The Blue Light in the Attic

When I was five, I stayed at my aunt’s old house. I went to sleep in the small guest room, the one with the flowery wallpaper.

I woke up much later. The room was dark, but a soft blue light came from the open attic door. It was a quiet, steady glow. I felt a little chilly, but not from the air. I knew this light was not from a lamp or the moon.

I tried to call out to my aunt in the next room, but my voice was too quiet. She did not stir. I looked back at the light. It hung perfectly still at the bottom of the attic stairs, not making a sound.

I walked slowly into the hallway, never looking away from the blue glow. I had the strange feeling that it was aware of me. I ended up sleeping on the couch in the den that night.

The next morning, I saw a dusty glass vase on a high shelf, right where the light had been. The sun shone through it, making a small blue spot on the wall. No one could tell me why it had glowed in the dark.