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I’m not certain when it began. I was old enough to say words, but I was not able to form sentences yet.

We lived on South Evergreen in a small Midwest town Northwest of Chicago.

My bedroom was on the second floor, front, of an old Queen Ann bungalow. Being the youngest, I was the first one to bed at the end of each day.

It didn’t happen every night, but when it did happen, what I saw frightened me and I would scream ‘BLINK, BLINK’ until my mother would enter the room, turn on the lights and rush to comfort me. I would point toward the open closet door on the other side of the room and say ‘blink.’

Mom would check the closet, then either sing me to sleep or read a story until I drifted off.

This routine continued for several weeks, my poor mother could not figure out what was frightening me. It happened most often after being put to bed. But there were occasions when it would happen in the middle of the night, I would scream ‘BLINK, BLINK,’ she would come in, turn on the lights, check the closet and then make sure I was asleep before she left.

One evening she did something different, she entered my room and did not turn on the light. And there, to her amazement and my relief, was the blink.

The street light on the corner shown into my room. When the shades were pulled, and there was a breeze, the shades would move ever so slowly in and out causing the light from the street light to appear and disappear on the closet door. Mother showed me how and why the blink was happening by moving the shade manually. And that was the end of the blink.


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About The Author
About This Story
All Audiences
25 Jun, 2017
Drama, Non-Fiction
Scary, Factual

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