A Visitor in the Night

My earliest real memory - which I would define as being a tangible, indelible impression which is not subject to the same kind of distortion that most recollections of the past inherit over time; parts of them worn smooth like stone after much handling… Is of something which happened when I could have been no more than five years old.

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly when in my life the event took place. It is a lonely island in my mind, with no contemporaries by which to judge its position. The seas of time surrounding it, stretch featurelessly to the distant horizon. The only thing I can say with absolute conviction is this - it happened.

I'm not sure exactly how to categorise my experience. Perhaps if I were a man of faith I would call it a vision. Others amongst you would most likely choose to do as I have done myself have done - and place as mundane a label as possible on what for me was an extraordinary - and perhaps - life changing experience.

On that night when I was five years old, I had a nightmare.

I use the term 'nightmare' not to describe that which is defined on Wikipedia as "dreams of particular intensity, with content that the sleeper finds disturbing, related either to physiological causes, such as a high fever, or to psychological ones, such as unusual trauma or stress in the sleeper's life..."

No. I refer instead to the original, more arcane definition of the word - which can also be found on the page I have provided a link to. Because long ago the word 'nightmare;' referred to what Mary Shelley would later refer to in her own writing as a 'waking dream.' The present day term for what I experienced would be 'sleep paralysis.'

On that night almost twenty four years ago; I experienced what a certain Doctor Johnson classified over a century ago in his Dictionary of the English Language as a sense of:

Furthermore, I distinctly remember that during this experience of helplessness; as I lay there in what should have been the reassuring environs of my bedroom - my mind seemingly alert but my body unresponsive… I was not alone.

Forgive me - dear reader - for being unable to describe the appearance little girl whose presence I divined on that night; in any great amount of detail. Hanging in the gallery of my memories - hers has always borne more in common with a painting rendered by an impressionist, than the painstaking work of a portraitist.

Suffice it to say that I remember an air of innocence surrounding her - an impression that was reinforced by the simple white dress in which she was arrayed. She had a beautiful face; long dark hair; and could have been no more than ten years of age.

What I do remember clearly is two simple words this young girl - who was somehow there with me, and yet nowhere at the same time - said to me as I lay unable to move or do anything but pay heed to her message.

"Help me…"

To this day, I am unable to make sense of what I experienced on that night so long ago. I am unable to ignore it - just as I am unable to understand it. But as a result of that; I have lived thus far with the belief that some day, I may be able to help someone.

This feeling, this sense of obligation; has had a steadying effect on my life. I have used it to balance myself; as a tightrope walker uses a pole, to prevent himself from falling from his tenuous path into the darkness below.

I find it hard to accept that such a beneficent thing is nothing more than the product a child's delusions.