My restless slumber was interrupted. I’d been having an incredibly wet dream, so much so that I could feel the juicy arousal between my legs, goosebumps rippling across my body, tank-top clinging to my damp torso as the sweat made my skin shimmer in the scarce light of night, and was filled with desperate need. Clumsy fingers fumbled with my phone, _3:02 a.m._ I chuckled to myself. While I knew the 3 a.m. hour was considered the “witching hour,” I’d never considered myself superstitious enough to believe ghosts, demons, or witches were actually going around in the dead of night.
A shiver trembled down my spine, regardless. It was the middle of June, and the window air-conditioner struggled to keep my small room cool. So, why was it so _damn_ cold in here? I pull the blanket tighter around me, but the chill remained. _Perhaps it’s so cold because I woke up as a hot mess?_ The thought occurs that I just need to get myself off and get back to sleep, but I couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. I certainly didn’t feel alone in my darkened dwelling, but told myself I was just being silly.