They're Friendly

Before I relate my story, I would just like to say for the record how irritating it is to see so many infantile time wasters submitting stories that are clearly works of poorly written fiction.

But here's my story. I can't say exactly when it happened, but it was in the neighbourhood of ten years ago. My wife and I were living in our apartment in Toronto, and I was having my third and I hope last of my sleep paralysis experiences. The previous two were quite close together and uneventful, maybe two months prior to the one I'm about to describe.

I found myself awake in the middle of the night, unable to move anything but my eyes. A typical sleep paralysis experience for me and from what I've read. But this time there were two figures in the room, partially illuminated by the lights in the parking lot outside. Dark foggy shapes, indistinct on the one hand and on the other they appeared to be of average human size and anatomical proportions. I felt that they were male. One was over to my right, looking out the window to the parking lot below. The other one was to my left. I was on the left side of the bed, and he was quite close to me, close enough to touch, looking down at a book that I'd been reading on my drop-leaf bedside table. It was a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. I looked over as best I could, to my still sleeping wife, and said to her in my head "They're friendly". I have no idea how I would know that with such profound authority, but that's what I felt. And I didn't feel at all threatened by this otherwise alarming event unfolding in our bedroom.

That's all I remember. I was apparently asleep immediately following my announcement to my wife, something that seems to be a common thread in sleep paralysis experiences. That part interests me a lot. I think it's unnatural to fall asleep directly after waking up in the middle of the night. Doesn't everybody toss and turn for a bit before falling asleep again?

We no longer occupy the apartment in Toronto, but I periodically replay the experience in my mind, particularly when I pass by the drop-leaf table or pick up the copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover.