Invasive Dreams
Cora sat on the edge of the mattress, one foot on the floorboard and the other tucked underneath her, her phone glowing dimly against the heavy shadows of her tiny bedroom. The last few nights had melded into each other, punctuated only by her medication schedules for the restless sleep disorder that had flared up after her father’s sudden stroke. As she scrolled through social media, she made a conscious effort to ignore the sense of emptiness gnawing at her, a darkness that pulsed somewhere in her being.
A chime interrupted her thoughts. A notification—Megan, her best friend from university, had messaged her: You coming out tomorrow? You really need to get some fresh air. Cora pursed her lips, contemplating the idea. The thought of facing the world outside, where the sky was perhaps too blue, and laughter didn’t compartmentalise her sadness, felt strange and foreign. She sighed, fingers hovering over the screen before her better judgment chimed in—You’ll be fine. Just say yes.
As she typed a response, unease settled back over her. Sleep hadn’t brought her any semblance of rest. It clung to her like a second skin—thick, suffocating; it sealed her from the outside world and blotted out her thoughts.
The night crept in, the weight of it pressing against her chest. Dismissing the couch as unsafe and the kitchen as too sterile, Cora turned to the bed, pulling the covers over her head, surrendering to the heaviness of her eyelids. The reprieve she craved arrived quickly, drawn into the reason she did not step outside.
Darkness swallowed her. When she awoke, it was to the odd sensation of prickling fingertips and a disquiet that stirred her dreams into memories, infused with alarming clarity. She’d had that dream again—the one where patches of skin peeled back, revealing wet muscle and raw sinew, as something inside her welled up with invasive urgency.
With a pained grunt, Cora swung her legs over the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, she winced at the harsh illumination. She found herself staring into the mirror and recoiling at her reflection—perspiration glistening on her forehead and eyes dulled by shadows. She studied the faint lines of red on the underside of her forearms, creeping veins against her pale skin like creeping vines, marking an invasion she couldn’t comprehend.
A knock at the door broke her reverie, her mother’s voice filtering through. “Cora? You alright in there?” The concern in her mother’s tone felt worse than the physical pain from her last dream. Rubbing the back of her neck, she swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump sitting heavy in her throat.
“Just tired,” she called back weakly.
With the room turning oppressive again, Cora faced the mirror and brushed her fingers along the crest of her collarbone. The sensation felt like something alive, something foreign pulsating just beneath the skin. She shivered and stepped back, horrified to see the outline of movement as if something was slithering just under the surface. She pressed her palm flat against her chest, breathing shallow, and the sensation flared, a sharp urgency pulsing beneath her hand.
That night, sleep was elusive again; she clutched the pillow, struggling against a tide of profound exhaustion. The dreams returned, more vivid this time, reflecting the same horrors: dark tendrils reaching from her body, latching onto walls, ceilings, and everything within her home, growing as they fed on her fear. Each breath inspired more of the horrid growth, as if her flesh were a birthplace for something malevolent.
The following morning, Cora awoke with a start, heart racing, and an instinctual dread coursing through her veins. She disentangled herself from the blankets, each movement oddly sluggish as though she were wading through water. Somehow, every part of her felt further away than the last, like the elements were peeling away at the edges of her skin and spirit.
Determined to understand what was happening, she ignored her mother’s anxious queries and finally made the decision to consult Dr. Halvorsen, the general practitioner her family had seen for years.
“Cora,” she said, forcing composure as she sat across from the doctor, “I’ve been having these dreams. It feels like there’s something wrong with my body.”
After a few routine questions, the doctor’s brow knitted in concern. “You’ve been under a lot of stress with your father’s condition, and it manifests differently in different people. What you’re describing might just…”
But Cora interjected, her tone urgent. “No. You don’t understand. It’s not stress. It’s like I’m infested. Something’s inside of me.”
He frowned, ice sharpening the atmosphere between them. “Let’s run some tests. Just to be thorough.”
And so, a litany of examinations unfolded over the next few weeks. Cora lay in sterile white rooms, her veins punctured again and again as blood samples were taken, the results yielding nothing of substance and yet revealing everything would soon desensitise her world.
The dreams became more tangible, and the sensation under her skin continued to worsen. Dark marks spread up her arms like vines, ominous and threatening, and soon she grew terrified of her nightly encounters with whatever this entity was, breeding away in her matter.
“Cora, you look pale,” Megan remarked one afternoon as they met for tea. “Are you alright? You’ve been a bit off.” Concerned, she reached out to touch Cora’s forearm, and Cora flinched at the contact, the invasive sensation erupting under Megan’s fingers.
“It’s just… I’m fine,” Cora laughed, but even to herself, it sounded hollow. “Just a bit tired.”
She spent her nights battling viscous shadows and hulking forms that clung to the corners of her mind while waking up in a cold sweat. In a moment of desperation, Cora breached a boundary she had remained steadfast against for too long: she resorted to researching unnerving medical conditions, linking her experiences to references of rare diseases that twisted cells into unwelcome growths, turning her fears into facsimiles of reality.
Just as she thought she might find answers, the invasive feeling twisted into something darker. The sensation became pain, a burning flare amid comfort. Cora grimaced as the darkness burst through one night, spilling over like a malfunctioning dam; it choked the air from her lungs and seared against her rationality.
The following morning, a dreadful glow emanated from her arms, illuminating the dark patches that now resembled eyes with slitted pupils, staring back from the surface of her skin. Panic swirled within her as she fought to comprehend what had become of her body; her flesh was still intact, yet it felt foreign.
By the time she summoned the strength to propose solutions, to undergo more tests and search for escape, it was too late. She could feel everything expand, twisting out of her control, manifesting not just as skin deep but burrowing deep within. The invasion kept folding into itself, with tendrils polishing her resolve until Cora sat helplessly against the wall, ensnared by the promise of chains undreamed. The walls of her mind constricted tighter, squeezing out the last vestiges of her humanity.
Megan called that day with worry, her voice piercing through the haze. “Cora, why haven’t you replied? Please just tell me what’s happening.”
But it was different now—Cora barely recognised her own voice as she spoke. “I can’t help you. I can’t even help myself.”
The connection snapped, short and brittle, leaving her most vital relationship shattered and raw, as the thing inside her consumed all that she once treasured. In those final moments of clarity, a thought flickered. The darkness had become a mosaic of panic tailored to fit the void, reducing her perhaps even to nothing more than a husk—the invasive entity now had its host.
With final breaths echoing within grim confines, the mind she once inhabited slipped further into the depths, giving rise to whatever lay within her flesh, thriving and reaching for the light while all that remained outside was silence, punctuated only by her distant screams.
