The Twilight Sleep Lab, Part 2

A Horror Short Story in Two Parts

Previously,

Lilly has been plagued by horrific occurrences at night, barring her from sleep. Now, attempting a sleep study at the Twilight Sleep Lab, her condition has only worsened.

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Lilly sipped from a glass of tepid water. She tolerated the technician’s presence next to her, the two of them seated on the edge of the bed together.

“Just take your time, Mrs. Camp,” the technician said over and over as she rubbed circles on Lilly’s back with one hand. The fact that the line was so frequently repeated undermined its assurance.

Lilly kept her lips attached to the glass to avoid saying something unpleasant. No point taking my frustrations out on the innocent.

“So,” the younger woman finally broached, “are you ready to talk about what happened?”

Lilly shakily handed off the glass of water and drew a stuttered breath. Well, here goes. “I wasn’t entirely honest about why I’m having trouble sleeping.”

The technician giggled. “Patients leaving things off their medical forms? Heaven forbid!”

Lilly might have found that funny under different circumstances, but she continued to frown grimly at the floor. “My aches and pains don’t help things, but they’re not the real problem. The problem is…” Come on, old girl, you got this far. Spit it out. “I think I’m being haunted.”

“Haunted,” the technician repeated, nodding slowly. It was not quite a statement, neither was it a question, suspended between uncertainty and politeness.

“I know how it sounds, but I don’t know what else to think. It’s either a ghost or I’ve lost my marbles.”

The technician surprised Lilly with her next question. “Who do you think you’re being haunted by?”

Don’t make me feel even crazier. But in for a penny… “My late husband.”

“Why would he haunt you?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

I see. Trying to figure out why I feel guilty, why my addled brain would imagine him back from the dead. “Gregory had a twisted sense of humor in his youth. Perhaps he just wants the last laugh.”

The technician seemed to consider this for a long moment, much longer than Lilly thought necessary. She caught the girl staring at the necklace around Lilly’s neck, a small gold cross. Then the young woman shifted on the edge of the bed to face Lilly, taking Lilly’s hands in her own and seeking her eyes. “Mrs. Camp, that simply isn’t possible.”

Lilly winced and rolled her eyes, braced for the platitudes and reassurances. “I know it sounds crazy, but—”

“Mrs. Camp, ghosts don’t have a will.”

Lilly blinked. “What now?”

The technician’s bubbly demeanor had diminished by a degree. Her face was set, head tilted forward and brows lowered. “Ghosts don’t have a will,” she repeated. “A ghost is simply an imprint of powerful emotions or events. If you are being haunted by something with a will, something intelligent, then it isn’t a ghost.”

“Then just what do you think it is?”

The prolonged silence and steady stare from the technician chilled Lilly. Her eyes flicked to Lilly’s cross once more. The silly girl couldn’t possibly be suggesting I’ve got a—

“A demon, Mrs. Camp.”

 “I don’t believe in that sort of thing. Haven’t for a long time.” But the heart monitor attached to Lilly betrayed her.

“I understand,” she said, returning to her smile. “Then should I help you back into bed?”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the technician said brightly. “If I’m sure it isn’t a ghost, and you’re sure it isn’t a demon, then everything should be fine. Back into bed we go.” She flipped back the covers and assisted getting Lilly’s legs back onto the bed.

Lilly protested even while mechanically obeying. “What would a demon even want with me? Are they really so bored that they’ll torment an old woman’s sleep?”

“Rest is very important, Mrs. Camp. If you aren’t well rested, your body suffers, your mind suffers. And demons love suffering.”

As the technician finished tucking Lilly back in and rearranged the various tubes and cords, Lilly grabbed onto the young woman’s wrist. “What are you trying to say?”

“Mrs. Camp,” she questioned back, “why do you wear that necklace?”

“My husband gave it to me,” Lilly replied, perplexed. “You know, it’s funny. He was never a religious man, and I found it odd at the time. It was the last Christmas present I got from him before he passed.” Lilly’s hand floated up to feel the cool metal. “I tried for years to get that man to join me at church. He only went for the holidays. You wanna know what my husband was like? All the time he’d say, ‘I’d like church a whole lot more if they just talked about that Jesus fella a little bit less.’”

The technician nodded but did not interrupt.

“I prayed every day for that man to get saved for thirty years. And then one day, I stopped. I don’t know why. I stopped inviting him, stopped praying for him, eventually stopped praying in general. I was just tired, you know? Maybe that’s why he got me this.”

“To remind you of something important to you? Even if it wasn’t important to him?”

She’s smarter than she looks. “Maybe. I just hope he got right before he passed.”

“I hope so, too. Now, let’s try to get you some sleep.”

“But what about the… whatever it is?”

“Like I said, everything should be fine. Goodnight, Mrs. Camp.” The technician swept to the door and flicked off the lights.

Lilly was on her back again, but she scooted herself up against the pillows as much as she could to tilt her chin toward the foot of the bed. She did not want to end up staring at the ceiling again.

Inky blackness coated the area beyond her feet. She had nearly forgotten how her nights routinely ended, the final phenomenon that barred her from sleep.

Lilly’s limbs grew leaden. She could neither turn her head nor muster a sound above an imperceptible moan.

She stared unblinking. If she diverted her eyes slightly left or right, then a form materialized in her periphery within the darkness. The black outline of a large, elongated man. But it lost all form when she stared straight on. Teasing her. Stretching her fear as far as it would go before it would snap.

But then it did something it had never done before.

Long, ebony fingers clasped onto the bed’s wooden footboard, inches from Lilly’s covered feet. The fingers curled, scouring long gouges into the surface.

“Liiiiillyyyyy.”

No, no, no, not that voice, not him, not him.

The darkness moved, one limb dipping below the footboard, and then it brought something that gleamed in contrast to its umbral form. It brought it higher, higher, until at about head level. When the shadowy hand moved away, it revealed a white mask affixed to its face.

It looked like a theatrical tragedy mask with its exaggerated frown and squinted eyes. But the features were far more detailed than a simple mask. The ruddy complexion. The purple, veined nose. The pearlescent scar running over the left cheek from a bad cut, a long source of guilt for startling him while he was shaving one morning.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Liiiillyyyy?” it asked in a distorted version of Gregory’s baritone voice, as though he was calling from somewhere far away, and there were others who took the opportunity to speak with him, to borrow his voice and stitch their own to it.

Lilly’s tongue felt swollen in her mouth and her lips too heavy to move.

“It hurts, Liiillyyy, more than we can bear. It’s so dark, so hot, so painful. We didn’t know, Liiillyyy, and it’s your fault. All your fault.”

Lilly’s heart burned in her chest. All my fault. I’m so sorry, Gregory. I stopped caring, stopped nagging you to go to church, to go to the doctor, to take care of yourself. I stopped caring for you, and now… now…

The mask of Gregory turned foul, lacing the air with profanity and insults the likes that Lilly had never heard in her life. It said every vile thing imaginable and many things that should have been unutterable, and Lilly was frozen, unable to do anything but listen and weep.

“You didn’t tell me, Liiillyyy, because you didn’t know. You’re a pretender. A false follower. A black sheep. A useless, sniveling, dried up old—"

A squeal pierced through the profane roaring. It was a mechanical whine, like on an old PA system. It clicked a few times, and then the strained chords of a song filtered through the static. A tinny choir belted out:

What a friend we have in Jesus,

All our sins and griefs to bear!

The mask whipped around. It howled in frustration, all traces of Gregory’s voice now gone.

What a privilege to carry

Everything to God in prayer!

The shadowy hands clawed at the mask, cracking it like fine porcelain.

O what peace we often forfeit,

O what needless pain we bear,

“No! We lay claim to her! You cannot drive us out!”

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.

The hymn continued playing, but another voice buzzed in overtop it. “Mrs. Camp? You need to pray now. Pray like your life depends on it. You remember how to pray, right? If all else fails, do the Lord’s Prayer. But whatever it is, you need to mean it. Do you mean it, Mrs. Camp?”

Lilly could not comprehend what was happening. She still could not command her lips, her eyelids, her limbs. But her mind raced against her heartbeat. Com’on, Lilly, you remember how to pray. Pray like your life depends on it, Lilly. Come on.

Her mind was overcrowded yet empty all at once. Her brain scrambled at the nurse’s advice, fighting to recall to the old, buried memory of the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.

The thing at the foot of the bed laughed. It cackled as though able to feel her insincerity. It slashed a shadowy hand across her leg, and it seared through the blanket and the flesh beneath. Lilly would have screamed if her throat could offer more than a pitiful moan.

“Mrs. Camp, you have to mean it,” the PA system hissed. “Prayer is a conversation, not a magic spell. Talk to Him!”

Lilly’s heart pounded against her ribcage. It was too much. The thing at the foot of the bed, the music, the voice, the pain, her own thoughts. She was drowning in her senses. I can’t do this, please help me, Jesus, I can’t do this without you, please!

The mask snapped its attention to her. It morphed into something even more hideous than the perversion of Gregory’s face, glowering at her with a towering anger. “No, Liiillyyy, it’s too late for that. You’re far too late.”

But the words resurfaced in her mind, and they made sense to her for perhaps the first time in her life, like they were being translated for her from a foreign language.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, rang in her mind, but from her unfrozen lips came the words, “God above, you are King and Lord.”

The thing at the foot of the bed howled and clawed at the footboard.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. “You have complete control, God, so please! Let your will be done here!”

The dark thing thrashed the bed and Lilly with it. She clung with one hand to the mattress, the other wrapped around her little gold cross.

Give us this day our daily bread, “God, I trust you to provide for me, to protect me,”

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, “And I am sorry for all the ways I fall short, and sorry most of all for never offering forgiveness to Gregory,”

“He’s rotting with us now! You have no right to forgiveness! NONE!”

And lead us not into temptation, “I don’t want to sin against you anymore, Jesus, so please help me,”

“Filthy, wretched, damned sinner!”

But deliver us from evil, “Please, Jesus, deliver me from evil, amen!”

All sound ceased.

The mask the thing wore shattered.

The shadows fled.

Lilly blacked out.

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“Rise and shine, Mrs. Camp.”

There is such a thing as too chipper. Guilt over that sarcastic thought brought Lilly awake more than the technician’s bubbly voice. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine. You’ve been sleeping so nicely, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

Me? Sleeping? Nicely?

“Let’s sit you up some so you can have a little breakfast.”

The young woman helped Lilly up against the headboard, with plenty of pillows to cushion her, and rolled a tray over her lap. A continental breakfast of bagels, cream cheese, and a few slices of bacon was accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee. Curiously, the two little pods of creamer and three sugar packets were exactly what Lilly would have asked for if given the chance.

“Did I place a breakfast order?”

The technician giggled. “No, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. Eat up, and when I come back, we can talk about your results.”

Results? Already? And what about… Lilly stopped herself with a savage crunch of her bacon. Nightmares. Had to be.

When the technician returned a while later, she carried a clipboard and a more serious demeanor. “Are you ready to discuss your results?”

Lilly had prepared herself for this during her short breakfast. I’m insane, and they’re gonna commit me somewhere. “Bring it on ahead, dear.”

“Well, your breathing readouts suggest you need to utilize a CPAP machine at night, which we can get you set up with, and we also recommend an over-the-counter sleep aid. Nothing fancy, just some melatonin or velarium. Your records suggest you haven’t tried taking anything like that, yet, right?”

Lilly nodded slowly. “Just sleepy-time tea,” she responded in bemusement.

“Oh, I love a cup of tea just before bed!” the technician gushed. “But you’ll want something a little stronger, at least to start out with. Otherwise, you’re good to go.” She smiled winsomely, awaiting a response from Lilly.

“But… was there anything… else?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Like what, Mrs. Camp?”

I really am cuckoo, aren’t I?

“Do you mean that business with the demon?”

Lilly jolted.

“I think it went very well, Mrs. Camp. Not all of the patients who come to us with issues of spiritual oppression take to treatment as quickly as you did. Now that you’ve dealt with it once, you shouldn’t have any further issues. Just keep ‘taking your medicine,’ if you catch my drift.” She added a conspiratorial wink.

“Miss—I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Angel.”

“Miss Angel, I—,” Lilly stopped. “‘Angel?’ Really?”

She blushed and giggled. “A little on the nose, right? Blame my dad, not me. Now what’s the issue, Mrs. Camp?”

“You’re acting like everything that happened last night was completely normal, when it’s absolutely not normal, it’s bonkers. Can you just tell me I’m out of my mind and get it over with?”

Angel adopted her serious face again and took Lilly’s hand in hers. “Mrs. Camp, that’s the entire point. These spiritual matters are as normal, if not more normal, than the treatments of flesh and blood. Here at the Twilight Sleep Lab, we believe that rest is sacred, and we will treat whatever is keeping you from it. And we mean whatever.” Angel squeezed Lilly’s hand once more, then strode from the room while humming an old, familiar tune.

Lilly smoothed the blanket across her lap and realized there was a small piece of paper cupped in her hand. It was a business card for a local church.

“Good Lord,” she whispered. It was a phrase she said often, usually in exasperation. But those two words, in juxtaposition and with renewed definition, meant something to her now. “Good Lord.”

Lilly still reeled with confusion over the events of that night for the next week. It was a week that, with the help of the CPAP, melatonin, and prayer, was filled with the best sleep she had gotten in years.

She also had to take special care cleaning and redressing the four long slashes etched across her left shin.

One thing Lilly knew for certain: she was going to church that Sunday. And she was going to take as many people with her as she could convince.

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