My Stories


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Stolen from Sleep, A True Story

That spring night in Las Vegas had only a slight chill and require a light cover to sleep. As my husband, Joseph, crawled into bed and woke me up in the middle of the night, I felt unusually hot. I shoved the covers off and pushed them into the middle of the bed so he could use them. It left me sleeping with no protection other than my slip of a nightgown.

I woke just enough to notice a thin layer of sweat misting my body and wondered if I was getting sick. My husband mumbled something I couldn’t understand, which would usually wake me completely because I am a light sleeper, but this nigh was different. My head felt heavy and groggy—like I had been drugged.

I felt the bed move.

Instead of opening my eyes, I indolently rolled to my stomach, falling immediately back to sleep.

Later, the bed moved again.

My head shifted, but this time the movement was so jarring that I easily woke. My pillow slid out from under my cheek. I assumed Joseph must have taken my pillow by mistake, so I reached to grab it back. I raised my head to see Joseph on his stomach sound asleep, his head facing the wall away from me.

Interesting.

I was just about to fall back to sleep when I realized it wasn’t the pillow moving at all. It was me! I was sliding towards the end of the bed. Someone had a hold of my left ankle and was pulling me!

Oh, this has to be a prank, I thought. Maybe one of my teenagers or their friends were trying to pull some kind of prank. I jerked my foot up to see who had a hold of me. It wasn’t a who at all. It was a what!

Gripping my ankle was an oversized hand. The fingers were twice as long as the fingers on a human hand. The very thin finger bones were joined together by enlarged, bulbous joints. In the dim light of night, the entire hand was covered with tightly pulled dark, green and black, charred skin. I struggled to get a better look at my attacker, but it jerked me, making it impossible to look over my shoulder. My legs rose off the bed, into the air.

My throat suddenly seized. I gasped for air, but it was impossible to inhale even a single breath.

Desperate, I panicked and fought against the strength of the creature, my attempts to call out for help reminding me of the useless calls I made in my most tragic, blood curdling dreams—the kind when I would scream with all my might, yet no sound would come out.

The creature continued to pull as I was being moved against my will. I reached for my sleeping husband, clawing at the sheets and frantic to wake him. When my hands passed over his legs, I couldn’t find my grasp. It was as if my fingers were forbidden to close around his form. I flailed my arms and kicked my legs, still attempting to scream or even take a breath. If I could just break free, I could wake Joseph, and he could help me. He was the brave one. He was the protector.

My panic had reached a state of being manic as my attacker held me by one ankle in the air over my bed. Its super human strength seemed impossible and added to my terror. Knowing I was being abducted, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, made me feel so frightened, I wondered if my heart might explode.

The creature suddenly lifted me through the roof of my house.

Yep, right out the roof.

I saw the attic as I passed through the insulation and the air ducts, and then the roofing tiles passed before I could comprehend I was out in the open air.

Wait, if I passed through the roof without feeling it . . . then I am okay. This is just an out of body experience. Aw, heck!

I had been out of my body many times before, so this realization put an immediate halt to my terror. There I was, dangling, arms flailing, my ankle in the grasp of this being, rising over the roof of my house and into the air.

Now able to relax and no longer afraid, I could actually enjoy the view. I was pleased to be gliding through the sky on a grand adventure.

The event took a sudden anti climactic turn when the being put me down on the ground. I was down the street about 15 houses from mine. I had to squint as the brightness of the morning sun proved to be too much of a sudden assault on my eyes.

The clarity I had experienced while first gliding in the air was gone and the heavy drugged feeling was back again. It seemed as time had passed, but I didn’t know how—pieces of my memory were missing. On top of that, I had no idea how to get back to my house. Eventually, I passed out and woke to my alarm which signaled it was time to get the kids ready for school.

Under some sort of fascination, I animatedly recounted the entire event for Joseph when he awoke. It was amazing to me that he was completely unaware of my entire experience having happened right next to him. The experience was so extreme and true to life, I checked his legs to make sure there weren’t any claw marks on them.

“Surprisingly, this was one of the better night’s sleeps I have had in a long time. How do you feel?” Joseph asked. “Any feelings of drugs left in your system?” Fortunately for me, it was never an issue whether he would believe me or not, thank God. He went on to share his own information about sleep paralysis and other paranormal things he had watched on television. He often stayed up after I went to sleep, and late night shows about the paranormal and the unusual were in abundance.

I was relieved that my entire tale had made sense to him.

That would have been the end of my story if I had felt safe. However, even though my experience had ended peacefully enough, it took me two days to shake my extreme fears of being kidnapped.

I found myself afraid to have the curtains open, certain that someone was watching me. I stayed in without running any errands. When out of the house, a feeling of unmanageable vulnerability overcame me, and drove me back indoors. My ability to concentrate was gone and I feared someone could, at any moment, take me against my will.

Loud sounds gave me flashbacks to unclear memories, which led to feelings of unexplainable fears. I had to consider that I had actually been abducted, held against my will.

I hadn’t had any reference to indicate how long I had been gone other than the rising sun that illuminated the sky when I had been released blocks from my home. That meant I hadn’t been set back down immediately. It had to have been hours later. The only way I was able to cope with these uneasy feelings was to ‘switched off’ emotionally. Every seeming predatory behavior by anyone around me evoked deep sensations of anger and injustice.

Just when I was finally starting to feel okay, I got an odd call from a friend named Alita. (Her name has been changed to protect her identity.)

She seemed excited and confused when she said, “Christine, I just heard you were taken from your bed the other night to face the ancestral council. They didn’t even return you to your bed!” She paused, “That’s not like them. Are you okay?”

Alita was not any ordinary friend; she claimed to be from a “special” and ancient bloodline. When she started speaking about her people, her ancestors, I had always left the conversation, not out of disinterest, but I intuitively felt the need to safeguard her privacy, and I didn’t want to go snooping around in something that wasn’t my business.

This time was different. I wanted to know everything, but couldn’t bring myself to ask a single question.

I stood with my mouth open, not knowing what to say. The only other person who knew about the incident and the trauma I experienced was Joseph, and he hadn’t shared my story with a single soul! How could Alita know all of this unless . . .

Alita spoke to fill the silence. “Look, I know it’s scary. I told them not to take you because you are intuitive and would know, but they didn’t listen. They just wanted to make sure you were genuine. They’re just trying to protect my brother and me from other humans. I am so sorry. I made them promise it would never happen again.”

I was frozen in disbelief. How could all of this be real?

But then again, how was she able to describe the creature’s hands to me as if she had seen them with her own eyes? She even knew that the grasp felt like dry ice on my body, something I hadn’t even told Joseph.

I had to make myself forget. I had to push this from my mind or I might never feel safe again. After all, I had been kidnapped, taken right out of my bed in the middle of the night.

 

Want to see more of my work? Go to ChristineContini.com

 

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