The Glimmer in the Old House

In 1965, my family moved into a forty-year-old home. Its first owner had been a well-known singer from a past generation. I arrived a year later, and even as a small child, I felt the place was not entirely quiet.

My first strange memory is from when I was five. I woke up in the deep quiet of the night and left my bed. A soft sound came from the living room at the end of the hall. When I looked, I saw a small, shimmering bird perched on the back of the sofa. It was pale and faintly glowing. I felt a chill and, still sleepy, hurried to my brother’s room to finish the night.

The next morning, my story was dismissed as a dream. In the years that followed, I often heard faint rustling from the space beneath my bed. And always, there was the soft sound of footsteps in the hall when no one was there.