The Visitor in the Hall

I was dozing on the living room sofa, a book open on my chest. A sudden chill woke me. My older brother Leo was standing by the window, his form faintly glowing. My heart jumped into my throat. Leo had been gone for a month.

He spoke first, his voice like a distant radio signal. He said he had a message, but the words were stuck. I had to figure it out myself. A cold dread filled me. I thought of our old dog, Bailey, who had been sick. “Is it Bailey?” I whispered. He shook his head slowly.

My mind raced to our father, who was on a business trip. “Is it Dad?” I asked, my voice trembling. Again, he shook his head no. Then I thought of our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, who always tended her roses. “Is it Mrs. Gable?” He nodded, a sad look in his eyes.

I asked when. He simply pointed a transparent finger at the calendar on the wall, toward the square marked for the first day of summer. Then he faded away. Now, sometimes the scent of his cologne drifts down the hall, or a faucet turns on by itself. I keep hoping he will come back to explain.