The Figure in the Old Field

When I was just an infant, my family lived in my grandfather’s home in a small valley town. The house stood on land that had once been a vast cornfield, and long before the corn, people said it was a sacred burial ground for the first settlers.

One evening, I was restless with a high fever. My father rose in the deep night to prepare a warm bottle for me, as the heat of the liquid always soothed me to sleep. He walked into the kitchen, where a glass-paned door led to the yard.

As he stood at the stove, a man in a dusty, formal suit from a century past moved directly through the solid door and its glass. His head was bowed under a wide-brimmed hat, casting his features into shadow. The man walked with a hurried pace, as if late for an important meeting, and passed straight through my father’s body.

My father, feeling only a sudden chill, shook his head and continued his task. Then, a realization struck him. He cried out, “That man just entered the baby’s room!”

He ran to my crib. The strange visitor had vanished. I was sleeping peacefully, my fever gone.