It was a dark and stormy night.  The rain roared on the rooftop, lulling Matthew to sleep.  Later he woke suddenly, heart pounding, thinking a noise at his window had woken him. 

He lay still, his back to the window, listening.  He heard a muted rapping sound, like knuckles.  But that wasn’t possible, because his window was on the second floor.  There was no tree there either–nothing he could think of to explain the sound, now louder and more rhythmic.  He was afraid to turn over and face the window.  Slowly, he turned his head.

What he saw, in the split second before he screamed and bolted from his room, was a human figure--an old man, gaunt and sickly looking.  He seemed to be beckoning to him, but then Matthew realized that he was blowing him a kiss. Grandpa! It looked like his Grandpa!

He ran and dove into his parents bed, shivering. They kissed him, tucked him in between them, and told him it was just a bad dream.

The next morning, mom woke Matthew.  Her eyes were red and swollen.  She told Matthew that Grandpa had died last night, in his sleep, several states away.

© 2007 Michelle Pumphrey. Original for CCF  (Pumphrey grants CCF  first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).