Fingertips

I hate storms. I’ve never liked them. And it was just my luck for one to come on the night before my exam, typical. The rain was throwing itself against the window and I was surprised the window hadn’t shattered under the force.
                Sitting on the floor reading a horror book wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, but I needed something to take my mind off the thunder outside.
              A flicker of the light bulb above me, then nothing. I fumbled around in the darkness towards my bed, stumbling over discarded clothes. When I reached my bed I was sobbing, and just needed a peaceful sleep, clambering around until I was comfortable, I finally fell into a dreamless sleep, what felt like hours later.
          I awoke in darkness to hear a consistent drumming on my window. At first I thought it was the rain, but soon noticed chalky white fingers, on the glass. My heart thumped so hard in my chest, I was sure it was going to break bones.
            Standing up, I backpedalled in the direction of the door, keeping a close eye on the never faltering fingertips, only to be blinded by a white light. Blinking repeatedly, I adjusted my eyes back to the darkness. The drumming had stopped. A silhouetted figure stood merely less than a meter in front of me, as blood pounding in my ears; I slammed myself into my wall, behind me, to see the figure moving closer.
        Squeezing my eyes shut, pulse racing, heart pumping, I just wanted the thing in my room to leave. Opening my eyes, the anger in me building up, I was ready to fight. But found myself lying on my bed, staring at my clock which read: 07:14. I have got to stop reading horror books.