It had been a bad month for Shelley. The break up had affected her badly, more so because she was still unsure why it had happened. She was hurt because, while she had thought things were going so well, they obviously were not and she had not known. It is difficult, when you believe that you can read someone like a book, to discover that their emotions are written in a language that you could never understand.
The cure was simple. Work, work and more work. Plenty of work for good nurses and Shelley was a good nurse. Shelley cared and if caring for others meant that she could care just a little less for herself, at this time, that suited her fine. When she hurt a bit less inside, she would take the time to work through those feelings.
The conference had been, however, a bad idea. Shelley had, in the past, attended many of these events. She had found them, usually, not only informative, but also very convivial and social. There would usually be a number of delegates staying at the same hotel and, very often, it would give her opportunities to make new friends or renew old acquaintances. This time it was different: the subject matter was orientated far more towards management and administration; the attendees were a different type of people to those which Shelley was familiar with and, through an unfortunate booking, her hotel was some distance away and she seemed the only person from the conference staying there.
So it was that Shelley arrived back early at the hotel and alone. Then she had a piece of luck. In the hotel lobby she met a man, older than her, much older and also checking into the hotel, alone on business. He was friendly, pleasant and charming with an old world courtesy – a gentleman. It seemed natural for them to share their evening meal together and, for the duration of that meal, Shelley was, for once, able to forget her troubles. The wine helped.
It was a pleasant evening with pleasant company. Her companion said goodbye to her most graciously at her door with a kiss on the back of her hand, which Shelley found quite enchanting. The thought of inviting him in and seeing how things might progress certainly occurred to her, but that seemed like pushing a relatively brief encounter just a little too far. She though he might also be shocked and she didn't want to spoil the impression she believed she had made with him.
Getting ready for bed, she began to regret being alone in her single room. Dressed only in a most revealing nightie, she had the sense of an opportunity lost. In the mirror, she knew she looked good and longed to be seen and to arouse a man in her room, in her bed, in her arms and, finally and most desirably, to feel him aroused and released deep inside her.
She sighed, settling down within her bed to sleep. When she had shut the door of the hotel room, there had been a comforting 'click' as the lock engaged but, ever conscious of being a woman alone, she had locked the door again from the inside. It was dark and quiet inside her room and she felt tired – the wine she had taken with the evening meal had relaxed her and, in nearly no time at all, she had fallen fast asleep.
* * * * *
Shelley awoke, sometime in the night. It was dark and difficult to tell what time it might be. Waking in a strange room she felt disorientated, the shadows unfamiliar to her. Slowly, as her sleepy mind began to make sense of the subtle differences in the dark shapes she could see, she became aware of one shape that was not right ... that should not be there.
Down at the foot of the bed there appeared to be the outline of a figure, dark and still in the night. Shelley held her breath, listening, but could only hear the sound of her own heart beating. She wished it would be quiet: she was not afraid, but she was very very unsure and did not wish to draw attention to herself by the slightest sound or movement.
The continued silence and stillness reassured her a little, but also seemed to cast a spell over the situation. Perhaps she was experiencing something personal and private and there was no one else in the room, just her and her imagination. She began to believe that her mind was just creating from it's own fears and uncertainties, an illusion from the shadows and this was just a trick of the poor, almost exhausted, light. She felt more confident, allowing herself to breath easier and her mind started turning again, exploring her feelings. Now she knew that it could not be a man, she began imagining to herself that it was. Who was he? What was he doing here? Did he know I was in here? The thought of a man, dark and unknown, in her bedroom, with her dressed only in the flimsiest of nighties and so defenceless beneath the sheets was exciting in a dangerous kind of way. Perhaps he wanted her?
And then the shadow moved and her heart missed a beat.
It moved not suddenly, not even very noticeably and not in any way that made it more human in appearance - no arms appeared in the shape, and the shape itself did not change. It just slowly began to sink, lowering quietly towards the foot of the bed. Like a man, kneeling.
Shelley's heart, which had calmed after it's initial shock, started beating faster again. No harm had yet befallen her and she had stayed quiet. Certainly there had been no sudden threatening movements - no sudden movements at all. Perhaps this man would come and go, believing her to be asleep, and in the morning, when she awoke, she would find something missing (to be sure, there was nothing of any great value here) and would report it to the Hotel as people did and they would be nice and apologetic and would give her a form to fill in and that would be that. All she had to do was stay asleep.
And then she felt the bedclothes at the foot of the bed lift.
