intrusions

Something.

A feeling woke her up.

Standing there was an intense darkness in the shape of a human without third dimensional delineations. Just a black form. Right at her bedside like black tar. No hat shape on its head, like some she'd read about on the internet, but definitely shaped with a human head, standing at about 6 feet in height.

She awoke at the threshold of sleep and wakefulness which is what enabled her to perceive the realness of the thing for its other dimensional state.

“I see you, shadow man, you’re just a demon, not foolin’ me into thinkin’ you’ll deceive me into thinking you’ll befriend me.”

The dark form just stood there. In the domain of her bedroom. Though the room was dimly lit by her open window's faint starlight, its presence was intense due to its blackness.

She thought in an instant's time. She was strangely unafraid, although she felt a pang of eerieness as her flesh goosepimpled. It twinged with a cold streak that coursed from its inward source to outside.

"Its so black, so dense. It has no facial features. It's pitch, like tar and flat. It's sentient. It has intelligence. And it's evil. Its blackness makes it unable to absorb even one photon of light."

“Just go in the name of Jesus!”

Instantly it vanished. This was the form or shadow type that frequently sped across the edge of her peripheral vision whether day or night. Sometimes the form was like that of a small four legged animal, like a cat, always moving swiftly as if to hide behind a corner or object.

"How can anything be so black? She thought. Probably because it has no love at all. Just cold hate for anything good. No wonder they wander over dry places, like deserts looking for a host, a warm body. They’re so desparate they even begged Jesus to let them enter into a herd of pigs."

"Funny," she thought, "how people will talk to these things, but not to God or his son, Jesus Christ. Funny how they think these things are benevolent, like a friend, like a familiar spirit that God warns us not to communicate with. No such thing as a friendly ghost, Casper or otherwise.

“Funny," she rambled on with her mental diatribe, "funny how my friend even talks to them, thinking it’s cool, and even gettin’ it on with it. If she saw it for what it really is, what it looks like, she'd be repulsed beyond belief. It’ll turn on her.”

"Oh well, they better keep hiding from me, ’cause I sure won’t let them get a foothold into my own conscience. It’s safe talking with you, Lord.

"If anyone opens the door to your knock, you’ll enter in and eat dinner with them, that’s what you promise in your word."

"So, come on in, Jesus, let’s talk.”