The Storm

A little girl’s true story.

When I was a little girl of eight I shared a bedroom and slept with my younger sister who was six. That was when we could tolerate each other for more than a minute. She just passed at the beginning of this year so I feel regret that I did not know her better.

My mom put up pretty, long, billowy curtains on our window which had tiny yellow flowers on them. They were pretty and since the sun came through those windows all day they were bright and cheerful. She also decided to add a store mannequin that was made of straw and sat on an upside-down, tall, skinny, bushel basket. Where she got it I don’t know.

It was holding an artist palette and a brush in the air posed to start painting. She was very colorful with reds, greens, yellows, oranges, in patchwork all over. Mom set it in the corner of the room next to the pretty curtains.

One night while sleeping I woke up to a raging storm outside. Rain was pelting the windows, the curtains were blowing, and something white was bent over and hovering over me. I pulled up the covers and tried to go back to sleep.

I didn’t sleep. I started scooting over closer and closer to my sister until she resisted with “Move Over!” Of course, I couldn’t because of the thing. I dipped under the covers again.

A little later I checked again to see if it was gone and this time the mannequin was closer to the bottom of the bed with the curtains blowing around her. I covered my head again and must have fallen asleep. Too scary for me!

When I awoke the next morning I was on the floor on the other side of my sister, laying on my back, with my head in the direction of the bottom of the bed and my feet at the top.

“How did I get here?” I wondered. I scrambled back into bed because it was really early and didn’t want to wake anyone up. Then I looked around. The mannequin was back to its usual spot but the curtains had billowed over her. I had so many questions.

Also, I never told anyone about this, not my family, not my friends, nobody. To this day I am confused as to what happened.

Also, the windows were closed, so how did the curtains billow? How did I end up on the floor on the other side of my sister? How did I end up flipped with my head at the end of the bed?

I really don’t and didn’t have much of an imagination so I can’t attribute what happened to “a child’s imagination.”

When I was around twenty-two or three I drove back to that house out of curiosity and found that most of it burned down. I walked through the remnants and memories flooded back. My room was totally burned away, but there were some parts of it left. I saw the shed in the back where my dad kept his tools. It was fine. I saw that the house was so small for one thing. How did a family of ten live here?

When I came back outside there were a lot of people just staring at me. No one said a thing. They all were gathered at a fence. I ignored them and left. That was very strange. I should have asked some questions.

It’s said that there are times you cannot remember every little incident in your life, but this stands out clear as day or as clear as it can be.

Jo Ann Harris is an author, parent, book devotee, writer, copywriter, and film fanatic. She is an autodidact who learns about everything on her own. She grew up and worked in Atlanta, Georgia and lived there sixty years. She writes articles about love, hope, personal life stories, advice and poems. She is a published author with an article in Woman’s World magazine in October, 2017. https://joannharris-53598.medium.com/subscribe