Through my tired and weary eyes, I can barely make out the blurry image of my alarm clock reading 12:04 in bright red blurry numbers. This is the very last thing I see before feeling the sharp and searing pain of long and crooked nails digging through my back. 
I feel as if someone is shoving long, sharpened shards of glass through my spine, like bullets!  My vision goes red as the fingertips pierce my sprinting heart.  I try to scream, but my vocal chords seem to have abandoned me at the worst possible moment. I cough out blood- dots and splats of crimson red masking my white pillow and bed sheets.  The pain radiates through my body until it has diffused everywhere from the tip of my tongue to the tender skin under my toenail beds.  It sends a tingling sensation down my arms and legs.  The nails dig deeper and deeper, sending electrical surges through my spine, until it protrudes through my midriff.  I want to scream, I want to call for help, but I can’t seem to move a single muscle!  All I can do is clench my teeth and fists in the dear and feeble hope of easing the pain.  I can feel the rough fingers slowly pulling away from my wounded insides, taking with it my soul.  My life slowly slips away, along with those long and crooked nails.  One by one, the fingers become visible again.  First the bitten and dirty thumb, blood dripping down the side like a bead of sweat on a murderer in question’s forehead.  The pinky finger follows, leaving a crater in my abdomen.  The ring finger is next.  Then the index finger.  I begin to accept that there is no escape.  There is nothing I can do.  I prepare myself for death, expecting to hold the Grim Reaper’s hand as he guides me to the underworld, rather than shunning him and following him through only the corner of my eye.  The middle finger is almost out of my chest, taking with it my last breath. I close my eyes gently and exhale. The finger is less than half an inch inside my back, stiffly bent to make the pain just that much more unbearable.  I begin to fade into nothingness,
I jolt up, sitting upright in the same bed which had been splattered in blood merely seconds ago.  Thank God… It was only a nightmare…  Exhaling relief, I lay back in bed and roll over, turning towards the same clock I had seen in that awful dream.  A surge of horror roars over my trembling limbs as I read the clock. The alarm reads, as follows, 12:03.
Slowly,
in the back of the room,
without glancing backwards,
I hear my closet door slowly creak open,