Insomnia

It's the middle of the night and all I need is someone to tell me what I'm doing outside. But there's no one here. No one in this tiny little town shares my insomnia. Not tonight, not last night or the night before. Every night of this summer I've been for a walk – unable to sleep in the lonely humidity of my room. Every night of this summer I've wandered the streets of my village like a lost woman, exploring the shadows in search of my inability to rest.

Another night that's nearly as hot as the day it's proceeding; the heat seemingly trapped within the isolation of the middle-of-nowhere, God-fearing town. I know I have nothing to fear here, the people wouldn't hurt a fly. And like every night I walk the dusty streets stifled by the thick air and moved by a need to tire myself out and finally sleep.

Within twenty minutes every shadow is explored, I'm out of town to meander through. From one end to the other in twenty minutes. I pause and stare up at the forest that begins as soon as the buildings end. Not even a space for backyard behind this last wooden cottage. With a glance over my shoulder I cross the invisible line into the trees, into the pines, maples and oaks I know so well.

I follow the main path even though I have dozens of options – even on this moonless night. I've embarked on a trip to there and back, my skirts hiked up slightly to keep the hem from catching on root. It's peaceful here, crickets chirping in bushes and owls hooting. Nothing to fear here, I know I'll be safe. Even still, a rustle in the bushes brings my fingers to the small wooden cross around my throat. I laugh at myself, remind myself that the Lord is watching over me and drop my hand back to my side – shaking my head at my own ridiculousness.

On I walk, cooler in the trees and enjoying my midnight foray into the woods. I remind myself again that He is looking over me – over and over, still spooked by the nighttime noises even after 18 years of wandering these paths in day and night. He is watching over me.

"You wear that like it will protect you"

I jump at the sneering voice, turning to gaze fearfully at the silhouette of the man behind me, the rough edges of the cross now digging into my palm. I can't even move when he starts to glide towards me. A three dimensional shadow without features who walks like a ghost.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't know your name. I know your name."

A pause in the air, it's heavy and everything's silent, the forest holding his breath and waiting for him to reveal his knowledge.

"You are Rebecca, and you are mine."

No one has sounded so certain of anything before in history. He says I am his but I don't believe it. I do not know this man, would not belong to anyone whose voice makes every hair on my body stand on end. I should run, but I'm frozen.

"Let go your trinket" he laughs dryly, and I do. I don't know why but I do. I don't think I could've held on no matter how hard I tried.

"That's a good girl, Rebecca... My Rebecca."

I flinch as he raises and hand and draws a finger down my cheek. His touch so cold and dry it leaves a trail of fire on my skin

"Pretty little Rebecca."

I should run, but I can't. My feet are rooted to the ground. He circles me as I shake, shivering from the presence of this being – he is not a man – I know this and it stabs through me like a blade. One and a half times around my frozen form and then he stops behind me, wrapping his arms around my body and roughly grabbing my breasts through the top of my dress.

Squeezing them tightly he pulls me towards him and now I can move – just that one step backwards so that I'm pressed against him with no space for even the smallest speck of dust to pass between us

"My pretty little Rebecca" he hisses in my ear as he moves one hand to my stomach to pull me even closer to him. The sensation of the hand mauling my breast is overpowered by what I feel pressing against my rear. I know what that is and I want to throw up, bile rises in my throat but goes no farther.

"My pretty little Rebecca" he repeats in my other ear, the feel of his breath makes the flesh behind my ear crawl as if a thousand spiders were scurrying over it. And as his hand creeps even lower my world starts to spin. I can guess what's coming and I can't move a muscle to stop it. His hand cups me through my skirt, fondling me just as roughly as he is my breast.

"You are mine. This is mine"

The vomit stuck in my throat pushes past whatever was blocking it and I'm sick. Over and over. Bent at the waist with only his endlessly probing hands holding me up, I throw up until I black out.

When I come to again I can't recognize my surroundings – a clearing in the trees with boulders scattered about. I can't recognize it but a strange feeling of familiarity comes over me as I scan the area. I'm sitting propped against a tree; the man/beast is gone save for tender breasts and a feeling of being watched by someone or something. I know it's him, but as hard as I try I can't see him.

My only warning of his approach is a rustle of leaves which I'm sure was intentional. Then, out of the darkness he appears in front of me, I know he's staring right at me even though I can't see his features.

"Awake, are we?"

I wish I wasn't. I wish I was asleep in my bed. I wish I had never come out tonight... I wish I knew where I was. I wish I could run. I wish wishing weren't so futile. I wish I had faith enough to pray.

He's coming closer and I can't run, I can't even stand until he grips me under my arms and pulls me unceremoniously to my feet and leads me further into the clearing. I can't resist, my mind screams to but my body doesn't respond. This being has a strange hold over me and I fear that perhaps he doesn't lie. Perhaps, somehow, I am his. I try to throw up again but my stomach is empty, the dry heave doesn't clear my system of anything, especially not my fear and revulsion.

With a sinister laugh he pushes me forward and I stumble, catching myself on the rough surface of a boulder only moments before my face would have hit it. Tears roll hot and wet down my cheeks as his hands roam over my stomach and up to my breasts. All the while he presses the bulge between his legs hard to my behind.

A hand claws at my cross and jerks it down – the string snapping. I stare at it for a moment while it dangles in my view before he drops it, allowing it to fall to the stone in front of me

"You won't be needing that tonight, Rebecca" he whispers in my ear again, sounding amused. As fingertips brush my throat he undoes the buttons of my top and runs his tongue along my ear. The icy fire of his touch is overwhelmed by the roughness of his tongue and how slimy the trail it leaves behind is.

The tears don't stop and neither do his hands, carefully undoing each button as if he has all the time in the world. Still bent over the rock I find my arms mostly pinned to my sides as the monster behind me pulls the fabric of my top down past my shoulders.

"Stop crying, Rebecca" he whispers, and I do. Tears stop instantly. I know I won't cry again tonight, I just don't know why. Every nerve in my body, every ounce of my being recoils in intense disgust as he slides a hand in under my bra and squeezes my breast even more roughly than before.

"My sweet little Rebecca"

Instead of a whisper, it's a rapturous moan, his fingers pinching my sensitive nipple while I cringe.

"So perfect, so pure."

Harder and harder he pinches and then, nothing. I can still feel his fingers there even though he's moved to the other breast. His fingers pinch and twist the nipple until I whimper for mercy. His cat's tongue slides up my neck leaving its sickening wake of slime behind it.

"It's time, my dear" and I don't doubt it. He sounds breathless and the pressure behind me is growing – harder, bigger. Still, I can't run and now I can't cry. I know it's not fear keeping me here between the rock and the beast. It's him, because he wills it; I am here. He works my heavy skirts up until they're bunched around my waist, the night air seeping through the fabric of my stocking and underpants. I've never felt so exposed before and then, I know exposure. My stockings and underwear are down at my knees and my most private areas are exposed to a being whose face I don't know.

His hands slither over the back of my thighs. If a snake had hands they'd feel like this: smooth, cold, dry. But the deadliest of snakes could never inspire such terror in me. Nails scratch over my bottom and then his touch is gone and I can breathe again – if nothing else. I'm still bent over, staring at the rough surface of the rock and trying to make it my world. I'm trying desperately to block out his movements behind me. I don't know what he's doing and I don't want to, though I know I'll find out.

Now I know. He's pressed against me, his bare skin against my own and now I can't pretend anymore that everything will be ok. He pushes my legs open and I can feel something probing a place only a washcloth has ever touched. The rock spins before me – my worlds, fake and real, have crumbled and my reality is a nightmare.

"My pretty little Rebecca."

I cringe

"This won't hurt much."

He lied. And the scream that rips through my throat awakens the forest. Everything flees but me and the being buried unnaturally deep inside of me.

"See?"

For a moment my heart soars as he pulls away, perhaps that was it? No, not nearly. He rams back inside of me after pulling nearly all the way out. Over and over he repeats this but I no longer scream. My broken fingertips leave blood over the rock as I dig them into it. My rock, my stability, my cross. In time he's moving more easily, slipping in and out of my inexplicably wet self. I no longer feel pain – both tingly and numb at the same time, but no pain – and I thank God for that. He does love me.

I lose myself in the feeling, letting it take over my body and mind. A wonderful numb that lets me forget what it is pushing me rhythmically into the surface beneath me. It's just me, the stone and a wonderful feeling emanating from where I now know my soul to be, taking over and enveloping me in His love.

It seems to go on for hours – each hateful thrust from behind me prompting more light to spill into me. So much now that I'm shaking, clinging to the stone and gazing blurrily at my cross. I am loved. I know this more than anything. I'm gasping – amazed by the stars in my sight.

Behind me he's frantic and I'm calm, basking in the Lord's mercy and tears of joy flow over my cheeks. "Thank you" I mouth, too shaken to speak. A hand tangles in my hair to wrench my head to the side and his gruesome tongue licks my salty tear. I don't care – he's no one and I am flying.

"You're welcome" he says and I can here the smirk as he slams into me, feeling thicker, and I cry out and convulsing, hold onto the rock as I explode around him. Wetness slides down my legs and he's still pounding into me. My tears are bitter now, though, because I know it's him, not God. It's not Love it's lust and I can't stop the incredible feelings pulsing through me – over and over. And when he cries out like the demon he is, holding his hips tightly to mine, I do the same. I scream to the sky and then it's black.

We're back on the path, but I'm still shaking.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

And in that moment I'm granted clarity. I know he will and know that he's seen me every night for months. And I know what's been happening. I throw up and when I turn around it's just me and the forest.

I yawn and wonder how long I've been out here. At least my walk tired me out, I muse, and touching my fingers to the cross around my neck I turn and walk back to my town and house, humming a hymn until I fall into bed.

***

It's the middle of the night and all I need is someone to tell me what I'm doing outside. But there's no one here. No one in this tiny little town shares my insomnia. Not tonight, not last night or the night before. Every night of this summer I've been for a walk – unable to sleep in the lonely humidity of my room. Every night of this summer I've wandered the streets of my village like a lost woman, exploring the shadows in search of my inability to rest.

Another night that's nearly as hot as the day it's proceeding; the forest is cooler, shadows providing some escape from the heat. A rustle in the bushes brings my fingers to the small wooden cross around my throat. I laugh at myself, remind myself that the Lord is watching over me and drop my hand back to my side – shaking my head at my own ridiculousness.

On I walk, cooler in the trees and enjoying my midnight foray into the woods. I remind myself again that He is looking over me – over and over, still spooked by the nighttime noises even after 18 years of wandering these paths in day and night. He is watching over me.

"You wear that like it will protect you"

I jump at the sneering voice, turning to gaze fearfully at the silhouette of the man behind me, the rough edges of the cross now digging into my palm. I can't even move when he starts to glide towards me. A three dimensional shadow without features who walks like a ghost.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't know your name. I know your name."

A pause in the air, it's heavy and everything's silent, the forest holding his breath and waiting for him to reveal his knowledge.

"You are Rebecca, and you are mine."

His hand presses to my stomach

"And this is mine"

I remember it all now, and with tears in my eyes I turn to say goodbye to the home I'll never return to. He tears the cross from my neck and I watch as he drops my faith to the dusty path. Wiping my face I look up at him and into his eerily glowing eyes:

I am His.