I was deep in a dream, the kind where nothing matters, where everything is soft and far away. But then something yanked me out of it. Before I even opened my eyes, I felt them—two cold, bony hands. They weren’t like any hands I’d ever felt before. They were thin, pale, like they belonged to someone who hadn’t seen the light in ages. 

These hands weren’t gentle. They grabbed my head, twisting it sharply, forcing it against the pillow with a brutal thud. The shock hit me like ice water, and I snapped awake, heart pounding, breath stuck in my throat. I was too scared to move, too scared to breathe. What the hell just happened?

For days, I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just a nightmare, just my mind playing tricks. And then, a few days later, I saw them again. 

The door to my room was cracked open just enough for shadows to play tricks, but this was no trick. Those same hands—white, skeletal—slipped out from the darkness, creeping through the gap like they were searching for me, waiting to grab me again. As I blinked, they disappeared.