I manage to force my eyes open just wide enough to make out the numbers on my phone.
Every time I close my eyes the tapping gets progressively louder, drawing me away from the sleep I most desperately need and towards the mirror at the side of my bed.
Focusing on my reflection I get to work picking the remaining clumps of mascara from my eyelashes, pulling a little to hard on a particular spot I wince back in pain, my eyes flood with tears.
That's when the tapping starts again, more urgent than before.
Blurry eyed its difficult to figure where the sound is actually coming from, my instincts tell me to stay where I am but I shuffle a little closer to the mirror, that's when I notice the hand prints scattered from side to side.
I try to wipe them away, it doesn't register in my sleepless brain when I brush my hand across skin instead of glass, the presence only becomes clear once the warm grip tightens around my wrist, pulling me towards the mirror.
There's not even time to scream before everything around me blackens and I fall to the ground, the hand still around me.
Keeping my eyes closed tight I feel the space around me, cold and perfectly smooth, the texture feels nice against the fear induced fever my body is running.
The voices I hear around me sound familiar but there has got to be at least 10 talking over each other, making it too hard to recognise just one between the shouts, when I finally gain the courage to open my eyes I'm taken back by the sight.
There's no one around, the voices are in me.