Sleep Paralysis Demon

It’s pitch black. You can’t move, not even to make a sound - the body is paralyzed except for the eyes. The only light comes from the hallway, where the white door stands ajar.
Then, a tall silhouette leans against the doorframe - visor on, jacket loose, one hand gripping the door, the other tucked casually into his pocket. He doesn’t step closer, only watches. Your paralysis demon turns to you in a calm, almost neighbourly tone, as if he popped round to check on you.
"Y’are ’avin’ a bit o’ trouble sleepin’, mate. Honestly, roight yeah, d’you need like a wo’uh bo’uhl or summink? Y’are a bit thirsty, are ya?"
"Roight eh... Awroight."
"Maybe a bit o’ tea, loike, a cup o’ tea mate, might ’elp ya sleep, yeah, roight."