Do you like this writing?

This is just an excerpt from about thirteen pages into my writing. I was wondering if it was interesting, or if you would read a book written this way? Before you read, know that the narrator just woke up screaming from a horrible nightmare.

Footsteps pound down the hall, and a fist bangs on my door. “Payton! What the hell are you doing in there?!?”

I flinch, then curse under my breath before swinging my legs to the floor. When I open the door, Mom is raising her hand to knock again. She stares down at me with sleepy-pissed blue eyes that are identical to my own. They’re framed by a strong, angular face that is also identical to mine. We could be twins if I hadn’t inherited my father’s straight hair and funny, sticking-out ears.

“What was that all about?”

“Sorry,” I mutter, avoiding eye contact so she can’t see the panic in my gaze. I run a hand through my hair and lean against the door frame. I’m still shaky, still sweating, but not from the nightmare anymore. I feel feverish. “Bad dream. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She stares at me with hard eyes for a few seconds before relaxing. Her hand presses against my forehead, and I lean into it, relishing the coolness, the comfort. She may work too much, and she may have a quick temper, but she’s my mom and I can’t help but want her around at a time like this.

“You’re burning up,” she murmurs. “Go back to bed, and I’ll bring you an ice pack.”

I say something that could be loosely translated as “Okay,” and shuffle back to bed. Just as I’m about to flop down, I stop. The sheets are soaked with sweat, and I stare at them. The Thing was just there, lying with me, ready to consume me as I slept. Its presence seems to still hang over the mattress, and I can’t bring myself to lay down. I feel like it will come right back if I do.

Great. I’m scared of my own freaking bed.

I'm fifteen and an aspiring author, so I would appreciate any criticism and/or advice. Thank you!