It was the middle of the night in a bedroom with eerie shadows, cast from a small nightlight plugged into the wall.
A rustling of the sheets and the sound of whimpering drew Daddy Longlegs from the depths of his sleep.
Through the haze of broken sleep, he peered around the dark room and gasped.
There was a three-foot tall presence, shrouded in white, standing at the end of the bed, waving its arms in wild desperation.
The presence shouted in a familiar voice, “Help, get me out of here.”
Oh god, it’s a… Daddy Longlegs did not finish his thought.
Just as he was about to admit to an otherworldly visitation or the loss of his sanity, the sheet fell off with the mystery of the encounter.
Little Legs was left standing, a still sleeping boy-not-ghost, who got stuck under the sheet and was now freed to curl up and return to his unencumbered sleep.
Some people walk in their sleep, while others talk. Our son haunts our dreams.
To be clear, like most ghost stories, this is a retelling.
My head was tucked safely under a pillow whilst this haunting took place.