My son wasn’t home. He had left earlier that day to go on a camping trip with his friends.
My heart skipped. Slowly, I sat up and whispered to myself, “Then… who just spoke to me?”
Fear and confusion churned inside me, but I forced myself to get up.
Step by step, I walked back to his room.
The door was slightly ajar, just as I’d left it.When I pushed it open, the room was empty — perfectly neat, perfectly still. His bed was made, his belongings were gone.
There was no sign that anyone had been there.I stood frozen, trying to make sense of what I had heard.
The voice had been so clear, so unmistakably my son’s.
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