The Ceiling Man

I couldn’t sleep the first night.

I was in bed and as soon as I turned onto my back, I saw him in a box of light, standing.

He looked trapped and his hands were banging against the box, he wanted out. At six years old, I couldn’t do anything but clutch my teddy bear and cry.

The next night I checked the entire room to make sure it wasn’t my brothers trying to prank me. There was no sign of them, but the man on the ceiling was still there. He wasn’t banging against the wall that time. He didn’t do anything, actually. He just stood there.

It continued, night after night. Sometimes he walked back and fourth in the box of light, sometimes he would beat against the box, and sometimes he would stand there, watching.

The last night I saw him, after weeks of enduring it, I heard laughter. It was unbelievably unnerving and I threw my teddy bear off to the side and whispered, “Go away.”

Thankfully, he did.

For years I passed it off as a dream, a reoccurring one, at least until I brought it up with my mom last year.She said that she had checked up on me one night when I was six years old and saw a man on the ceiling, in a box of light.

I try not to look at the ceiling when I go to sleep.

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