Before she died, your grandmother used to tongue her yellowed teeth and tell you the story of an old, faceless woman who would wake misbehaving boys in the middle of the night, place a spell on them so they couldn't move, then sit on their chest and lean in close, no nose, no eye, no mouth to sigh.
You experienced it then, that night of her funeral: the sleep paralysis, the figure shifting from the shadows in your room, only it wasn't faceless, no, it had big eyes, bigger than you'd ever seen, nostrils flaring as it climbed onto your chest, and when it leaned in close, you could almost smell the yellow on her teeth.