“Let Me In!” he roared. I shot up in bed, covers strangling my skin, pillows stealing my breath. A cool breeze trickled through my window like water, racing along the walls and covering my body, until I gasped for air. He was back again. I gripped the murderous sheets, fear crawling up my spin like the legs of a spider, desire never far behind it. He was back for me. I looked slowly towards the window at the moon, whose innocent bright eyes gazed back at me facetiously. “Let me in…” he begged, voice like crashing waves against soft sand. “Please…let me in,” he asked again, and I could imagine his eyes—that winter grey flickering silver—laughing at me. “Open the door…” he lulled, seducing my mind, controlling my thoughts. I could feel translucent fingers pirouetting against my sweat covered flesh, twirling past my neck, tickling my rose colored cheeks. I pulled the covers tighter. “You know you want to….” He continued voice underlined with false patients. My fingers—against my will—let go of the dusted white sheets. My …