So how is it that I’m laying here in my bed in the wee hours of the morning, literally too scared to move a finger? Terrified by every sound, every flutter of the curtain, every shadow on the wall. Shivering under a comforter that I shouldn’t even need on such a warm night. Unable to open my eyes and look at the slightly ajar door, scared it will fully open and whatever is outside will come in. Or perhaps I am afraid that whoever is outside might not come in.

I have convinced myself that I do indeed know how the door came to be ajar, and I am terrified by my own explanation. I know that three hours ago when I first got into bed, the door was closed completely, the lock locked, the deadbolt deadbolted. And now, by the hand of some unseen entity that lurks outside, the door is ajar, the crack looming large as a vertical Grand Canyon, and I can feel something, someone, her, standing just outside, waiting for who knows what, an invitation maybe, to come into the bedroom.

I want to scream, but my mouth is too dry to make a sound. I want to leap out of bed, race across the room and tear open the door, but my legs refuse to move. I can do nothing at all, nothing except lie here in the darkness, seeing each vague shape in the room, wishing I could shake off this feeling of dread, and knowing there is nothing I can do to stop whatever is preparing to enter the room.

My God, I think, how can this be happening to me?

Somewhere, just below the audible range of my hearing, I hear a voice softly calling my name; just outside my peripheral vision, I see a face; her face, her smile, her eyes.

With a gut wrenching effort I slowly pry open one eye the tiniest slit and cast about the darkened room, searching for any sign of another living person, and all I can see is a much larger crack in the door, as it swings farther inward. I smell perfume, the barest hint of a rose fragrance that drifts across the room, touching each surface, stirred by the slow moving ceiling fan that leaves tendrils lingering in my nostrils and swirling through my senses. It fills me with revulsion while at the same time it caresses my body with tiny sensual breezes of desire. Across the room, pale fingers now grasp the edge of the door, gently pushing it open.

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