9:01
~10~ Paralysis
Dean wasn't tired. Not even weary. Accompanied by a throbbing hand and a lumpy, too-small mattress, he knew he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. But he would try, because he had to.
In the next bed Sam's breathing was slow and even. Not slow enough to indicate slumber, so Dean knew his brother was having equal difficulty. He refrained from speaking, despite all the questions that prodded his tongue. Was he hungry? Thirsty? Dean wasn't. He hadn't needed to pee for a long time either. That was usually taken care of before a hunt (for obvious reasons), but they had been in this old manor for hours. Perhaps there had been too many distractions.
It seemed like forever before Sam's breathing slowed. Dean looked over at him, studying his profile. The worry lines had melted from his face, and his eyes were not roaming around under their lids. Sam must have found some peace, hidden even from the dream realm.
Dean released a breath and stared at the ceiling. He imagined himself on a soft, fluffy cloud, counted backwards by threes from three hundred, and used the breathing techniques he'd learned from watching Dr Oz. But it wasn't until he stopped trying anything that there was, at last, a change.
It wasn't a change he expected. He had blinked, only to open his eyes to darkness. Strange. The windows had let in the unchanging light all day. Had night fallen at last?
Dean tried to lift his head to look. His heart jolted when he realized he couldn't. He felt no restraints, and yet he could not bend an arm, shift a leg, or even open his mouth.
Sleep paralysis. He'd experienced it more than once in the past, with particularly disturbing or stressful cases. So he knew it would release him within seconds and he would return to oblivion.
But he didn't. And as time drew on, his fear could be felt, as well as heard, like his fingers were in his ears.
Sam! Hey, a little help! He could not utter the words. His eyes ignored his commands.
It wasn't so dark anymore. His dilated pupils began to make out the ceiling rafters...
Rafters? There hadn't been rafters before.
His heart continued to pound, now sounding like it was coming from an outside source. Once more he tried to move, or even grunt. But it was like he was seeing from the eyes of somebody else, and had no control.
Then, shadow returned. The rafters dimmed, and with it, the sound of his heart. And the dark silence was worse.
Sam...! Sammy... S-s-s-sam... Sssss...
A foreboding lump formed in his gut. That wasn't from his thoughts. Something was hissing nearby.
Ssssss...
Scales rustled over the sheets. He felt a tiny tongue flicker at his ear. He told his body to leap up and away but it would not listen. The hairs behind his ear tickled him as something brushed by. And then the snake slid up over his throat, slow, cold and coarse, before finding its way into his shirt through the collar.
Helpless. He could do nothing as it slithered down his sternum, tongue flickering out, before settling around his naval. Dean's breathing quickened. Shudders rippled down his back.
Of all the things that scared him, snakes were not at the top of the list. But he was far from comfortable about having one roam freely over his body.
The snake's cold nose poked into his belly button, as though it had thought it a hole to disappear into. Realizing its mistake, the serpent continued to explore, following muscle lines until it found Dean's pant-line.
God, no...
Somehow it found its way past his belt, into his jeans.
That's not a rat! Get away from there.
Fortunately the snake bypassed the tender bits, but it did take its time at the sensitive ones. Its sandpaper belly encroached on the erogenous skin of his inner thigh, and he expected, at any moment, that it would sink in needle teeth...
But it did not. It nosed its way under his knee, which tickled madly, before coiling around his lower leg a few times and squeezing. It remained there for so long Dean thought it intended to stay until...until, what? He woke up? Or starved to death?
Finally, it released his leg and slipped back the way it had come, into his shirt. There it paused, seeming to enjoy the warmth. But its time was up, and it found its way back to his collar. Fresh goosebumps riled his flesh as it passed over his throat again, tongue flicking under his jaw. It paused and hissed, as though contemplating on giving him a little love bite. Dean breathed sharply through his nose, praying it would simply move on...
Only when its tail followed its long body off of his, and its hissing faded to silence, did Dean feel a shred of relief.
But it was short-lived. A dim light returned, green and sourceless. His view: suspended ceiling tiles, cracked and chipped, discoloured by water stains.
He knew he was still asleep. He had to be. This was a modern ceiling design. There was even a fire sprinkler up there. It all had to be in his head. But that did not reassure him.
When the light began to fade again, Dean felt a new stirring of fear.
Sam, wake up. Wake up so you can wake me up.
Once more in darkness, he waited for another serpent to come by and invade his personal space. His own breathing was deafening. And then, whispers.
He couldn't quite make them out. They sounded like they were in the next room over, the volume suggesting they didn't care who could hear. But the poor articulation prevented anyone from listening.
Then a door slammed. Dean would have flinched had he control of his own body. Another door slammed shut, while a third creaked open. Giggles. Mischievous and mad. Further away, shrieking laughter, but he doubted anything was actually funny.
What in hell is this?
The whispers became louder, but no easier to understand. Footsteps padded past him, somewhere near his head. His hunter senses burned, urging him to look. But he couldn't.
Someone was crying now. A woman. Long, hard sobs, some mumbled words. She wailed a few times before another door slammed, cutting off the sounds.
The footsteps returned, walking to his left this time. They paused, then hurried away.
The incessant giggling was starting to get on his nerves. Dean wanted to tell them to shut up and shove off, to let him have a little peace. As if sensing his annoyance, the shrieking laughter started up again, until somebody shushed them.
The shushing continued until all sounds were silenced. For one foolish moment Dean thought it was over. But the conspiring whispers soon swelled up again. The footsteps came back, circling. He could hear someone breathing, messy and wet, like they had a cold. They paused near his head, but he could not see them. He could, however, sense them leaning over him, sniffing him.
What the hell is going on? Get me out of here!
They slurped in his ear. He wanted to cringe away.
Bang bang bang!
His creeper scurried off like a rat.
Bang bang bang!
Someone was bashing on the walls. Others were running up and down a corridor. Dean wanted nothing more than to cover his ears and curl up in a ball. The laughter, shrieks, giggling and whispers undulated in volume, gradually growing louder.
Go away, go away, GO AWAY!
There was one last, blood-curling scream, and then silence.
The calm and the quiet drew on for so long, he thought he'd gone deaf. But then his breathing kicked back into gear, and his head suddenly felt clearer.
Come on, Dean. Figure it out. How do I break out of this?
Literally breaking out wasn't an option. He still couldn't lift so much as a finger. If this was a trap, he was doomed. But if it was a riddle, all he needed to do was solve it.
Why the snake and why the crazy house? He wasn't fond of serpents and he'd had two bad run-ins with psychiatric wards, but those were far from the worst fears or experiences in his life. Perhaps they were meant to symbolize something else. Snakes were generally seen as the spawn of evil, a creature of Lucifer, and Dean had had more than his fair share of meetings with him. As for the mentally disturbed, maybe it was perspective. Does a madman know he's mad?
The more he tried to pick it apart, the sooner he came to realize he was overthinking it. Then, as he disregarded his flimsy ideas, round three began.
He saw no light this time, no change in the ceiling. Darkness remained as a slow, low pitched sound came from directly overhead. It was steady, each sound lasting just under two seconds.
Thhhrum... Thhhrum...
As it grew slowly, slowly louder, he decided that it must be something swinging back and forth, and coming closer with every swing. But what? And why?
Suddenly, in sync with the swings, a deep red glow lit something lean over him. The light faded, then welled up again a few seconds later. At its brightest Dean tried to figure out what it was he was looking at. By his peripherals, he guessed its pivot point was directly over his torso, and it swung lengthwise over his body from his head to his toes and back again. Its end, which entered his line of vision every few seconds, was as lean as the shaft it was attached to.
His guts churned as he realized it was a pendulum. Its weight was a large, crescent blade. And with every pass, it lowered, coming closer and closer to slicing open his chest.
For the first time since entering the manor, his mouth was dry. He struggled motionlessly harder than ever. He wanted to suck in his gut every time the blade passed over it. He wanted to scream.
Any second now, any second, he was going to feel a fiery pain slice up his sternum. It would lengthen and intensify, the skin parting to reveal raw muscle, then bone, but he would not die. The incision would spread to his stomach and catch his chin. Then the blade would slice his rib cage open and expose his heart and lungs and he would bleed. There would be blood everywhere, so much blood and sweat and pain and he would wish for it all to be over just be over and done done DONE—!