The Figure in the Evening Light

I was thirty-two, expecting my first child, and staying with my parents in their new Arizona home. Their house was a single-story ranch style, with large windows looking out onto the quiet cul-de-sac. One night, after everyone had gone to bed, I was resting in the spare room. A lamp from the yard cast a soft glow through the blinds.

I was nearly asleep when I saw a shape near the door. It was a tall form wrapped in what looked like a dark blanket, standing perfectly still. My first thought was that it was my father, perhaps coming to check on me. I whispered, “Dad?”

The figure did not move or answer. I pushed myself up on my elbows, my heart beginning to beat faster. I spoke again, more firmly. “Dad, is that you?”

At the sound of my voice, the form began to turn. As it slowly rotated toward me, a cold dread washed over my skin. I knew instantly this was not my father. A jolt of pure fear shot through me, and in that same instant, the shape simply dissolved into nothing.

I scrambled from the bed, my breath caught in my throat, and flipped the wall switch, flooding the room with a harsh, bright light.