The full moon bright and the wind shuddering my abode.
I was a boy of ten, lying awake in bed, listening to the gust and scratch, scratch, scratching of the old oak’s branches on my window.
He asleep and I most certainly aware.
Our two beds lay just an arm length apart. How I envied him.
He who easily slept, while I lay awake fearing the shadows.
as the wind howled and skeletal branches danced.
I tried to ease my mind by praying for sleep;
but was denied by whispers and moans and the scratch, scratch, scratching on my window.
The night of the specter who had taken me unaware. I was startled … no, I was scared.
This stranger who stood at the foot of my bed looked more alive than shadow;
he who was looking out my window.
This much I could make.
I tried to deny. I tried to reason.
But this specter … this ghost was beyond all that I could know.
Sweat beaded and rolled down my legs.
My breath I tried to measure and control; hoping to become very small.
And all the while I prayed that this ghost not avert his gaze from outside my window.
That this specter … this ghost would go as it had come.
I darted my eyes away to the wall. But only skeletal branches did shone.
I glanced back onto him again, this specter… this ghost who was looking out my window.
And it was upon me he smiled, a most mischievous smile.
My eyes widened and heart pumped in terror, for this specter … this ghost was most certainly aware that I existed. And all pretence was blown.
only to find out that he refused and stayed.
And this little game we did play for some time,
me and this specter … this ghost who no longer stared out my window.
It was not relief, but dread I felt for I knew he had knelt beside me.
My heart thumped - thumped as, I slowly turned and there inches from my face a
malevolent gaze shown.
And pulled the ceiling light string.
And all was quiet except for me and my sibling’s slumbering breath
and the scratch, scratch, scratching on the window.