Foot at the Ghost of My Bed
by Walter Eugene Lane
Copyright © 1997 Walter Eugene Lane

Sleep 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.

I 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.

But 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 nothingness.

I 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?

In 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.

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