Wednesday morning I sat proofing the manuscript for my latest novel, Lucy. At precisely ten eighteen, movement behind me distracted me from my search for errant commas. Oh. Oh. Here comes that cat to get between me and the computer. The movement continued toward the front door. I glanced up over my right shoulder.
I very clearly saw a man-figure wearing a blue plaid shirt heading toward the front door. He had dark curly hair, not quite black, but dark. His general build was what I’d call athletic, well muscled and trim without being bulky. I looked through him to see the front door was closed. I’m dreaming. I thought. My eyes took in his form down to his knees where his legs ended a good thirty inches above the floor. I stared as he drifted through the front door.
Good Lord, I’m hallucinating. Somewhat panicked, I muttered, “Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be thy…” as I stood up and stumbled toward the the kitchen for water. I fell against the kitchen door jam and paused to rub my shoulder where I hit it. “…Kingdom and power. Forever. Amen.” Okay, what was that? A dream? An hallucination? My writer’s imagination? I turned on the tap and looked at the water coming out. Is there something wrong with our well water? Am I poisoned?
I got a glass and stood with my back to the sink and the window above it as I sipped my water, trying to calm myself. To tell the complete truth, I didn’t want to see if there was anything outside the house. I gripped the edge of the hard countertop behind me, liking the feel of the hard surface. “Okay ground myself.” I spoke the instruction out loud to force myself to gain control over my imagination. “I see the refrigerator, I see the toaster,” I scowled. “I see where someone splashed something dark, possibly wine, down the front of the cupboard.” I grabbed my spray bottle of bleach water and the dish rag from the sink, crossed the room and sprayed down the front of the cabinet, then wiped it clean with the rag, kneeling down to wipe up the few dribbles on the floor.
I stood up again and looked around. I took a deep breath and let it out. I must have half drifted off going over that manuscript for the hundredth time. It was just a dream. Maybe I need a nice cup of tea. I plugged in the electric kettle, and looked around the kitchen again. Still talking to myself, I said, “Okay girl, get your ass back to work. Discipline yourself. You don’t want to tell Suzanne you still aren’t ready for her to proof.”
I settled myself on the sofa, picked up my computer, and set to work. Delete that comma because that’s a phrase behind it.
I heard a bump, then the front door opened. I looked up and my eyes flew open wide. The ends of some very solid looking two by four lumber drifted forward on the blue clad shoulder. The man gave me a lopsided grin as he nodded. His skin was dark. His dark eyes were almost almond shaped above sharp cheek bones. His lower half had disappeared up to his hips. His torso drifted along with his head reaching almost six feet from the floor. His movement looked as if he was walking, but…no feet.
I sat frozen as he came toward me with the lumber on his shoulder.
The wood hit the window beside me with a loud crash and tinkle of breaking glass. I threw myself forward onto the floor and rolled. Looking up from the floor, I watched the man pass through the now-broken window. The lumber still on his shoulder.
Still on the floor, I pulled a sweater off of the chair beside me and covered my head. I curled into a ball and cried, grieving for my lost sanity. I lost all sense of time and place and have no memory of how the day passed.
The light had almost left the room when I heard the sliding glass door open. “I’m home. Honey, are you okay?” I heard something heavy hit the floor as my husband dropped his briefcase. I felt his hand on my shoulder, then the sweater lifted off of my face. “Can you hear me?”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. It could have been a hallucination-a serious one. Maybe I had a stroke.”
He looked over his shoulder toward the window. “How did the window get broken?”
I tried to pull myself into a sitting position with my hand on my husband’s nice solid shoulder. I glanced toward the window. “It’s broken.”
“Yes, it’s broken. I’m calling the paramedics for you.” He ran his hands over my head. “Do you hurt anywhere? Did someone hit you? Do you remember what happened?”
I glanced toward the broken window and shook my head. No way was I telling anybody that a transparent man with no lower half walked through my house.
In due course, the paramedics arrived, helped me from the floor to a chair and wrapped me in a blanket from the sofa. They strapped their monitors on me and talked to each other as they took measurements. “Oxygen ninety-eight percent. BP one twenty over eighty…” Then they began with the questions. “What is your name? Who is president.” I answered the questions correctly, then began with the neurological exam. The police arrived and examined the broken window. I passed the neurological exam. The lead paramedic stood while his partner packed up equipment. “I can’t find anything wrong. I think you were just startled by the window breaking. Could be something about the breaking glass disrupted your inner ear function. I don’t see any need to transport.
The local sheriff finally pulled up his belt and announced, “The window was broken from the inside. We can’t find any object that broke it. My guess is that it wasn’t installed correctly or the house has shifted creating pressure on the window until it blew out.” He knelt beside my chair. “I can understand why that would frighten you. It would scare the hell out of me too.”
“Thank you. The whole thing just happened out of nowhere. I’d dozed off while working. The break just kinda slid into my dream, and I was afraid I’d been hallucinating. It feels really good to have other people assure me the window is really broken and there is a rational, scientific reason for it to break.”
The officer patted my hand. “I understand. Are you going to be okay now?”
I nodded and forced a little laugh. “I feel much better knowing that it wasn’t my imagination. The dream seemed so real and mundane, just someone walking around with lumber over his shoulder, then the window kinda exploded.”
The officer patted my hand and stood.
My husband handed me some hot soup. “Eat this. Your blood sugar may be low. That’s probably why you thought you hallucinated.”
Saturday morning I sat in my favorite spot by the newly repaired window. I pulled my computer into my lap. My husband opened the front door and came inside. “Do you have any idea what happened to some of those two by fours for the new fence? I’ve counted them twice, and I’m missing six.”
I very clearly saw a man-figure wearing a blue plaid shirt heading toward the front door. He had dark curly hair, not quite black, but dark. His general build was what I’d call athletic, well muscled and trim without being bulky. I looked through him to see the front door was closed. I’m dreaming. I thought. My eyes took in his form down to his knees where his legs ended a good thirty inches above the floor. I stared as he drifted through the front door.
Good Lord, I’m hallucinating. Somewhat panicked, I muttered, “Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be thy…” as I stood up and stumbled toward the the kitchen for water. I fell against the kitchen door jam and paused to rub my shoulder where I hit it. “…Kingdom and power. Forever. Amen.” Okay, what was that? A dream? An hallucination? My writer’s imagination? I turned on the tap and looked at the water coming out. Is there something wrong with our well water? Am I poisoned?
I got a glass and stood with my back to the sink and the window above it as I sipped my water, trying to calm myself. To tell the complete truth, I didn’t want to see if there was anything outside the house. I gripped the edge of the hard countertop behind me, liking the feel of the hard surface. “Okay ground myself.” I spoke the instruction out loud to force myself to gain control over my imagination. “I see the refrigerator, I see the toaster,” I scowled. “I see where someone splashed something dark, possibly wine, down the front of the cupboard.” I grabbed my spray bottle of bleach water and the dish rag from the sink, crossed the room and sprayed down the front of the cabinet, then wiped it clean with the rag, kneeling down to wipe up the few dribbles on the floor.
I stood up again and looked around. I took a deep breath and let it out. I must have half drifted off going over that manuscript for the hundredth time. It was just a dream. Maybe I need a nice cup of tea. I plugged in the electric kettle, and looked around the kitchen again. Still talking to myself, I said, “Okay girl, get your ass back to work. Discipline yourself. You don’t want to tell Suzanne you still aren’t ready for her to proof.”
I settled myself on the sofa, picked up my computer, and set to work. Delete that comma because that’s a phrase behind it.
I heard a bump, then the front door opened. I looked up and my eyes flew open wide. The ends of some very solid looking two by four lumber drifted forward on the blue clad shoulder. The man gave me a lopsided grin as he nodded. His skin was dark. His dark eyes were almost almond shaped above sharp cheek bones. His lower half had disappeared up to his hips. His torso drifted along with his head reaching almost six feet from the floor. His movement looked as if he was walking, but…no feet.
I sat frozen as he came toward me with the lumber on his shoulder.
The wood hit the window beside me with a loud crash and tinkle of breaking glass. I threw myself forward onto the floor and rolled. Looking up from the floor, I watched the man pass through the now-broken window. The lumber still on his shoulder.
Still on the floor, I pulled a sweater off of the chair beside me and covered my head. I curled into a ball and cried, grieving for my lost sanity. I lost all sense of time and place and have no memory of how the day passed.
The light had almost left the room when I heard the sliding glass door open. “I’m home. Honey, are you okay?” I heard something heavy hit the floor as my husband dropped his briefcase. I felt his hand on my shoulder, then the sweater lifted off of my face. “Can you hear me?”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. It could have been a hallucination-a serious one. Maybe I had a stroke.”
He looked over his shoulder toward the window. “How did the window get broken?”
I tried to pull myself into a sitting position with my hand on my husband’s nice solid shoulder. I glanced toward the window. “It’s broken.”
“Yes, it’s broken. I’m calling the paramedics for you.” He ran his hands over my head. “Do you hurt anywhere? Did someone hit you? Do you remember what happened?”
I glanced toward the broken window and shook my head. No way was I telling anybody that a transparent man with no lower half walked through my house.
In due course, the paramedics arrived, helped me from the floor to a chair and wrapped me in a blanket from the sofa. They strapped their monitors on me and talked to each other as they took measurements. “Oxygen ninety-eight percent. BP one twenty over eighty…” Then they began with the questions. “What is your name? Who is president.” I answered the questions correctly, then began with the neurological exam. The police arrived and examined the broken window. I passed the neurological exam. The lead paramedic stood while his partner packed up equipment. “I can’t find anything wrong. I think you were just startled by the window breaking. Could be something about the breaking glass disrupted your inner ear function. I don’t see any need to transport.
The local sheriff finally pulled up his belt and announced, “The window was broken from the inside. We can’t find any object that broke it. My guess is that it wasn’t installed correctly or the house has shifted creating pressure on the window until it blew out.” He knelt beside my chair. “I can understand why that would frighten you. It would scare the hell out of me too.”
“Thank you. The whole thing just happened out of nowhere. I’d dozed off while working. The break just kinda slid into my dream, and I was afraid I’d been hallucinating. It feels really good to have other people assure me the window is really broken and there is a rational, scientific reason for it to break.”
The officer patted my hand. “I understand. Are you going to be okay now?”
I nodded and forced a little laugh. “I feel much better knowing that it wasn’t my imagination. The dream seemed so real and mundane, just someone walking around with lumber over his shoulder, then the window kinda exploded.”
The officer patted my hand and stood.
My husband handed me some hot soup. “Eat this. Your blood sugar may be low. That’s probably why you thought you hallucinated.”
Saturday morning I sat in my favorite spot by the newly repaired window. I pulled my computer into my lap. My husband opened the front door and came inside. “Do you have any idea what happened to some of those two by fours for the new fence? I’ve counted them twice, and I’m missing six.”
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