It Was All A Dream: Or Was It?

caterpillarReading E.F. Benson’s “Caterpillars” tonight harkened me back to a summer night three years ago.  I was in my bedroom on a balmy evening.  I was living with my parents because I was a poor grad student.  My parents usually turned the air conditioning on, but that night they didn’t and the stifling heat seemed to devour the wind that was trying to creep through my window.  I fell asleep nonetheless, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, there was the shadow of a man standing above my bed.  Mind you, this was before I re-kindled my childhood fascination with horror and that perhaps illusory world between life and extinction.  So my mind wasn’t primed to see phantoms the way it theoretically would be now.  I remember distinctly seeing the outlines of the books on my bookshelf behind the figure.  I felt very much “there.”  Everything looked real. Continue reading “It Was All A Dream: Or Was It?”

It Was All A Dream: Or Was It?