TRUE STORY

The Bubble Lights and The Man in Plaid

Things are not always what they seem

Disclaimer: Content within this story may be disturbing and painful to some readers. It includes graphic details of child abuse.

When I was three years old, and the quiet man in the corner with sad eyes came to live with us, we were finally a family. I had my brother, a mom, and a dad. Our little white trimmed with maroon single-wide trailer was finally a home.

Not much changed, except that mom became nicer to me. She smiled more often, and I got fewer whippings. She was acting sweet, gentle, and loving. She seemed happier, and that made me happy.

Dad also seemed happier, compared to the first day I saw him. I didn’t see rejection or anger in his eyes anymore, but he never had much to say. He rarely played with my brother or me.

That was okay. I was happy to finally have a dad like other kids.

Sleeping away from my mom and brother was the greatest change for me. Dad would take my place in our bedroom. I had to sleep in the bedroom at the end of the trailer all by myself. It was right next to theirs, but mom’s room was the only room I had ever slept in.

The other bedroom was scary. I was afraid, and I didn’t want to sleep in there. I didn’t want to play in there or go into that room for any reason. Mom asked me to explain why, but I couldn’t. I just knew something was wrong with that room.

I had to be a big girl. If not, I would get a whipping.

That first night, I walked through the doorway and rushed to the bed in the corner, where I could hide under my black itchy wool blanket. After a while, I uncovered my face because it got too hot and scratchy under there.

Something was in the bedroom.

There wasn’t much moonlight shining through the curtains, so the bedroom was almost dark, but I knew something or someone was in there with me. I could see a shadow standing near my bed. I hoped it was mom.

“Mommy?” I whispered.

The shadow backed up and faded away right before my eyes. I screamed and ran to mom as fast as my little feet could go. I hurried and explained what I saw, so she would know I had a good reason for being up. She didn’t want to hear it.

She said I was making it up so I could sleep with her. She sent me back to bed and threatened to whip me the next time I got up. I dreaded going back into that room, but I knew I had to.

I ran back to my bed and covered my head for protection from the shadow. No matter how hot and itchy I felt, I was not going to uncover. Sometimes I had to raise the cover a little to let fresh air in. Eventually, I fell asleep.

Every night after that first night in the scary bedroom, the shadow would visit me. Sometimes bubbles of light would float in the room near the shadow. I would scream and run to mom every time. She would threaten a spanking and send me back to bed.

One night, the moon shinned more light in my bedroom, and I could see the shadow better. It was a man. His face was blurred and difficult to see, but his shirt was red plaid. I jumped out of bed and ran towards mom’s room, screaming.

I wanted to behave and stay in my room, but I was terrified. I didn’t know what this man wanted. I wondered how he could fade away and why he kept coming to my room. Was he going to hurt me?

Mom was used to getting woken up every night. She was tired of threatening me with whippings. Pretending to be sweet and loving was building up rage inside of her. She was waiting for me in the hall.

Mom grabbed my wrist tight, making sure I couldn’t get away, while she whipped me with her other hand. She was hitting anywhere she could make a connection. I ran in circles, trying to get away while she screamed at me, saying I should have stayed in my room.

Then she started using her fist. I knew the difference. She hit me in the back twice, knocking the breath out of me. I was on my hands and knees on the floor, hunched over, trying to catch my breath. She was still holding on to me while bent over, beating and screaming at me.

I hoped dad would stop her and protect me. I was wrong.

She grabbed me hard by my hair from behind, and then I could feel her knuckles smashing into my skull on the right side, over and over. I was in horrible pain and sick to my stomach. I stopped trying to get away. I wasn’t able to. I crumpled to the floor in weakness.

With my face resting against the floor, I started throwing up. I was too weak to raise myself up. Mom picked me up by the back of my nightgown and held me up from the floor while I was vomiting. The nightgown was pressing into the front of my neck and making it tougher to breathe.

I can still see my little arms reaching down to the floor, trying to help hold myself up. I was so weak I couldn’t do it. It was hard to even hold my head up. Mom’s hands let go once I was done, and I rested my face in the puddle on the floor.

Mom went back to bed while I lay there in throw-up, exhausted, sick, in pain, confused, and scared.

Somehow, I could see the bubbles of light that would sometimes float in the bedroom, which strangely brought me comfort. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid of them anymore. I noticed their beauty and how colorful they were. I was captivated!

I was lifted up. I was floating, like the bubbles of light. I saw myself lying on the floor — a weak, tiny toddler with curly locks of gold, filthy with vomit and tears.

The pain and sickness had left my body. I was clean, beautiful, and as light as a feather. I looked back at the scary bedroom. I couldn’t see anything in there, but something incredible was drawing me inside, and I wasn’t afraid.

I had to go.

I can’t say what happened in that room. I can only hope that someday the memory will return to me. However, I remember leaving the bedroom and returning to myself.

It was breaking daylight, which meant I must have been away all night. It was time for me to return to my body. I floated out into the hallway while looking back towards the bedroom.

I felt happy. I remember smiling, and then I went over to my body. After lying down with my body, I somehow was myself again.

I got up off the floor and tiptoed to bed, hoping no one would hear me. I wasn’t afraid of the bedroom, the bubble lights, or the shadow anymore. I believed they were there to protect me or comfort me when I needed it the most.

That night, I discovered things are not always what they seem. Scary things are sometimes nothing to be afraid of. I realized we can’t depend on people just because they are family. I learned that having a dad meant one more person in the house, one more place at the table, and nothing else for my brother and me.

While dad was comfortably in what used to be my bed, I was beaten and lying on a hard floor in the hallway in vomit, wishing he would help.

No more would I care why the quiet man in the corner had sad eyes.

When I was much older, I realized who the shadowed man in plaid likely was. I learned how he was connected to the quiet man in the corner with sad eyes, and how he was connected to me.

I will share that story someday, but first, other stories have to be told.

If you would like to read about The Quiet Man in the Corner With Sad Eyes, the story is below.

Thank you for reading! If you like my work and would like to show your support, please clap, comment, share, or buy me a cup of coffee :) I appreciate any act of support tremendously.

Join and/or Subscribe

Please join through my referral link if you are not yet a member. The membership fee directly supports me, as well as other writers. You will also get full access to every story on Medium. Thank you for your consideration.

If you enjoy my articles, subscribe, and you will get an email every time I publish. You will never miss an article.