Something makes me open my eyes. I can see my alarm clock clearly from across the room. 2:43 AM. Dammit. I close my eyes again, but something still isn't right. I don't have to piss. Maybe if I turn over. Then I feel it.
Someone is holding my hand.
I sleep on my stomach, with my arm hanging off the side of the bed. Now I'm awake, wide awake, and someone is holding my left hand.
The hand is cold, far too cold for a night in August. It holds my hand lightly, but with force. My fingertips are pressed against thin, clammy skin, like frozen poultry. Though I can't see them, it seems like the fingers are longer than they should be, wrapping much farther around my hand than should be possible. I feel ragged fingernails touching my palm. How many? Six? Seven?
I should yell in surprise, but I don't move. Somehow the room is darker than it was before. I am completely still. I hear the faint buzz of my alarm clock, but I can't make out the numbers any more.
The hand moves. It grips me tighter.
I black out.
I awaken at my usual time, piss, and shower as always. But after my shower, I just cannot seem to get my left hand dry.