Prologue

In the dim recesses of the Ethereal Plane, where reality wavered and dreams bleed into nightmares, Azailkahbil hungered. As a Sleep Paralysis Demon, they thrived on the delicate balance between wakefulness and slumber. Their prey—sleeping humans—were unwitting energy vessels, ripe for the taking.

The victim’s alpha and delta brainwaves had to align just so. Only then could Azailkahbil’s smoky tendrils slip into their ethereal aura. The moment of connection was exquisite—an electric shock of consciousness. The victim would awaken, paralyzed, caught in a twilight realm. Confusion would cloud their senses: Were they still dreaming? Or had they stumbled into a nasty reality?

Azailkahbil reveled in the ensuing struggle—the clash of wills—demon versus human. It was akin to a Wyoming cowboy riding a wild bull, adrenaline coursing through their formless veins. The power surge was intoxicating.

But there was more at stake than mere pleasure. The Prime Plane beckoned—a realm of solid matter where humans perceived their reality. Sleep Paralysis Demons existed primarily in the Ether, their forms vague outlines against the cosmic canvas. To enter the Prime Plane, they needed a human conduit. The longer the victim remained paralyzed, the more energy Azailkahbil siphoned. And energy meant power—the currency of their kind.

Human auras held the key. Brightness signified willpower. Weak-willed souls emitted feeble light; those with blinding auras were formidable adversaries. Color mattered less to Azailkahbil—only that the victim was human and asleep. Demons’ auras were dark, while angels’ shimmered silver or white. Azailkahbil avoided both.

Tonight’s victim was Harold, a midlife insomniac who conversed with his reflection. His bright green aura promised a feast. Azailkahbil straddled Harold’s ethereal form, tendrils plunging into his mind. Ecstasy surged—the electric dance of energy. But Harold’s aura shifted, fading to orange, then extinguishing. Panic gripped Azailkahbil. Death loomed.

Seventeen seconds—an eternity to Harold—passed. A tear escaped his unblinking eye. Azailkahbil reveled in the dying light. But as Harold’s aura vanished, panic turned to triumph. They had held on long enough. Harold’s last thought echoed in the Ether: A horrible nightmare.

Azailkahbil grinned, vile and hungry.

“Azailkahbil ybuxudoug oc oxxogigd!” they rejoiced, their grotesque form pulsing with stolen energy.

Chapter 1

The elevator jolted to a stop, and a tuft of platinum blonde hair with a soft pink tip fell out of place, dangling in front of Suzi’s eyes.  She reached up and tucked it back into position as the elevator’s electronic voice announced, “Floor 5,” and the doors opened.  A Hispanic woman and her young son stepped inside. Suzi took a courtesy step to the side and smiled politely at the little boy, who clutched a plush, stuffed truck that had seen better days.

“Lobby?” Suzi asked the woman.

“Si.  Um, yes,” the woman smiled and nodded, her thick Hispanic accent adding warmth. “Thank you.”

Suzi pressed the lobby button, although it was already lit—her ultimate destination as well.  She then pushed the ‘Close Doors’ button.  The boy stared at Suzi’s left index finger which bore a ‘Shhh’ tattoo.  She put it to her lips as the universal ‘Shhh’ symbol.  He smiled back. 

Her phone vibrated, and she looked at the notification.  Her Uber was on its way, expected to arrive in eleven minutes.

As the elevator continued, Suzi’s mind wandered to her therapy session with Dr. Adamson. She was angry—no, fuming. The blood pressure in her head felt like basketballs bouncing on a gym floor within her eardrums. She vowed not to see him again. Over two years of sessions, and she felt no progress. Same medications, same dosages, since her move to Chicago 29 months ago. Anxiety, depression, guilt—the same old companions. Sometimes worse, depending on which personality took the reins.

Surprisingly, her claim of having multiple personalities was never diagnosed as a disorder. Dr. Adamson argued that everyone had facets of their personality, shared with some and hidden from others.  In our professional lives, we put forth one aspect of ourselves, but when we are with family or friends, we have another, and sometimes even a different facet when we are alone.  It’s not uncommon for various people to perceive us differently than others.  Suzi could choose which personality was in control, remembering everything, unlike those with dissociative identity disorder (D.I.D.  for short, aka ‘Multiple Personality Disorder’), who couldn’t control their switches or recall lost time.

Suzi’s issues spanned anxiety, depression, lack of self-confidence, and neuroses with colors (words and people appeared as hues) and certain sounds grated on her—people chewing, ASMR. And the guilt—the infamous ‘Catholic guilt,’ as her estranged husband, Aiden, called it. He claimed she could find a reason to blame herself for the Jewish Concentration Camps if she tried hard enough. Absurd, given they occurred decades before her birth. She thought getting out of the Bible Belt of southwest Missouri, where the alternative lifestyles were taboo, where a woman with a stylish, blond and pink pixie-cut faux-hawk and tattoos all over was shunned; where a person did not have to be a 60-year-old white man to get into the funeral industry; where culture comes to die —would help but, alas, it did not. 

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Suzi pursued her dream of becoming an embalmer and funeral director, but she had to upend her life to do it.  She left her husband of 25 years after their youngest children, twins – Reed and Rio, graduated from high school and began their own lives.  Rio started her career in Jefferson City.  Reed tried for the military but ultimately returned home as a laborer.  Aiden stayed behind, caring for his ailing parents. Suzi loved them but felt the area stifled her. Chicago offered culture and opportunity, but her demons persisted.

Big, mister smarty pants, Dr. C.  E.  Adamson.  MD.  DO.  Ph.D.  BS.  MF.  SOB. 

“I speak 14 languages,” Suzi mocked the doctor’s claim in her head. 

“There aren’t even 14 languages in the world,” the Judy personality grumbled.

Suzi counted, unconsciously slightly extending a finger for each one she listed –

English. Spanish. French. German. Italian. Romanian. Japanese. Chinese….

“Chinese isn’t a language.  The language is known as Mandarin,” the Judith personality stated.

Suzi’s given name was Judith Suzanne Burch.  Most of her personalities bore variations of her given name or nicknames others had given her.  The Judith personality was the academic, intellectual of the bunch.  The wannabe know-it-all who’d rather insult you than admit she was wrong.  Judy was the hateful, negative bitch that Suzi wished she could silence.

“Mandarin is a type of orange,” the Annie personality added.

“Is that where they came up with Orange Chicken?” asked the James personality. 

Despite what someone might think, Suzi had a tall, black, gay man as one of her personalities.

The elevator jolted again, and the same tuft of platinum blonde hair fell. Suzi sighed, tucking it back into place. Again. The elevator’s electronic voice announced, “Lobby,” and the doors opened.  Suzi held them for the woman and boy, smiling.

The lobby was cold, both in temperature and aesthetics. Fake potted plants, grey marble floors, and a lack of holiday cheer.

“This lobby is as boring as Kansas,” her Spike personality touted.

Suzi glanced outside—it was already dark. Winter in Chicago was torture.

As the Hispanic lady bundled her son, Suzi thought of her own grown children. The week of Thanksgiving, and she wouldn’t see them. She pushed the thought away.

The woman stepped into the cold wind, and the frigid air bit Suzi as she stood alone in the lobby.  

Suzi exclaimed aloud, “Jesus Christ!” as the shock took hold.

The building mainly housed therapists and doctors, with the exception of one law firm.  Everyone was likely gone or close to it. She was late to her session with Dr. Adamson, but he was nice enough to permit her appointment time to run over since she was his last appointment for the day. Only a few people were walking on the sidewalk between the lobby doors and the street about 30 feet away. 

She looked at her phone. Eight minutes to go. She was beginning to regret her decision not to drive herself, but she disliked driving in the city. An elevator dinged behind her, and she soon heard footsteps. She huddled her Kate Spade purse between herself and the wall she was leaning against and slightly turned to look over her shoulder at who was coming up from behind. It was him—the pompous doctor.

“Hello, Suzi,” he said politely as he stopped to put on his non-expensive-looking jacket. 

Although he was a doctor and had many degrees, he was frugal, or so it seemed. 

“What is that? Tweed? Oh, please!” a dissatisfied James scoffed.

“Doctor A,” Suzi replied coldly.

“You left in a hurry.  I clearly said something to upset you.  I would like to finish our conversation.”

It almost sounded like he was asking her on a date. 

“That is unacceptable! We are a married woman!” the Suzanne personality protested. 

Suzanne, the devoted wife and homemaker persona, still loved Aiden and was very loyal to him despite the decision to leave him.

“The only thing that upsets us is your thrift store polyester,” the James personality flung as an insult.

Suzi turned to address the doctor.  Her mouth opened to object, and her finger rose to point in his stupid face.

“Can we make an appointment for tomorrow morning? I have some free time first thing,” he continued with a smirk and glimmer in his eye that said he knew what she was going to say.

Suzi stood in front of him, ready to give him what for, trying to let her anger go, and realized that this was the first time she had ever stood in front of him in over two years.  He was tall.  Of course, she was only 5 feet, 4 inches at best, so almost everyone was tall compared to her, but he stood taller than even her husband at 6 feet.  Older - late 50’s or early-60’s, she guessed.  She could tell he had been formerly athletic.  His jaw was chiseled with a strong chin, and a short, well-groomed, grey beard.  His leathery, tanned face said he was no stranger to spending time in the sun.  She found his deep, soft, bright brown eyes - almost like golden chocolate – mesmerizing and inviting as they drew her in.  Practically a doppelganger of Sean Connery but without the accent.  He smelled like 1980s Calvin Kline ‘Obsession’ cologne, with the vibrant tones of citrus, lavender, and nuances of cinnamon and coriander.  After two-plus years of conversations, she knew almost nothing about this man.

Suzi sighed.  “Yeah.  Ok.  I’ll call Brenda in the morning and get on the schedule,” she resigned.

The honking sound from her phone announced that her Uber was less than five minutes away and urged her to be at the street when the driver arrived. 

Dr. Adamson smiled.  “I’ll call her desk and leave her a voice mail now.  Shall we say 9 a.m.?” he said as he put his phone up to his ear. 

Suzi noticed that his phone looked just like hers.  They both headed to the lobby door.  Dr. Adamson opened the door for Suzi while she held her hands in her coat pockets and braced for the blast of cold air.  Just as the door opened and the wind came in, someone stepped from the outside pillar between the doors.  Suzi did not get a good look at them before Dr. Adamson dropped his phone and stepped in front of Suzi. 

There was some altercation or physical shoving, but she could not tell as the doctor blocked her view. In the door's reflection, Suzi could see the two men wrestling over something between them. She could not determine what it was, but it was reflective and long. A wand? No—this wasn’t Harry Potter. A gun, perhaps?

She then realized the two men were arguing as well, speaking low in a language she had never heard—so low that they were almost growling at each other. She listened intently for a second or two as she stepped closer to the doctor and raised her hand to his back as if to push him forward should he begin to lose this fight. 

“Jump! Jump! We want to see!” the Annie personality shouted excitedly. 

She tried to crane her neck to see better the other man or whatever they were fighting over.  What language is that? Latin?

“LATI--!” Suzi yelled out but did not finish the word ‘Latin’ before she heard the blast. 

She saw a flash of light in the reflection and felt the warm blood and viscera cover her face, tasting the unmistakable metallic flavor of blood in her mouth, and felt the doctor’s body slam into hers.  She fell back and the pain radiated from the back of her head as darkness encroached and her vision faded.