Your True Tales
October 2008 - Page 15
Twilight Games
by Justin Anderson
The event that I am about to tell took place when I was four or five years old, sometime in the winter. My family was living in a trailer court in New Richmond, Wisconsin at the time, and my father worked late into the night, while my mother stayed at home with us. At some point in the night, I remember being woken up, the reason for which I can't fully remember, but I was most definitely awake and conscious. I can actually still remember feeling the cold in my room since the heater had not been running for a couple hours and the night air crept in through the thin walls.
There, standing at the foot of my bed, was a boy. Now I use the term "boy" loosely, as this was a boy unlike any I had ever seen before or since. This boy looked to be about 10 to 12 years old, if my memory serves me correctly. His body didn't appear to be made of flesh and blood like any normal person, but instead composed of a nearly translucent orange light. His features were accented by deeper orange lines, but still clearly defined, almost as if a drawing.
I clearly remember asking who he was, but I got no answer; he just stood staring at me with a teasing smile on his face. I remember not feeling afraid, only curious, as I was quite the fearless little boy while growing up (I'm now 19). I kept demanding to know who he was and why he was in my room, but he only smiled at me. It didn't take long for the boy to step back from my bed and he was coaxing me after him with his hand, waving me to follow.
Now I'm not sure exactly what I had been thinking, whether I was angered by him or intrigued by some sort of new game -- I honestly can't recall -- but I got up out of bed and slowly walked after him. Now the part that I have a gap in my memory with is, I went from getting up and following the boy to suddenly chasing him around my room. I vividly remember him dodging around me in circles, all the while taunting me and smiling that smile of his. I chased him for nearly a minute, around my room, over my bed, past my window, around and around. The whole time the light was off, but I could clearly see him in the dark. A point came when I remember nearly having the boy in my grasp, completely intent on capturing him and winning whatever game it was that we were playing. I dove at him, my hands reaching out through the air to grab him, I was so close.
But that's when it all came to an end. I had been in mid-air, my hands nearly closed around his arm, when light from the hallway poured into my room and the boy disappeared. I hit the ground and my father flicked on the light. He asked me what I had been doing; he could hear me running around in my room giggling from the hallway when he had come home from work (probably about 2 or 3 a.m). I tried telling him about the boy, and how I had been chasing him. I don't know whether or not he believed me, but that's where my memory of that night ends.
Probably nine or ten years later, on a car ride to Duluth, I was telling the youngest son of my dad's current girlfriend (my mother had died about four years after that night) the story about the orange boy, as something had reminded me of it all those years later. When he asked my dad if I was telling the truth, my father's only reply was "That was a long time ago...."
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