My first memory of the farm was when I was three years old. I slept in a bitterly cold, white, metal frame bed in what is now our dining room.
Every night Mom would tuck me in and eventually close the sliding door between the kitchen and my room to keep the Norway rats out. Not kidding.
One night, I was lying in my bed, thinking about how cold it was, when a shadow of a man darted across the room and ran up the stairs! I didn’t know what to think. My little three-year-old mind was shocked. There was a shadow running loose in our house!
I knew it wasn’t Dads shadow because he was in bed. I knew it wasn’t Moms, because it was a man’s shadow. Part of me was fascinated. The other part was scared stiff.
I pulled up my blanket and peered over the top. I wasn’t sure if he was coming back or not, but if he was – I wanted to see him.
That experience has stayed with me for over 50 years. I’m sure some would say I just imagined it. But you have to remember, I was only three years old, and three-year-olds aren’t into imagining things that will scare them to death.
This wouldn’t be my only encounter with shadows, as you’ll see in tomorrow’s story.