Sleep Spectator
Under his top hat, he peered at me with beady, red eyes. Then his eyes flickered to the bunk above me where my roommate slept. He wasn’t here for me; he was here for her.
My panic at seeing him started to wear off, and I fully took him in. He was a short, stocky old man. Dressed in a slick suit and an enormous top hat. He had no feel to him. Devoid of emotion. Just an old man watching us sleep.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I exclaimed and rolled over, forcing my back to him.
Sleepily, I opened my eyes about an hour later to see he was gone.
I often wonder if maybe he still haunts her and she has no idea because she can’t see him.
Should I have told her about the ghostly old man that watches her sleep?