I should first start off by explaining the basic layout of a section of my house.
So, when you walk in through the front door, you come into our living room. Walk straight forward about fifteen feet and you come to two sets of stairs, one leading downstairs, to a smaller sort of living room, and the other leading upstairs and into the kitchen. Go upstairs, and then go left right there. You’ll come into a hallway, where on the right side down, there is my younger sister’s room, a hall closet, and a bathroom. On the left side, across from my sister’s room, there’s another staircase leading up to my parents’ room, and then a laundry room next to that. My room at the end of the hall.
It was at least four or five years ago. Despite this, though, I remember this occurance pretty clearly.
My younger sister and I were getting ready for bed, as it was about eight, and we were both young. I was in the kitchen, probably finishing cleaning up after dinner.
After I’d finished, I walked into the hallway, heading for the bathroom, which’s light was setting a warm glow into the hallway. As I passed my sister’s room, I remember glancing into it. I halted a bit right there.
Her blanket was on the ground, and there was a great lump in the middle.
‘She’s trying to hide from dad, isn’t she’, I thought, smiling a bit as I saw her quiver with heavy breaths and silenced giggles on the floor.
‘Maybe I’ll mess with her a bit.’
I took a step into her doorway, when a sound from the bathroom caused me to pause.
A bit puzzled, I stepped back, and over to its doorway, poking my head in to investigate.
My eyes widened, and my mouth dropped open when I saw my sister look up at me, toothbrush in her mouth.
Confused, I quickly strode back to her room.
The blanket was now flat on the ground. Not even a crease on its surface.
‘What in the world…’
More confused than ever, I went back to the bathroom. Watched my sister spit in the sink. Then back to her room. Her still, empty room.
I backed up a bit, sitting myself down on the steps going up to my parents’ room. There I watched.
Watched Dad come up and go into her room to make her bed.
Watched my sister come out of the bathroom and go into her room.
Waited, and listened as she and Dad joked around a bit.
Watched Dad walk out after telling her goodnight.
Watched him shut the door.
Even sat there, just staring at her door for another few minutes, just to see if perhaps she’d come and open it back up to let a cat out.
Finally, confused, and, admittedly, a bit spooked, I got up slowly, and walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then into my room for bed, where I sat and thought about it for a bit.
Over the course of the next few years, I’ve had friends theorize about it. I’ve had my sister spooked over it. And I’ve had my parents blow it off as a cat, or an air bubble, despite the fact it was too big to be a cat, and too solid, with too lifelike movements to be an air bubble.
And I’ve sat back and pondered it every so often.
I’ve accepted that it happened and nothing bad or scary followed.
But sometimes I wonder.
What would’ve happened, had I ignored the sound of my sister in the bathroom, and lifted the covers?