The Shape on the Stairs

When I was young, our family was fixing up our old home in Ohio. We had stripped the faded paper from the hallway walls and applied a smooth coat of filler to prepare for painting the next day. The fresh plaster smelled clean and looked pale in the dark.

Late one night, I woke up needing a drink of water. I left my bed and moved toward the hallway door. My vision was fuzzy without my lenses, and the only light came from the moon and a distant porch lamp.

My dog, Pepper, usually slept on a braided rug near my dresser. I saw a dark, lumpy shape resting there in the gloom. Thinking it was her, I bent over to give her a soft pat on my way out.

But as my hand moved downward, it met no solid form. My fingers swept through empty air where the shape appeared to be. The dark mass seemed to shift and dissolve like smoke.