What the hell was that?
I don’t know if it was a sound or movement that startled me awake, but I couldn’t get a grip on my racing heart. The only calm I felt was from my hand resting on my chest.
I strained in the dark to see what could have jolted me awake. It was too dark. I didn’t want to turn my eyes away from the dark open room, but without light, I felt vulnerable.
Without much thought, I reached out to my bedside touch-lamp. My touch did nothing. In fact, I felt nothing. No lamp. No bedside table. Nothing. My heart was almost pounding out of my chest – skin and bone, fragile and weak in their containment attempts.
I spun to look where the lamp should be so fast that my neck nearly cracked and found… my lamp? Seconds ago I had felt nothing, absolutely nothing, where my lamp now stood upon my bedside table. My eyes, I thought, had begun to adjust to the light, but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I was still dreaming, I thought. But, it didn’t feel like a dream. I could feel the cool air of the room kissing my exposed skin. The rough warmth of the wool blanket against my toes and sweltering heat from the down comforter sheltered me from the waist down.
My heart thundered in my chest as I reached tentatively for the lamp again. My hand passed right through it! I felt nothing. Nothing. My heart stopped. I stared wide-eyed at my hand inside the lamp.
I jerked my hand away and stared at it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hand was translucent, clear as a ghost. I reached out to touch my leg and instantly felt the coarseness of the denim jeans I had fallen asleep in last night. I grabbed for my phone and my hand returned empty.
What was happening? Why couldn’t I touch anything? Well, not anything. I was able to touch my pants. I tossed off the blankets and jumped out of bed. There had to be an answer for this. I only had to figure it out. Maybe I was still dreaming? Plausible, but I didn’t think that was the case. Maybe I had died in my sleep? But no, that couldn’t be – I was able to touch the blankets when I got out of bed and nothing traumatic had happened. Fourteen-year-old kids don’t just roll over and die in their sleep, normally.
My bed looked inviting as I paced my room. The chill in the room seemed to settle into my bones now that I was out from under the blankets. After deciding the pacing was doing nothing to help and was, in fact, making me even more anxious, I plopped back on my bed… and fell on my butt on the hardwood floor of my bedroom.
What the hell was that?