I awoke in the night, drenched in sweat. An uneasy dream had given me sleep with no rest. Lost in my thoughts, a sound from within my own yanked me back to reality. If it hadn't been so quiet, I might not have heard it.
I slid out of bed and grabbed the bat I always kept at an arms reach of where I slept. One takes precautions in Weinland Park. My glasses were skewed across my eyes, but in the pitch black, it made no difference. The darkness also hid my pink pajamas. Grandmas can be unintentionally cruel at Christmas. I opened my bedroom door. Down the hall, the feint, blue glow of my computer monitor grabbed my attention. Someone was here. I called out. Silence.
As I crept down the hall, my floorboards announced my presence at every step. I reached the threshold. I called out again. A noise replied, but it was not from any one human. It was odd, but familiar. A faint whisper from the past, the collective sigh of every Buckeye fan who put too much stock in the clothing choice of 17 year old boys, although I did not identify it immediately.
I edged around the corner, and peered at my screen. Had the neighbors not heard me scream, I might not have made it through the night.
In the days that followed, the paramedics, police, and my neighbors all inquired as to what I saw. I told them I didn't remember, but I do. My dreams are haunted, but why should my day be as well? Most days, I forget, but every time I drift if to sleep, I see
this...
