t mind.”

I told her not to worry about it. I told her that it wouldn’t be a big deal. I told her I wouldn’t leave to the couch. I’d stay beside her in the bed.

But I was wrong.

I couldn’t even last one night.

We both fell asleep without incident. I don’t know how many hours passed, but I woke up in the dark with the sensation that someone was watching me. And then I remembered… She was with me. She was actually spending the night. I smiled.

But then I noticed the shadowy outline of her sitting up on the bed. She was looking down at me. Staring.

It creeped me out. I’ll admit it. Her posture was entirely different. It was as though it wasn’t even her at all.

Then she spoke.

It wasn’t her voice that I heard. It was much lower and gravelly. Like something out of a horror movie.

“I’ll chew the skin from your bones.” She said.

I froze.

At first, I just kept looking at her. This was not at all what I expected. I thought it would be more like the way Tourette’s is often portrayed. Just random swearing and shouting. I honestly thought to myself… what will I do if she attacks me right now? What if she really does try to chew the skin from my bones?

But then she just lied down and went back to sleep.

I was creeped out. I tried to lie back down and ignore her but struggled. I couldn’t even close my eyes without thinking “Maybe she’s sitting up again and staring at me.” And then one time I rolled over to look at her…and she was.

Her face was pressed right towards mine. Her breath was foul and rotted. Something that was most certainly not normal for her. She spoke again, in the same voice as before.

“If you don’t move to the couch, you’ll be dead by morning.”

That did it for me. I sat up in a moment and headed for the living room.

She made some sort of wheezing sound as I left. I think it was supposed to be laughter.

I was lying on the couch, but I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep. I was far too shaken.

I was staring out towards the window, hoping to see the first few hints of the sun rising.

And then I thought I heard something. From the bedroom.

I listened.

And then I heard it again.

“Stephen.” It was that same low and gravelly voice. It sounded like a witch.

I tried to just ignore it at first. But then it continued.

“Stephen.”

Still I said nothing.

“I know you can hear me, Stephen. You’re awake now. Why don’t you come back into the bedroom?”

The voice barely sounded human.

“Or maybe you’d prefer if I come to you?”

I still didn’t say anything. I was told not to. But I listened. If I heard her start walking towards the bedroom door, I’m not even joking, I would have run right out of the apartment. But she had asked me not to respond to her sleep talking. So I didn’t.

And then I heard her once more.

“Sorry if this spoils your plans.” She began laughing. “The two of you were supposed to walk that trail again.” she started. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what she’d say next.

“You’d both be so tired when you’d reach the top. You’d look over the city. Then you’ll get on one knee, and bring out the ring.” She began laughing.

And that’s when I realized this wasn’t just a problem with sleep talking. It was something much more. Something supernatural. I had never told anybody about my proposal fantasy. There was simply no way she could have known about any of it.

This was no longer about merely talking in ones’ sleep. This was about possession. I can’t go back into the bedroom. I have no idea what would happen if I did. Instead, I’m going to wait it out, holding up in my living room until the sun rises. I have a couple more hours yet. I can hear her laughing occasionally in the bedroom. It’s still not her voice. Still that same low pitch cackle.

But as I sit on my couch writing this out, here’s what scares me the most…

Maybe my infatuation and utter obsession with her wasn’t normal. I said before that I felt like I was losing control of myself. More so I believe than the typical falling in love story. No. I fear that the infatuation I felt was the entity slowly taking control of me. Of it controlling my thoughts, fears, ambitions, and anxieties. Maybe once I become completely absorbed, a transfer would occur, and she would be free of it.

I know I should leave. That I should open the front door, get in my car, and drive away from here. But I can’t. I can’t leave her. I’ve already lost control.

I’m infatuated with her.

Utterly infatuated.