Beeping.
An alarm.
Drowsy, unhappy, I popped my eye open and the first thing I saw was a hand.
Outstretched, in front of my face.
Jerking backwards a bit, I stared up at the girl, noting that it was still dimly lit outside, the alarm on my phone still screaming at me as I stared up at her, dreading her next move. My heart rate was already fast, pumping angrily in my ears and, groggy as I’d been, I was wide awake now.
Glancing down at her hand, I noticed how her nails were kind of long and her fingers looked . . . almost black. Like dirt. Or maybe she was . . . rotting. Can a spirit . . . rot?
The jerk of her hand made me flinch.
A wiggle of her fingers—a motion for me to take it.
“No thank you,” I mumbled, pursing my lips.
Her fingers kept
