I bolted upright in bed, fumbling for something that wasn’t there. Realization hit that something had awoken me. I tried to remember through the fog of sleep what it was that had disturbed my sleep, but the memory felt miles away. Could it have been the creaking of the wood or was it a loud bang? I looked around to see if anything was disturbed in my room but all I could see were dark shapes of my furniture and a chair in the corner that had a mountain of unfolded laundry.

I took another cautious glance around the room to make sure everything was okay and turned to my nightstand. My phone was there, as always, charging through the night, reducing my battery life.
“Might as well unplug it now that it’s fully charged,” I thought. I reached over to simultaneously unplug my phone and look at the time. Squinting, I prepared myself for the bright light that would burn my eyes to hell and back as I reached the charging port. To my surprise, the light never came. I fully opened my eyes and tried again but this time, I noticed a problem; my hand passed straight through my phone and nightstand. I gasped and tried again, and again, and again, and again. I didn’t stop, partly because I was hoping that I was dreaming and partly because I was thoroughly fascinated by this. When my arms got tired of the incessant grabbing, I pulled them close and really examined them.
With a shock, I realized that my hands were very white. They looked like heavy fog, and being the person that I am, I shook my arm really hard to see if my limb would dissipate. It did and I grinned ear to ear at this. But then it hit me. I was human and my hand should not be this color nor should it go through objects and it definitely should not disappear when I shook it. Panic rose in the back of my throat. A scream was building up as I realized that I could put my hands through things. I opened my mouth to let the scream come and let some of the panic come so that I would have room for logic. The scream never came. As hard as I tried, the scream never came.
Eventually, I closed my mouth and sat there. Staring at my arms in disbelief. Then I tried again. I tried to take my phone. No luck. Then I realized that maybe if my hands can go through a nightstand, maybe they can go through me! I gingerly brought my hands to my face and with a finger, tried to touch my cheek. I felt my cheek. So I could touch myself. I tried putting my hands on my pillows and they went through. Then, I tried putting my hands through my bed. They went through there as well. Being as childish as I was, I forgot about my panic and started testing my limits. I then rolled around on the bed shoving my hands through the bed, trying to see if I could touch the floor. As I got toward the foot of the bed, I felt an unusual warmth. As I got closer, I felt something. Was that… a person? It couldn’t be. A person would be able to feel my touch, but whatever or whoever this was, showed no sign of being touched at all. I felt around a little more and my fingers touched what felt like hair. I immediately recoiled my hands trying to imagine what that could possibly be. I paused to listen for a reaction, but I heard nothing. Reluctantly, I let my hand pass through my bed again and felt a face. It was a girl. She was breathing hard, her face sweaty. I took my hand out again and shifted to get off the bed. While I did that, I prayed that I wouldn’t fall through the floor. I then bent down to see who was hiding under my bed and why.
Maya! It was Maya! My sister. Then I noticed something in her hand. Was that a knife? Why was it dripping? Was it dripping blood? Something clicked in my brain and I stood up. It was not a good idea. I got up to realize that I had been rolling around in a dead body that had been stabbed straight through the heart. There was so much blood! How did I not feel that? I wanted to throw up, but that again did not come. This was me. I was standing over my own dead body. I had been murdered by my sister. It was the murder that had awakened me.