[a fair warning, creepypasta.]
It was a late night, I'd been up scrolling through reddit and well, wound up on that side once again. It was some silly post that I ignored shortly after. I usually take that as a sign that I should hit the hay, boot down my pc and just sleep. So, I scrolled through, loading blender up and setting it to render out a few things I know would take forever to render, possibly if I woke early I'd have time to catch it finishing.
I moved through to my room, going through the nightly routine of grabbing my sketchpad and a few pens, ditching them on my bedside, setting up my teas-made to wake me at 7ish the next morning with a piping hot cup of tea, and shutting my window for the night.
A few minutes later, I was tucked in bed, sound asleep. I dreamt, my mind forming a vision of myself, laying there in bed. I could remember this so clearly, so vividly, so sharply that it still haunts me to this day. Leering, leaning, leaching over my slumbering form was a gaunt figure. It was tall, skeletal and seeming without a scrap of clothing. Whatever it was, I still do not know, but I recall its face very clearly. Imagine a skull, wrapped tightly in skin with the sockets cut out. No mouth, no teeth, just two, empty hollow sockets where it eyes would be, a ridge of a nose, and a sharp, pointed chin. It face was stretched out, elongated, the skull of the thing protruding backwards as it raised its arms.
Rattling about my brain in something of a voice, but with the screeching gasp, reverberating around my own head I am hard pressed to call it anything like a voice. It spoke in sparse words, as if anything remotely human was alien to it.
"Wake. Draw Me."
I woke with a start, slamming my fist round to collide with its skull, hoping to bring an end to the daemon that perversely invaded my bedroom. Nothing. nothing save my sketchpad by my bedside and my trusty marker set. I tutted, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead and foolishly complied with its demands. I did indeed sketch this beast to the best of my abilities, giving it a head and body. My mind thought nothing of the dream at the time, granting the wings in my sketching of it. I lay back in bed shortly after, hearing in the other room the drone of my computer's fan as it trundled away, my mind thinking nothing of the nightmare I'd woken from.
I fell asleep, back into that same nightmarish realm. It was back, only now with the gaunt, leathery, draconian wings I had added to its body. It leered again, freezing me with fear as I looked up, petrified into its eyes amongst the gloom of the night, the faint moonlight from my window detailing every facet of that face. Ye gods that face. I find every second spent asleep a risk to seeing it again, only through the various medicines I use can I get a full nights sleep anymore. Ask me not to draw it again dear readers, you will soon know why.
It spoke once more, rattling whatever nerve I had left out of me with its horrific non-voice.
"Wake. Draw me. Fill book with me. keep wings."
I woke and this time managed to draw blood. It was my own, gashing my hand painfully across the corner of my bedside table. Of course, being the scout I am I quickly found the first aid kit and bandaged it up, proceeding to clean up the red marks on the wooden corner. The funny thing about me is I draw right handed, though my left hand is my stronger of the two, and the one I lead into a blow with naturally. Had this not been the case, I fear I would not be hear speaking to you. I of course complied with it, filling my sketchbook with it, going over every ghastly detail of its body again and again before a veritable horde of the things haunted my sketchbook. By this point it was 2am, and I was assured by the drag on my eyes, despite the nightmares, I should at least get the morning off to rest.
Dear readers, I slept soundly, dreaming of nothing, hearing and seeing of nothing till I finally woke with the dawning sun across my face, and a cool breeze.
I thought, realising something.
I sprung up, looking around as the gentle morning breeze blew through what once was my window, tatters of paper flitting about my room, stirred by that morning chill. To this day I have collected every scrap from that notebook, glued it all back together, accounted for every page.
Not a single sketch of that creature was in their. I am sorry. I gave them wings.