Date the man who reaches into your room when your back is to the door.
His hands reach around the edges of the door frame, the arms stretching longer and longer, fingers running down your spine to give you chills, caressing your hair to comfort you,
pulling lightly at your shoulder to make you turn. But you don’t turn. You never turn. The hands pull harder. You shift backwards. There is the sound of hundreds of joints cracking.
The hands snake around you. You shut your eyes. There’s breath on the back of your neck. You still do not turn. You are afraid.
You are afraid if you look, the spell will break, and he will leave you alone again.