I clutch at my bedsheets, knowing that they won't do anything but unable to think of anything else. Outside my window, the last rays of sunlight are fading from the horizon, meaning that "he" will show up soon. Already, tears are welling in my eyes from the idea of another whole night spent without sleep.

My parents and teachers are starting to get concerned, but there's no way I could possibly explain to them why I can't seem to keep my eyes open anymore. Not only is it embarrassing beyond belief, there is no one who would believe "his" actions.

The moment the last light of day disappears, my arms and legs tingle, and I can do nothing but lay limply on the bed, my makeshift shield of covers falling from dead fingers. This paralysis means that "he" is finally here, and my mind is torn between fear at "his" presence and desire for "him" to hurry up. In a surprising twist, though no one would ever understand how I could say this, being raped by a ghost feels really good.

Soon, a vague shadow appears next to my bed, something only barely recognizable as human. It looks bigger than my dad, but the truth is I don't know what it is, I only call it "him" because of what happens later. For now, just like always, some unseen force slowly unbuttons my pajamas, revealing my nearly flat chest. The shadowy hands of "him" begin to grope my tiny breasts, rubbing them or even pinching them, and though I try to keep quiet, I still can't help but let out a lewd little moan at this familar sensation. The fact I can only move my lips while "he" controls the rest of my body seems to heighten the pleasure of "his" actions.