He came at night waiting anxiously. As I laid in Limbo I saw him. I say a prayer before I close my eyelids, because I don’t want to risk the chance of falling asleep without one. He may need it.

It’s usually cold and dim when I arrive. Each visit is erie. It starts with a floating sensation in darkness. After that it progresses into reality. Its like being transported to a scene from a movie and this time a man was standing in his backyard looking up at a tall tree on a bright Sunny day. He had a beautiful lawn with bright green grass and all of a sudden I saw lumber fall from the sky. Stacks of wood could be seen piling up around him. A boy came into the picture running into the man’s arms. They hugged and began to work on a tree house together. They are father and son. At first they built a ladder and its structure grew. A house was beginning to form. The boy could be seen going in and out of the picture like bad reception. When the boy left I could see the man struggling. He had his hand constantly brushing against his head and through his hair like he was stressed. A cooler fell from the sky. The man opened it up and grabbed a beer bottle and chugged it. He kept going back to that cooler drinking more and more and more. The son came back into the picture. The man was unstable, yet continued to build. He was up high and hammered away. He called for his son to bring him another. The kid opened the cooler and grabbed one for him. He stepped up the ladder with one hand free and a bottle in the other. It was a long way up. Towards the end of the climb the kid lost his grip and fell to the ground. I could hear the glass shatter into pieces. The man was too drunk and busy working on the tree house to notice. A few minutes passed by as I saw the kid laying lifeless on the grass which was now battered with blood. The man called out to his son again, still unaware of the fall. When there was no response the man stopped working and came out of tree house and looked down to the ground and started screaming hysterically. He rushed down the ladder and had a look of Horror across his face. I saw a bright light come from the boys body and rise to the sun. The man shook his son in hopes off seeing his eyes open. He checked his pulse and felt nothing. He grabbed a piece of shredded glass and slit his wrist. Blood came pouring out as the man laid down with his son holding onto him during his own last gasp of air.

The sun faded and it was dark. The tree house began to decay and was rotting away like their dead bodies. The man was awake and pale like a ghost. He was crying with his son still in his arms, only his kid wasn’t moving like he was.

“Why”! He shouted

The guy managed to get himself off the ground and was screaming up at the nite sky like he wanted an answer. I needed to help him

“You need to let go”, I told him.

The man looked my way. My appearance was a welcoming one

“Who are you”?, he asked

“Don’t fear the reaper”, “I’m here to help”. I responded

“Where’s my son”? He asked

“He’s waiting for you in heaven”, I assured him.

“I don’t belong”, he said. “I’m a terrible father”, he finished.

“Don’t say that”, I told him.

“I’m not worthy”, he insisted.

“Look”, “your a good dad”. “It was an accident”. I told him. “Your son knows that and so does the man upstairs”, I finished.

“I can’t forgive myself”, he said

“You were trying to do a good thing for your kid and you made a mistake”. “Life is just the beginning”, “you can’t even imagine what it’s like up there with your son right now”. I assured him.

“I can’t go”, he replied.

“Look”, “there’s others that need my help and I’m not going to leave until you crossover”. I said.

“No”, he replied.

“Your being stubborn”, “you know that”? “Your son is waiting” I told him.

“No”, he replied


I woke up from my slumber covered in sweat. Dealing with the stubborn dead can do that. Don’t worry about him, hell come around. Sometimes you’ve got to go old school on these spirits in order to push them in the right direction. So, I’m that guy that crosses spirits over in my sleep, What’s your story?