Foot at the Ghost of My Bed
by Walter Eugene Lane
Copyright © 1997 Walter Eugene Lane
befuddled my mind like a hangover. I was conscious—but barely. My
bedroom in the wee morning hours, the dark blind drawn, was as shaded
as any nighted tomb. I had awoken, but for what reason, I had no idea.
could almost feel my pupils opening wider and wider, trying to
penetrate the solid darkness. My head weighted to the pillow, only my
eyes moved to take in the blackness that enshrouded me.
when my eyes finally cast themselves toward the bottom of my bed, my
heart jumped, accelerated like an engine suddenly switched on. What was
that white shade hanging there! At the foot of my bed, a whitish,
unshaped void about a foot in length hung as if suspended in
breathed as quietly as possible as I stared at the unmoving mystery.
After a few moments of hesitation, I determined to reach for the light
beside my bed and uncover this enigma. But as I lifted my hand and
stretched my arm slowly toward the lamp I froze in mid-motion. The
anomaly moved! As I moved, it moved! Did it sense my motion? Did it
consider illumination a possible threat? Did it need the very darkness
around it to live as you and I need the air surrounding us?
the grip of sheer panic, I lashed for the light and happily found the
switch at first grab. And when the light liberated the room from
darkness I stared down at the foot of my bed, ready to confront the
nefarious intruder lurking there—only to see that it was merely my size
11 foot, it's white, pale skin luminous in the dark, that had slipped
out from under the covers during the night.
Note: Despite the silly, prosaic writing, this really did happen to me some years ago. Scared the life out of me.