The Incubus

I’ve only told one person this story because I certainly wouldn’t believe it if someone told me. And if I did start blabbing about it, people would say I must have been on drugs or watched too many horror flicks. But I was tired -- I’d gone to bed early and even though this incident happened more than ten years ago, I remember it was still light outside and some kids were playing street hockey. After the obligatory tossing and turning, I must have fallen asleep because a dream woke me.  I know what you’re thinking – there’s nothing more boring, besides having to look through someone’s family photo albums, than having to hear about someone’s dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. At first it was delicious: someone was making love to me and I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman, just the feeling was there, warm and sensual, kissing my neck and shoulders then licking my breasts and circling further down and I was riding along with this sensual wave but then something started scratching at my ankles.  It started to hurt; there must have been a cat in my bed under the covers trying to get out. But I didn’t have a cat. I tried to pull my arms down to grab at the animal and my legs must have been a bloody mess but I couldn’t move.  Whoever was making love to me was now on my chest pinning me down. The weight was oppressive, baring down on me and I felt this ‘person’ overpowering me, trying to suffocate me.  Somehow I mustered all the strength I had and opened my eyes and in a split second, the heaviness was gone.  I threw back the covers and there wasn’t one scratch on my legs. Phew, what a nightmare that was.  I got up, quite shaken, and walked around the silent house. My roommate’s door was closed; he must have gone to bed.  The street lights shone into the living room and the mantelpiece clock showed 2 am .  I went back to bed, still thinking about the dream, how real it was.  Then I gave my head a shake, thinking that maybe it’s time I got a boyfriend.

I reached over to the bedside lamp and tugged the cord. The moment the light went out an enormous heavy darkness like a thick black blanket smothered me and threw me flat on my back.  This time I was petrified—I couldn’t move again and I couldn’t cry out to Eric in the room next to me. There was just heavy darkness like I was in a tomb and there was nothing sensual anymore.  I kept thinking, turn on the light: I know this sounds so Poltergeist now – “go to the light” – but I really thought it was the only way to get rid of it.  I managed to grab the cord and switch the light on, except the weight on my chest wouldn’t go away. It was still in the room.  I screamed.

           
That did it – I was alone again.  Eric, my 250 pound Viking roommate, came crashing in, ready to attack the intruder. Just like a little kid who can’t talk of sexual abuse, I couldn’t tell him what had just happened.  I knew it wasn’t a dream.  After a while, the experience faded and I chalked it up to a bad nightmare.  Until it happened again. 

This time it was years later. I was married and my husband had gone out of town for a few days .It was a repeat performance, only I was even more terrified this time, mainly because I was in the house by myself, and also because this thing had actually followed me to another house – it could go anywhere.  I fought back this time, screamed to get the hell out of here and never come back.  It worked, it left for good. A few days later I was having breakfast with Paul, my husband. He sensed I was troubled by something, so I blurted the whole incident out, except for the part that I enjoyed, the sensual bits.  He sat back in his chair, narrowed his eyes and did one of those half-grin, half-laughs, nodding his head at the same time.  “You’ve been visited by a succubus”, he said. But to this day I know it wasn’t a succubus. It was an incubus.

Incubus: an evil male spirit which is supposed to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women. See also Succubus: something which oppresses or weighs heavily upon one, especially a nightmare.