I swat at my ear, batting the mosquito away. The little bug has been at me all night, in and out, tickling me. I sigh and turn, pulling a pillow over my head, but somehow it creeps deep in there, too, and continues buzzing. The trees sway in the wind outside, sounding like a thousand whispers. A dark sky promises rain for tomorrow. Beneath the stars, in the tent on the campground, I’m reminded why I rarely leave home. There’s no mosquitos in my apartment.

The bug feels like it’s deep in my ear now, tunneling into many brain, tickling all sides of my ear. Throwing the pillow off, I swat again, but this time my hand touches something. My body goes cold, numb with fear. What I touched felt not like a bug, but a _finger_.

I hear a sharp, muffled laugh. I’m not alone in my tent.