The small girl waded out into the ocean, ignoring her mother’s calls to stay near the shore. She felt the wet sand around her feet and went deeper, to where it changed to seaweed. ‘Don’t go too far!’ she heard her mother call another time, but she was enjoying herself too much to be concerned about her mother.

The water was up to her shoulders now, and her mother’s calls were becoming more concerned. The girl could sense the fear in her voice. She decided to turn back. Taking one last deep breath of ocean air, she turned her head to the shore and felt the sand give way from under her feet. In an instant her head plunged under the water and everything slowed down with
an eerie silence. Her heart raced, and she instinctively opened her eyes, feeling the burn from the salt. That’s when she felt it. She sensed it so perfectly that she could almost see it through her burning eyes. It tugged at her body, pulling her further and deeper, away from the arms of her mother. Her lungs ached, her heart raced, her entire chest felt like it was about to explode.

She saw herself being swept away to a place she didn’t recognize, a place she could never escape from…

His breath exploded and he jarred himself into a sitting position in his bed. His heart was pounding inside his chest, heaving violently up and down. He glanced at the clock. It was 2:40.
Christian hated nightmares. He didn’t mind them when he could go straight back to sleep, but this was not that kind. This was the kind that he could swear was real. Everything was so vivid. He could still feel the cold water, and he realized his eyes were tingling. He rubbed them, and lay back down. He glanced at the clock again, still 2:40. Something in the corner caught his
eye. In his pitch-black room, he saw a white spot on the wall. It was so hazy…he rubbed his eyes again and looked back at the wall. Still there. He rolled over, facing the other way, and shut his eyes. There was no calmness in his body. His muscles were still tense, and he had a strange sense he wasn’t alone, that somebody was watching. He sat up and hit the light switch next
to his bed. Nothing. He turned it off, and as his eyes adjusted he saw the white blur in the corner.

Any normal seven year old boy in this situation would do one of two things. The first would be to start crying uncontrollably. The slightly braver boy would sneak out of their bed and go to their parent’s room. But going to his dad was the last thing Christian wanted to do, and he was too scared to cry. He slowly
took off his covers, stepped out of bed and started toward the spot on the wall. As he came closer, the white blur retreated further away, sinking into the wall. His feet froze as it shrunk to a tiny spec and then disappeared. Christian realized he’d been holding his breath. He slowly let it out, feeling the tension drain out of him. He went back to his bed and fell asleep.

The alarm startled him awake. He reached over and quickly turned it off. The bell was still ringing in his ears, even though the alarm had stopped. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his pants and jacket. There were a few coins sitting on the table in the kitchen, and Christian took them and went out the door.
The sun wasn’t completely up, it kept rising later as the summer went on. Christian knew that school was going to be starting any week now and he was already beginning to miss summer.
He passed by the small boat harbor, where his father kept his fishing boat. The nets were hanging out of the red boat half in the water, just like every morning. His father always left them out on the boat. He said that after a hard day of fishing, he shouldn’t have to put them away for the night. Every morning,
Christian would come to pass by and see the waterlogged, moss-plastered nets just as his father had left them. That stench is awful. It’s a good thing fish taste good because they sure do smell bad. He turned his gaze back to the road.

As he walked down the streets, he thought about his mother. She and father had gone through an ugly divorce, and it was all because of the new woman. He and Mother used to play in the park a few blocks from their house. They would spend hours on the swings because she knew they were his favorite. His dad was too busy for swings. He and the woman had other things to do. Christian thanked the baker for the bread and left the store. The feel of the warm bread was nice in the morning, especially with that cold meat in his other hand. The night after Mother left, she came to his window and kissed him goodnight. She told him to say his prayers and she would bring him with her someday. He didn’t know how, he had heard their fights and his dad gloat about his friends more than once. One wore a robe and had a wooden hammer. The other carried a baseball bat. But Christian knew his mother would find a way to be with him, friends with hammers and baseball bats or not.

He came back into the kitchen and saw the loads of dishes from the day before. There never used to be dishes in the morning, but the new woman probably wasn’t very good at them. Christian flipped on the light switch and only one of the two overhead lights came on. The other had burned out the day Mother left.
Nobody had taken the time to replace it. He looked up at the burnt out light and remembered her promise. She’d come and
get him somehow, that someday she’d come back and they’d be happy again. But until then, this was home.

“Tomorrow I want you all to bring back this permission slip. If you forget it, you won’t be able to come with us to the museum.” His teacher handed out a sheet of paper and he put on his desk next to the paste jar. Outside the window it was dark already. Two in the afternoon, already getting dark, and he was
stuck in school. There couldn’t be a worse time of the year.
Suddenly his neck felt cold and wet, and his heart raced. He whipped around and saw Eric laughing, with paste on his fingers. Grinning, Christian scraped the paste off the back of his neck and sent it flying at Eric, hitting him directly in the face. Eric yelled, and the teacher gasped. They both grabbed another handful and the class started shouting and laughing, drowning out the cries of the teacher, “Stop!! You two, stop it now!” The teacher grabbed him and dragged him through the hall until they reached the principal’s office. “Call his father and send him home, this is the third time he has interrupted my class today,” his teacher barked.

“Very well, Mrs. Hanson,” said the principal. He sifted through a filing cabinet and picked up the phone. Christian saw the man dial his number. It rang four times, and nobody answered. The principal mumbled something and dialed again. After the third ring he began to speak. “Yes…really, I’m very sorry to disturb you Mr. Anderson. Yes, I know that… Well your son…but-.” He hung up the phone. “I expect that your father will be
here to pick you up at the normal time. Until then, you will sit here in silence.”

Christian glanced at the clock. All of the other kids had left half an hour ago, but Christian’s father was late. Through the window of the office, he saw his dad coming through the school doors. The principal saw too. He handed him a note for him to give to his dad: “Multiple disruptions in class, request a
conference.” He gave him a stern nod to leave. Christian went out the door and discretely dropped the note behind a bush around the corner. He smoothly pulled out the reminder from his teacher and handed it to his dad, noticing his principal was watching, unaware of the stunt he just pulled. Adults can be so
stupid.

“So you need me to sign this paper, why did they call home for that?” his dad said.

“The trip was today,” answered Christian.

“Hmpf,” his dad said. “Well I certainly didn’t know about it, that’s too bad.” Even without his little fib, Christian knew that is dad would probably forget to sign it tomorrow anyway, and it was fun to keep him out of the loop. Plus, he really wouldn’t mind a day off tomorrow, too. The nuns would probably put him in the chapel all day to read the Bible and pray, but that was what his mom had told him to do.

They got into the Packard and drove home. Christian’s mother always used to drive this car, and she kept it in perfect condition. But since she left, his father had rear ended some compact car and the front bumper was a little dinged
up. The Beetle had taken the brunt of the collision. After all, it was hit by a Packard. He got out of the car, and raised the garage door for his dad to pull in.

Inside he heard his sister crying, and the woman was trying to make her stop. Christian went over and the woman gladly handed him his sister. Her screams ceased. He took her into another room and he picked up her angel doll. Her tear
streaked face lit up, and he wondered if she remembered Mother too. Her smile made him think so.

His dad made his way into the room. “We’re going out tonight for dinner. We’re taking another couple with us, so the car will be full. There’s some leftover soup on the stove for you and Megan, we’ll be back tonight. And stop playing with that stupid doll. You’re an eight year old boy. Play baseball or something.” His father tossed his glove at him, and they were gone.
Christian looked down at the glove and wondered to himself who was even around to play with. He kicked it under the sofa and went to the stove to heat up the soup.

As he entered the kitchen, he flipped on the light switch and noticed the burnt out bulb. He’d be lucky if his dad was home before he was asleep.

The teenager put the keys in the engine and started up the car. ‘Are you sure you’re alright, you know I can call a cab.’ He glanced over at his friend, shook his head, and put the car into gear. It shot backwards, and he slammed on the brakes. ‘Whoa, watch it man! Makin’ me spill all over my new shirt.” He laughed and jammed it out of reverse and into first gear.

The right tire ramped over the curb and he adjusted the wheel to the left. He shifted, and the needle moved past 40. Two blinding lights stared at him from fifty feet away. Wrong lane. He swerved to the right and heard the honking car hurtle past. 60. He fumbled with the window and rolled it down, cursing the
driver out the window. 90. A red light flew by over his head and he felt a rush of adrenaline. His gut reaction was to hit the brakes. The squealing tires drowned out the horns of other motorists. His tail skidded left, and he jerked the wheel. The wrong way. It went further left, the car now faced completely
sideways across both lanes and he braced himself against the wheel. He heard the sound of the collision before he felt it; in fact he didn’t feel anything. His right hip grazed the top of the open window as he was thrown from the car, but there was no pain. Then he saw the ground rush up to meet him,
and suddenly every bone in his body felt shattered. He tried to turn his head toward the wreckage, but the angle of his twisted body against the concrete left him unable to move his neck. He felt the warm liquid running down his left side, and his vision was getting darker.

In the background he heard the clamor of voices as people rushed to the other demolished car. ‘Ma’am, we’re trying our hardest to get to you. The fire department has three trucks on the way just hold on, Mrs… what was that? Just hold on Mrs. Anderson.’

His crippled body rolled onto its back and he heard a bone crunch. But the pain was dull, he was becoming numb. Why isn’t anybody rushing to me? His eyes darted around his new perspective, and saw that his car was in flames. The rescuers were pulling her out now, and between his labored breaths, he
sensed the poignant smell of gasoline. ‘Get her away from the car!’ someone yelled. Another voice, ‘She’s doesn’t have a pulse, she’s lost too much blood!’ An echoing boom accompanied a burst of flames as her car ignited, sending metal
and glass through the air. With dulled sensitivity he felt something strike his chest and he glanced at it with his last reserve of energy. A women’s leather wallet lay open in front of his chest. And as everything faded into an inescapable darkness, he saw in the wallet a photo of a woman and her child on a playground…

“MOTHER!!” Christian cried as he was jolted awake by his own screaming. His mother was dead. The pulse in his head was pounding and his breathing was shallow. Dead. A whirlwind of emotions churned around him as he tried to discern
what was real and what was only a nightmare, but there was no distinction. Could she be dead? His mind told him that it was a dream, she was alive. But inside, he knew she was gone. She wasn’t here, he didn’t even feel the vague connection of a hope to be with her any longer. Time had come to a halt, and he
glanced around the room in a daze.

He realized every bone in his body was sore, and the movement of his head sent shocks of pain down his neck. In the corner there was a white blur. Christian stared in fear. He rubbed his eyes in vain, knowing it would still be there when he open them. He wasn’t alone. He wanted to run, but he was too
scared to move. It was here in his room with him, and he wanted it out. Out of his room, out of his head, out of this world.
Christian clutched the crucifix hanging from his neck and shifted out of his bed. His feet hit the ground, shooting feeling through his numb legs as he took his first steps. Everything in his mind told him to stop, but his feet kept moving. The ominous blur in front of him seemed to retreat with hesitance, as if it wanted to stay. He moved forward. The twinges in his body were draining as he got closer, and his courage built. He extended an arm as it withdrew into a vast void, and his hand felt the wall in front of him. A sensation swept over him as the two realms of life and death brushed by each other. He paused a moment. What was this courage he felt? Seconds ago he had been filled with fear, but now it had been replaced by determination.

Questions flew through his mind, and answers flooded it just as quickly. He had remained an observer for too long, it was time to act. He walked quickly to his dresser and grabbed his coat and jeans. Outside the night air was fresh, creating a strange contrast with the darkness surrounding it. Christian walked with a new sense of purpose, and this time he did not pass by the small boat harbor.

By the light of the moon he made his way to his father’s boat, silhouetted against the ocean water. He felt the dock sway and creak under his feet, but it did not bother him. He reached out his arms and grabbed the nets. They were heavy from the water, and they reeked of fish. The harbor and ocean
smelled wonderful, and they would smell even better with these nets put away where they belong.

He dragged them through the yard of fisherman’s huts until he found his grandfather’s. The bed inside had been empty for quite some time, but the rack was still there. He heaved them up onto it, and wondered how many years it had been
since they had been on that rack. It’s a wonder they hadn’t deteriorated more after being kept in the water so long.
There wasn’t any traffic this late, and walking alone with only the sound of the night was an experience Christian had never known. He was at his house sooner than he realized, and he went inside. As he shrugged off his coat, he flipped the light switch. Only one bulb lit, they other stared at him, dark and dust
covered. He moved his eyes down to the cupboard below and knelt down to open it. He dug through plastic bags and glass jars, old receipts and expired coupons, and under it all there was a new box of bulbs. He took one out and stood up.
He climbed onto the counter top and began to unscrew the old light bulb. It creaked and moaned as it turned, and then came loose into his hand. He dropped it into the plastic trashcan beneath him. His right hand took the new bulb and
reached up to the new socket. He turned it clockwise, but the threading wouldn’t catch. He tried turning it again, and then reached up with his left hand. Sparks showered from the ceiling as the boy’s legs went limp. His eyes opened wide, and his hair stood on end as he saw himself crash to the floor. But to
his surprise, he felt no pain. He lay on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw the trash can that he had landed on. The old, blackened bulb was now shattered, and the new bulb shone brightly above him. His eyes were fixated on the light, and it began to grow. A warm feeling coerced through his body as
the light filled his entire field of vision, and a voice called out from it.

‘Christian… Christian…’ The brilliance shone all around him, and he felt himself move closer to the welcoming voice he knew from years ago… Mr. Anderson’s eyes shot open and the warmth drained from him. His eyes darted around the dark room, and his body became colder than ever. “Go back to
sleep,” he heard the woman tell him sleepily. “Just the stupid cat…” The words passed him by without registering. His attention was focused straight ahead of him, on two crisp, bright lights against the wall at the foot of his bed. They seemed to be staring at him, and his entire body began to shiver from both
fear and the sharp cold. “Baby…” he whispered to the woman hoarsely, but she did not move. Nothing moved. Time was stopped, and the two lights stared at him as if he were an animal in a cage.

As he stared back, he began to sense warmth emanating from them, and he longed for that warmth. As thoughts of comfort began to enter his mind, the lights began to climb the wall in front of him. They rose to the ceiling directly over
his bed, and he felt the warmth slipping away. As he gaped straight above him, eyes wide and mouth slightly cracked, the two lights withdrew to a safe-haven far beyond Mr. Anderson’s reach. The two, mother and son, took one final glance
at the wide-eyed man below, and turned their gaze above.