Angela's gaze lingered on her plain pink ceiling. Her heart thumped wildly as she waited for her eyes to shut, but they refused to close. Angela couldn't tell if her mind was conjuring the image or if a woman was genuinely hanging from her ceiling; either way, she started to feel it. The tightness around her chest, the shortness of breath, the fear creeping over her skin like a chill. All these sensations intensified as the woman began to lower herself. Angela couldn't make out her face; she was like a dark specter, her hair cascading down to obscure her features. Although the windows were closed, the woman's white, bloodied dress fluttered as if caught in an unseen breeze.
Angela whimpered when the woman's hair brushed against her face; she was that close.
"Hiding from your sleep, I see." The woman's hoarse voice pierced the silence, echoing in Angela's ears. She couldn't feel the woman's breath nor detect any odor from her ghostly mouth.
