You know how you get right to that place before sleep when you’renot quite dreaming but not awake either, like you’re standing in a doorway? Like you’re no place yet?
Right at that moment, way in the background of my head I heard it.At first I thought it was a dream, but then I figured if I’m actually thinkingit’s a dream it must be real, right? It was the sound of little, squeakingtires against a wood floor. Then a little bell, you know like the kind on akid’s bike. I remember turning toward the door, but it was super dark and Idon’t have a lamp. But a window near my bed faced the street and every so oftenif a car was coming down off the hill, its headlights would light up the roomfor a second or two. That’s what happened. That bike got closer and closer, thebell pinged one more time, but then it stopped.
Everything was quiet, and I tried squinting into the darkness butnothing. The air was full of static or something; the hairs on my arm werepopping up. Then a car outside rounded the turn, a couple seconds of lightflooded the window and the kid was there, right next to my bed, sitting stockstill on a red tricycle.
Here’s another thing you don’t realize about ghosts until youactually encounter one. You don’t think it’s a ghost. My mind just didn’t gothere. All I could think of at that second was how the hell a little kid got inmy house and managed to get upstairs on a tricycle.
“Jesus Christ, kid,” I said. “you nearly gave me a heart attack,what the hell are you doing here?”
I rolled to the other side of the bed and felt my way around tothe doorway, and clicked on the light switch. When I turned back to look at him, he hadn’t moved, meaning his back was facing me.
That’s when I started to scream, because the back of the kid’shead – well, it was gone, just a mash of blood and bone. I could see his brain.Like someone had taken a sledgehammer to a five-year-old. And as it turned out,that’s exactly what had happened.
* * *
Why are you looking at me like that? I mean, wouldn’t you gostraight to the liquor cabinet after seeing something like that? The kid? Well,I guess my screaming like a little girl must have spooked him, pardon the pun.He just faded away, right there in front of my eyes.
I wasn’t really sure what to do then. I drank a lot, I mentionedthat already. I turned all the lights on in the house, which when you thinkabout ghost sightings seems like a weird reaction. Because as it turned out,Denny didn’t care if the lights were on or off, he just wandered aroundwhenever.
Oh yeah, Denny. That was his name. Is his name, sorry. I’mtalking about him like he’s dead – he obviously is dead. Nevermind. His name is Denny.
I think I sort of went crazy for a while there, trying to figureout should I move? Should I tell anyone? Go to the police? I went online andthere’s tons of paranormal groups out there, but nothing really seemed to fitfor Denny because he wasn’t hurting me, or doing anything, really. But thinkabout it: he was the victim. Somebody bashed his head in with a hammer. Thiswas just one sad ghost.
Anyway, a couple days later he showed up again. That’s when hetold me his name. I was back in my bedroom, only this time with the lights on,just laying in bed reading. No noise, no tires. I felt that electricity in theair again, and looked up. The kid was sitting cross-legged at the foot of thebed, two feet from me. There was an indent in the bed where he was sitting. Hewas just staring at me.
“What are you reading?” he finally asked. I was so startled athearing his voice, just a kid voice, young and wispy, that I just tilted thebook cover toward him. Honest to God, he rolled his eyes, just like any kidwould. “I can’t read that, I’m only five.”
“A novel,” I croaked. “Da Vinci Code.”
He shrugged. We sat there looking at each other for a minute. Iswallowed hard, then said. “Can I touch you?”
“Why?”
“I – uh, I, just let me, OK?”
“OK.”
I didn’t know what to expect. I suppose like all the movie ghosts,I figured my hand would just drift right through him. But nope. I cautiouslytouched first his cheek with a finger, then laid my whole hand on his shoulder.Solid. Flesh and bone. Other than the musty old wool clothes, the kid was anactual solid human. Except of course that he wasn’t.
“Well, you’re real,” I said.
“I’m Denny.”
I reached out my hand and he took it and we shook. “Nice to meetyou, Denny. I’m Sam.”
The kid smiled then, and I felt something burst in my brain or myheart, or wherever something is supposed to burst when you fall in love withyour own child. That burst and I began to crumble. I honestly had no idea howbadly it would all turn out.
* * *
There was the issue of his burst open head of course. Every timeDenny would turn his head or I’d come up to him from behind, there it was, blood and brain spilling out all over the place. Of course,he was a ghost, so there wasn’t actual blood pouring out or anything. I triedtalking to him about it, but every time I brought it up he just winked out ofexistence. Sometimes he wouldn’t come back for days or weeks and I missed himwhen he was gone so I stopped asking.
That was a mistake, I see it now. I should have pushed harder tofigure out what happened – then maybe I would have hadsome perspective. Or maybe not. Who knows?
Anyway, Denny started popping in pretty much every day.
