Evelyn's room sat wrapped in darkness, moonlight cutting long shadows across the walls. Sleep usually offered her a break from the world, but tonight it refused to settle. The air carried a heaviness that had nothing to do with the temperature, a cold that pressed against her skin even under the blanket.
In the dream the window beside her bed stood open. A thin wind moved through the room, carrying a low sound that might have been wind or might have been something else. The space that usually felt safe now pressed in from every side, dense and wrong.
She sensed the presence before she saw anything. It stood right beside the bed, watching. Her body locked up, heavy and unresponsive, the way it sometimes did in nightmares. Panic rose in her chest but her limbs refused to answer. She couldn't even turn her head.
The mattress dipped. A weight settled near her hip, the distinct press of a knee. Her pulse jumped hard. She wanted to scream, to shove whatever it was away, but her throat stayed closed and her arms lay useless at her sides.
Fingers found the hem of her nightshirt and tugged, slow and patient, pulling the fabric up inch by inch. The blisters on her skin burned hotter where the air touched them. She felt exposed in a way that went beyond nakedness, raw and cornered.
A hand, cold as winter metal, brushed one of the blisters along her forearm. The contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with violation. She tried to pull away. Her body barely twitched.
The presence leaned closer. Fingers traced up from her ankle, moving over her calf, then higher. Each touch left a trail of gooseflesh and dread. She managed the smallest shift of her leg, an attempt to close her thighs, but the weight on the mattress held her in place. The hand kept going, patient and unrelenting, sliding along the inside of her thigh until it reached another blister. The sting flared sharp.
She hated how her body reacted, part fear, part something sickeningly close to awareness. The figure loomed above her, a dark shape without clear features, feeding on the way she trembled. Its knee pressed heavier against her leg, crowding her, making the small bed feel even smaller.
Evelyn's mind screamed at her limbs to move. Just one arm. Just enough to push it off. Nothing answered. Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye and ran into her hair. She begged silently, over and over, for it to stop. Low whimpers escaped her mouth as she tried to cry out.
The hand moved again, higher, pressing against the blister on her inner thigh. Pain and pressure mixed until she thought she might shatter from the inside. Her breath came in shallow bursts through her nose, the only part of her she still seemed to control.
Then, with a violence that felt like breaking through ice, she wrenched herself upright.
"Gah—!"
She gasped, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat that felt freezing against the night air. The window was closed. Her nightclothes clung to her, twisted and damp. The blisters across her arms and thighs burned like someone had held a match to them. She clutched the blanket to her chest with both hands, trying to steady her breathing.
The room looked exactly as she had left it. No open window, no dark shape. Only the ordinary shadows and the faint glow of moonlight on the floor.
"What the hell was that?" she whispered into the quiet.
No answer came. The silence felt heavier than before.
She stayed on the edge of the bed for the rest of the night, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her shins. Every small sound, the creak of the house settling, the distant hum of a car passing, made her flinch. Her hair stuck to her face with the sweat on her cheek. She rocked slightly, trying to shake off the crawling feeling that still clung to her skin. Sleep never returned. She simply sat there, eyes open, watching the window as if it might open again on its own.
When the first gray light of dawn finally crept into the room, it found her pale and exhausted, shadows under her eyes deep enough to look bruised. She pushed a strand of damp hair off her face with trembling fingers and forced herself to stand.
Her legs felt unsteady as she walked to the bathroom. The blisters still stung, but the nightmare had pushed the physical discomfort into the background. All she could think about was the weight on the mattress, the cold hand, the way her body had refused to protect her. The memory sat in her stomach like something spoiled.
She turned on the light and stared at her reflection. Her face looked washed out, eyes too wide. She pulled up the hem of her shirt and examined the red lines along her forearms and the fresh blister on her inner thigh. They looked worse than they had last night.
Evelyn ran the tap and splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of being watched. It didn't help much. The feeling stuck to her like a second skin.
She told herself it had only been a nightmare, the kind that sometimes crawled up after a stressful day. The forest. The strange dog with blue eyes. The allergic reaction at the bar. Her mind had simply mixed everything together into something ugly.
But even as she thought it, she glanced toward the bedroom window again. The glass showed only the quiet backyard and the pale morning sky. No movement.