The Midnight Weight

May 15, 2026

by Marianne

My grandmother often spoke of the midnight weight. She said it was a moment in the deepest dark when a heavy stillness presses down on your chest. You struggle for air, unable to call out, until the feeling slowly fades. In our home, we were taught never to sleep with your head toward the hallway. She said it invited the stillness and the bad dreams that follow.

Last Tuesday, I fell asleep in the armchair. I dreamed a great shadow was sitting on me, making it impossible to breathe. Across the room, I saw my sister walking down the hall, carrying a small lamp. I tried to shout her name, but my voice was gone. In my panic, I felt myself tumbling to the floor.

The jolt woke me. I was still in the chair, breathing normally. Everything was quiet. For a long time, I just sat there, watching the empty hallway, before I tried to sleep again.

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