Paralysis- A Horror Short Story

“Go ahead inside, Dr. Winslow will be with you shortly”, the receptionist said. It was a baby-faced yet well-built young man who greeted him. He had a smug, entitled grin that accompanied his welcoming line. Jack guessed it was Winslow’s’ son, judging by the photo on the business card.
“Thank you”. Jack passed the waiting room chairs and pulled the golden handle of a mahogany door which stood at the opposite end of the room. Winslow and Sons Ltd. was bolted in bold, royal letters against the wood. 
The room was humid, the last of the September heat pooling through the half-drawn blinds, casting a homely yellow-bronze glow. Jack shut the door and stood, hands in his trench coat pockets, observing the therapists’ reclined client chair. He could not believe it had come to this. He swore to himself, if this £500 consultation did not amount to any conclusions, he would admit it was simply sleep paralysis. He knew he wasn’t crazy.
Dr Winslow, a sturdy yet weathered man of 62, entered into the reception. His grey hair was slicked behind his ears. He had an unusually tanned complexion for the area in which he lived.
“Dad, I just sent Mr...”
Winslow paced cross the reception, his scarf trailing behind him, and leaned over the desk towards his son.
“What the fuck did I tell you about sending clients into my room while I am gone?” He stared at him with bloodshot anger, and his son found gratitude in the fact that there were years between his current age and the age acceptable for a belting. His father was always an angry, rigid man. But he was smart. Smart enough to know his sons’ stature alone would put him at a glaring disadvantage if they ever came to blows.
“Sorry sir”.
Winslow burst into the room, startling Jack as he stood in wait.
“Hi, Mr Winslow. I’m Jack T...”
Winslow interrupted him. “Yes, yes. Please sit on the chair and lay back. I’ll get my papers and we will get this over with.”
Jack studied him as he threw his briefcase on the desk. Pencils fell and scattered along the floor. He  did not pick them up. He took off his scarf and coat, hung them over his desk chair and pulled it across the room towards the client recliner.
“Mr. Winslow, I must tell you something before we start,” Jack said in a matter-of -fact manner, obvious to Winslow that the following sentence was likely to have been rehearsed.
Jack continued. “I..”, he paused, and drew a deep breath. “I’m not a wealthy man, Mr. Winslow. This consultation is quite an expensive affair for me. I need you... You must listen to me. That is all I ask. Please listen until i am finished. This is my fourth trip to a therapist. I don’t know what answers I seek, perhaps only those which disprove my apparent insanity. I just need...” He looked up from the ground and cast his darting gaze straight into Winslow’s’ eyes. “I just need you to listen.” 
He could see that the frantic, rage fuelled pulse that had been pounding within Winslow had slowed to a steady, observant speed. “You have my word”.
Winslow sat with pen and paper at the ready, legs crossed and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Jack lay back on the chair, staring at the roof.
“It woke me. I was asleep on my back, a light sleep. I felt it. The smell of the human breath, the warmth, not necessarily foul, but definitely present. Right beside me, to my left. The breath eased against my face and neck. Again, not a foul breath, but an undeniable presence of life. I opened my eyes, but I was frozen. Sleep paralysis, I know what that is, I actually experienced it regularly in past years. Anyway, from the periphery of my vision, I could see something. The curtains to my right were open, and moonlight shone through, exposing the outline of a bald head to my left. Now, I couldn’t move my head, obviously. I could only look straight towards the roof. But I could see him, from the corner of my eye. Usually when I have this paralysis, I snap out of it relatively quickly, about 40 seconds. Well, this time was no different. My senses finally came to me. I began to rotate my head towards the bald man. But as I did, he got lower and lower. I turned my head slowly, and every degree i turned, the man got lower. Lower and lower until he was underneath my bed. So, there I sat, upright on my bed, staring at where the man sat. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight, so it was safe to say my anxiety levels were pretty high. I knew though, I thought, I knew it was just paralysis. Until i heard the breathing again. From under my bed, I heard it. Slow and steady. I am frozen on my bed. Frozen in fear. I grab my disposable camera which sat on my window sill and...”
Dr Winslow snapped his book shut, and capped his pen. 
“Jack, I am not a paranormal investigator, nor do I believe in such. Sleep paralysis is a very comm...”
Jack shot upright on the chair and slammed his hands down. 
“You gave me your word that you would listen!” He exclaimed. The commotion attracted the receptionist, Winslow’s’ son. He opened the door. 
“Is everything ok in here?”
“No, as a matter of fact, my client is showing aggression towards me and i would like him escorted out.”
Jack was furious. “You bastard.” He reached for Winslow, but his son grabbed Jacks’ neck with both hands and dragged him across the room, Jacks’ legs kicked in retaliation. Winslow watched as his son hauled the man out of the room, and heard him shouting down the hallway until he was dumped outside.
Winslow shook his head. “This job is a joke”, he spat. As he rose from his seat, he noticed something dropped on the floor by the door. He approached it and bent down to pick it up. A disposable photo. He turned it around in his hand, and his heart sank in his chest. “Dear God”.