![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Chapter 7. In a dangerous dream
Rose lay in bed, dreading sleep. Last night had been the first time since losing Mickey that she hadn’t had nightmares, but she was under no illusion that she’d seen the last of them. It almost felt as if the air in her room was thick with it, the promise of bad dreams to come. If she closed her eyes she could feel it, coiling, sending its evil fingers out towards her, dredging up the horrors buried in her memory. She snuffled, trying to resist the tears that threatened. She wanted the Doctor so badly. She needed to be held. But she’d ruined that, hadn’t she? He couldn’t even look at her in the console room. So now she had to face the night alone. She curled onto her side, bunching the duvet in her arms, hugging it to her. Closing her eyes tight, she thought of nice things, like her mum had taught her when she was a little girl. Think of nice things, Rose, and the monsters won’t come. Birthdays, swings, chips. Think of nice things. So she tried. She thought of the Doctor and drifted into a reluctant sleep with his image her comfort, her talisman against night terrors.
The Doctor pulled himself free of the console and sat up. He felt like an utter sod. She’d forgiven him and he’d sent her away when she asked for his help. They were just dreams but he knew how terrifying dreams could be. Perhaps he should go to her? But then what? He could hardly hold her, not after what had happened. No, it was simpler this way. At least for the time being. At least until he could trust himself. She was too precious to scare away. Baby steps, he had to restrain himself to baby steps, let her realise how he felt slowly, give her time to adjust, to see if she could feel the same way for him.
And then he heard her scream.
‘You thought it was just you and him, didn’t you? Just you and him! And he can barely stand to look at you. You left me for that? Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, Rose, because I’ve been upgraded. Emotions are obsolete. Soon you will be free of them. You will be liberated.’
‘No. Mickey, please!’
‘You will be upgraded or you will be deleted, like your father was deleted’.
‘No!’
‘Then you will be deleted. Delete. Delete. Delete.’
No! Rose’s eyes shot open, no! Mickey! She tried to move and realised she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She stared about her, frantic. She was in her room, in the TARDIS, in her bed, but there was something wrong. Her chest felt heavy and her limbs refused to respond to her desperate attempts to shift. She gasped, dimly aware of herself, of the darkness of the room, the glowing digits on her alarm clock. She felt bizarre, as if she were disconnected from her own body, aware and yet not. Her mind was fully functioning, but her body refused to respond to her. Something was pinning her down. Something was stopping her from moving. Slowly, she willed her eyes to look down. Something was sitting on her chest. She tried desperately to move, closing her eyes, willing herself to at least twitch, finding only paralysis. She could feel her chest heaving, though it felt disconnected, like she was aware of herself through a screen of gauze.
Dimly, part of her remembered seeing a picture of this once, a virginal girl with a beast sitting on her chest. Sleep paralysis. It was all right. This was just an illusion. A sleep disorder. It would go away soon, she’d wake properly or fall back to sleep. Either way, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just an illusion of her dreaming mind. It wasn’t real.
The weight on her chest was growing heavier, though. She opened her eyes again, straight into those of the creature atop her. It was monstrous. Sickly yellow orbs with black horizontal slits for pupils bore down on her, their malevolent intent clear. Drool fell from its gaping, lipless mouth, moistening its sharp white teeth. As she watched, its grey tongue flicked out, running over its top teeth, its mouth splitting into a frightful leer as it breathed deeply through the two narrow ragged slits that marked its nose. Wild black hair ran in greasy locks about its head as it writhed over her, its grey skin barely covering its sharp bones. It looked insubstantial, for all its weight, like smoke, coalesced into a form, but still at risk of being blown away. She could see through it in places, see her room through its chest, as it moved above her disjointedly.
It felt solid, though, at it pressed its long, sharp fingers against her, kneading her through her t-shirt, pressing hard against her labouring chest. Then it swooped its face towards hers and its long tongue flick against her cheek. And suddenly she knew real terror; as she felt moisture against her face, smelt its rancid breath, she knew, with horrifying certainty, that this wasn’t a dream. This was real. It was real. She struggled to speak, to make some sound, to move enough to dislodge it. Nothing worked. Only her eyes moved, desperately tracking it as it began to shift above her.
She felt, rather than saw, its long fingers begin to trail up her body, roaming beneath her t-shirt, rucking it up beneath her arm pits, exposing her to its rabid gaze. It shifted and she felt its weight move, felt it pubic bone pushing hard against her own as it straddled her, wriggling with glee, as its six fingers ran their sharp points over her naked breasts and belly, scratching, pressing, in an obscene parody of a lover’s caress.
Slowly, its blank maw descended upon her, pressing against her lips in a dark kiss, stealing her breath. She struggled desperately to draw in air through her nose as its wet mouth sucked air from her, ravaging her mouth, choking her with its ranging tongue, its fingers clutching at her breasts, squeezing, inflicting pain.
Suffer for me! It screamed in her head as black spots danced before her eyes. It was suffocating her! It shuddered against her, grinding its pelvis down, before releasing her lips, arching up in ecstasy. Yes! It screamed.
Gasping, lungs heaving, Rose saw the creature grow darker. It seemed to be solidifying, as if it were feeding on her, on her pain. It was revelling in it. Yes! It shrieked. Yes! And then it was descending again, hands ranging roughly over her naked torso. She closed her eyes tight, desperately trying not to feel the violation. Then her mouth was open in a soundless scream as sharp fingers turned phantom and plunged into her chest. Acute pain swept her body, arching her back off the bed in involuntary movement, as viscous hands slid through her skin as if it wasn’t there and, as the reached beyond her ribs, reformed within her. She could feel them flexing against the inside of her skin, and then, like cold steel bands, she felt them close around her heart. Rose’s eyes were wide and staring, disbelieving, but there was no denying the pain, as firm fingers closed around her heart muscle. She could feel the organ stuttering, struggling to beat against the terrible constraint. This couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t possible. Pain shot up and down her left arm as her heart faltered and then, as her ears roared, she felt it cease to beat, stilled within a steel grip. Black infiltrated her sight as the creature writhed above her, grinding against her in an obscene arousal. This was real. In the impossible silence she heard her own death.
Then the hands released and her heart stumbled into life, pounding, driving blood through her body, desperately fighting to keep her alive. The being above her cackled, one bloody hand freed from her chest and dipping into its mouth as it sucked each of its digits in turn. And then it was shifting again, wrapping hands around her lungs, constricting, forcing her damaged heart to pump wildly in a battle to keep oxygen flowing, and it was riding her, gasping, triumphant, shuddering, mouth hanging lax, eyes slipping shut as it reached some sort of ghastly climax and in that moment Rose moved and she was screaming, screaming and falling as the darkness claimed her once more.
Chapter 8
