a girl is sleeping in a bunk bed.

In 1996, when I was 10 years old and my brother was 12, our family lived in a modest house on the outskirts of a small town. The house was simple but cozy, and we shared a room with bunk beds. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night with the sensation of someone gently caressing my head. Sleepy, I thought it was my brother, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. But the caressing continued, and when I opened my eyes, I realized my brother was in the top bunk, snoring peacefully. Fear started to creep over me. Who was touching me? Swallowing hard, I lay still, trying to make sense of what was happening. The caressing stopped for a moment, and I almost convinced myself it was just a strange dream. But then, to my horror, the caressing started again. This time, firmer, as if the hand touching me was determined to wake me up. With my heart racing, I slowly sat up, afraid of what I might find. When I looked around the room, there was no one there. Just me and my brother, sound asleep.