Sleep Paralysis Stories Novels & Stories

She was proud of it because it was a collaboration of her two favorite numbers. “Nine Fifteen,” I answered very slowly. “Okay, you cannot come down during that time, you understand? You have to remain in your room, promise?” He silently begged, eyes pleading with mine. I nodded and closed my eyes again, too tired to keep them open any longer. I felt warm lips press to my forehead, making my body explode from pleasure, before slowly leaving the room. Finally, I let sleep take over me. -

When I looked at them, they were happy, too happy for my liking. ‘I am so tired’ I cried out as I dragged my body to the bed. I had gotten in the house through the window. I wasn't in the mood for Michael. I wanted to curl up and die. It was straining how my thoughts ran wild from time to time. They were like a train that works from morning till noon. I wanted to curl up and sleep for decades, but I knew I wanted nothing less than to sleep; at all. I didn't know when Michael or my sleep paralysis will visit. It was a struggle.

Faith's Pov: I woke with a gasp, my chest tight as if I had just run a marathon in my sleep. The nightmares were relentless, plaguing my every dream. I hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since I was a child. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I was pulled into a nightmare that felt too real, too vivid. I blinked rapidly, my gaze falling to the alarm clock next to my bed. Three in the morning. Of course. I groaned in frustration, flopping back down onto my pillow, my body a tangled mess of frustration and exhaustion.

I am fine with that . I gulp . I am pretty sure I locked the door though . ' Just do it . Turn around . Don't be scared . Ghosts aren't real ' I turn around in an instant , almost getting a whiplash and look behind . There was ... Nothing there. I sigh with relief . I must have imagined it . They say that stress and sleep deprivation can affect the brain in many ways that scientists are just beginning to understand . It must be some sort of hallucination . I should get some sleep .

Watching. She told herself a hundred stories that night. None of them held. Sleep paralysis. A dream she walked into. Some guy in a costume, some prank, some thing her tired brain built out of fear and a granola-bar dinner. But her knee was smooth. She'd checked it under the bathroom light at three in the morning. Smooth. No cut, no scar, nothing. You can't argue with a knee. So when the bell over the diner door went at seven the next morning and she looked up and it was him, she almost dropped the coffee pot.

“They’re not really dreams, Luke. They’re flashbacks of what happened to me. It’s like everything is happening in real-time, but it’s not exactly real.” God, I do not know if I’m explaining this right. But I carry on. “Sometimes I wake up, only I’m still in the dream. Sleep paralysis is the worst. It’s why I had Benny trained to assist me. He will wake me or help me out of the paralysis.” Luke strokes my cheek soothingly. “I know it was a long time ago, but it’s still something I struggle with every day. It will never fully go away; however, I have learned how to cope with it a lot better than a couple of years ago or even a month ago.”

Hushed whispers chorused altogether in sorrowful, breaking and low indistinct sounds. As if pinned on the bed, her body was heavy for her to lift, all that she could do was to turn her head only left and right— on the turquoise pillow. Hopeless thoughts victoriously supplanted her subconscious mind, allowing sleep paralysis to take over. Sudden noises here and there made her freeze in aghast. "Is...anyone…out there?" She slowly asked in confusion and yet there was no reply. A rat ran past the bed with a loud, screeching cry, making her heart jump straight into the depths of her throat. A sharp, yet relaxing pain pierced past her stomach.

Even my fingers refused to twitch. It felt like something heavy was pressing down on my chest, pinning me to the mattress. “No,” I whispered, or at least I tried to. My lips barely moved. I knew this feeling. Sleep paralysis. Fear crawled up my spine as I lay there, trapped between the dream and reality. I could see my room—the shadows on the walls, the faint light from outside—but my body was no longer mine. Then I heard a sound. A slow scrape. My eyes shifted toward the window.

“Come on, Amelia. You don’t really believe that, do you?” “Look, I know it sounds crazy,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But I swear it’s true. One night, I felt a hand stroking my hair. When I opened my eyes, no one was there. And another night, I woke up to see a woman standing in the corner of my room. She disappeared right in front of my eyes!” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Amelia, that sounds like sleep paralysis or waking nightmares. It’s a common phenomenon.”

The faint smell of parchment and ink filled the air, grounding me as I reached for another fragile volume, its spine cracked from time and wear. I have always loved this place. The silence, the order, the sense that here, nothing could touch me. It was a haven, a place to hide from the chaos of the outside world. A place where my mind could wander freely between the pages of stories that weren’t my own. But lately, even the comforting isolation of the library couldn't keep away the strange, unsettling dreams. I have always had sleep paralysis, but I lost it after I immersed myself through working. I was always paranoid that I would see something out of the ordinary in the middle of my paraly