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Ghost in the Bedroom

Sitting alone in my little A-frame house one night, reading and grading papers, I was completely engrossed in what I was doing. I didn't realize that it was getting late, until I heard a strange sound and looked up from the paper I was marking. Looking all around me, I couldn't see anything, so I went back to marking the paper I was working on; it was the next-to-last one in the pile, and when I finished the pile, I was going to quit for the night.

Just as I started to write my comments, at the end of the paper, I heard the sound again. Once more, I looked around, but couldn't see anything, and it had stopped again, so I finished that paper and began on the last one. It was a really good paper, with few errors, so I was almost finished with it when the sound came a third time, and this time it sounded like it came from the bedroom upstairs.

"Huh? No one is here but me," I thought. But it came again, and still upstairs. So I quietly laid the papers on the floor beside the chair I was in and eased up, turning to look toward the bedroom, which was open to the downstairs all along the front banister. I couldn't see anything, but the sound was still there.

By that time, I was getting a little nervous. I KNEW no one else was in the house; I had been all over it right after I got home, changing out of my school clothes into my comfortable "right-around-home" clothes that I usually wore while grading. But I was still hearing that sound, and it was coming from the bedroom!

Looking around for something to use as a weapon (against what, I didn't know, but intended to find out!), I saw my old baseball bat. Gripping it tightly in my right hand, I moved quietly to the stairs and started easing up them. About halfway up, I would be able to easily see almost the entire section up there, and would know what was going on.

At the halfway point, I still didn't see anything. So I inched a little higher, and then I saw the cutest little boy, sitting up in the center of my bed, swaying back and forth, humming to himself! He looked like he was about 3 years old, and had dark, curly hair. The song he was humming was what I had been hearing.

"Who are you, and where did you come from?" I asked him. He didn't move; just kept humming. He didn't even open his eyes and look at me, turn his head toward me, or anything!

I went a little closer. "Who are you? How did you get here?" I asked, a little louder. Still no indication that he had heard.

Finally, standing near the bed, I

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