The Visitor

It was time for bed. There were no arguments. There were no time extensions. No excuses. That's just the way things were in my house. My dad ruled the roost and when he said it was time for bed I closed my school books, finished or not, and headed towards my bedroom. I shared my room with my younger brother, Peter. In our bedroom were two single beds. My bed lay just under the two windows on the southern exterior wall. Peter's bed lay against the north interior wall and a narrow walk-space separated us. The only other furniture in the room were two small dressers and a bare wooden chair at the foot of my bed. It was placed in the SE corner of the room. The room was a little colder than usual that night. I closed the door while Peter got into bed. Then, I got into bed and we both fell asleep.

I awoke a short time later because I felt a presence in the room but I didn't know what it was. I wasn't scared because there was nothing to be scared about so I lay quietly in my bed watching the silhouettes of tree branches on the wall swaying gently in the breeze outside. It was a full moon so the room was not too dark. The moonlight caused other odd shadows to appear here and there which was quite natural but something still didn't feel just right. Then, a feeling of evil came over me. My body began to feel cold and I stiffened like a corpse. I had never felt this way before. I began to feel scared. I could hear my father extinguishing the coal-fire downstairs in the parlour. I could hear my mother and father talking while getting ready for bed. It couldn't be that late. Surely, everything's got to be OK so I convinced myself to go back to sleep.

I lay still. I was cold. I could smell the stench of death and no matter how hard I tried not to - I began to get really scared this time. I pulled the blanket right up to my neck but I couldn't get warm. The room got colder. I looked around the room and when I finally saw it – I froze solid. I couldn't move. Sitting in the chair at the foot of my bed was a figure dressed in a black robe tied with a white rope around his waist and a black hood pulled over his head. The figure was holding a wooden staff in his right hand. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell that he was tall, angular and bony. I closed my eyes hoping that when I reopened them, he would be gone. I was wrong. He was still there in exactly the same position as before. I tried to call downstairs for my Dad, but not a sound came out of my mouth. I looked over to see whether or not Peter was awake but he was fast asleep. A million goosebumps sprung to rigid attention all over my body from the top of head to the tip of my toes. I even felt my hair stand up straight. I didn't know what to do.

I thought that this kind of thing never happens in real life; just in the movies, or in storybooks, so I decided to turn my head away and close my eyes. Then, I opened just one eye without moving the rest of my body to see if the figure was still there. He was. He began to get up out of the chair and walk towards me. When he was standing right beside me, I saw a face with large holes where eyes should have been. He raised his hand and poked me hard with his long bony index-finger right between my shoulder blades.

Faster than the speed of light; faster than a speeding bullet; in a super-human burst of fright and flight I flew through the air towards the bedroom door; down thirteen steps in just two giant leaps and into the living room. I grabbed my father by the neck of his pyjama-top and dragged him back upstairs screaming ..."Dad! Dad! ...there's a ghost in my room.!...There really is! ….Get rid of him! ...Get him out of there!"

Upon re-entering my bedroom I turned on the light and no-one was there. Peter was awake now wanting to know what all the fuss was about. My mother came too. The figure had disappeared. Peter was angry for being rudely awakened. My dad was angry too and he chastised me for “imagining things” probably as a result of eating too much supper. But, ...my mother, who normally stayed quiet, surprised me by looking my dad straight in the eye and saying, emphatically, and in no uncertain terms, ...“If John said something was in this room – something was definitely in this room!”

The next morning I was informed that one of my favourite uncles had died suddenly during the night.