We don’t always remember our dreams, but sometimes, awakened during the middle of one, we do. I recently dreamed I was lying on my stomach in what was likely my parent’s house. The bed was small, a single. It could have been the old house, but the bed was positioned in a way, and in a room I didn’t remember. As I lay there, I heard someone come in the door. Someone with a dog.
The dog was a border collie, strangely similar to the one in my new book. It bounded into the darkened room, scurried to the front of my bed and licked my face. The warm tongue awakened me, at least in my dream, and I became aware of footsteps approaching the back of my bed. Footsteps halted beside the bed and a hand groped between my legs.
Really awakened this time, I swung my arm, hitting the lamp hanging from a ceiling cord beside my bed. I opened my eyes to see the flash of a human-like form pass through the window and disappear into darkness. Wide awake, I glanced around the room as the lamp swung like a pendulum.
I’ve always contended that ghosts and spirits abound, not just in my house but everywhere. The touch seemed like a trick my brother might have played on me when we were younger. Brother Jack is not a spirit, and I doubt I will ever know for sure who, or what, it was that awakened me from my dream. I only know I was awake, wide awake, when I saw the shadow figure fly out the window.