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Waking up to an unknown man standing at the foot of your bed is quite a shocking way to come to consciousness. It’s also unpleasant wondering how he got in, where he came from, or how long had he been watching me sleep? And rather frightening to consider who he was and what was his intention? I quickly shut my eyes again hoping he hadn’t seen me look at him and thus give me a moment to figure out what to do first. I opened my eyes just a slit to see if he had moved but he was gone! I looked all around in the dim room and there was no sign of him anywhere.

This continued on an irregular basis. On the third or fourth…or maybe even the fifth time, he spoke, “I won’t hurt you Ace, don’t worry, nothing and no one will ever hurt you. I’m protecting you.” and he was gone again.
I never cried out in the night, as scared as I was for a few moments, I never yelled for help or screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I just wasn’t able to. I don’t know, but I got to the point where I would here footsteps walking down the hall coming toward my room. The sound would stop just outside my closed door. Then, I would hear the steps going around my bed, they would stop at the foot of my bed. If I opened my eyes, I would see him standing there, hands on either side of my foot rail, looking at me. Then, he would turn and walk around the other side of my bed and into the closet (see the image below).

IMG_6861No matter how fast I was or how often I tried, I never could see him open the doors. I never felt the breeze an opening or closing door creates.
After months of this, one morning, I finally had the presence of mind to ask my grandfather, “Who is the man that keeps coming into my room at night?” My grandpa nonchalantly asked what the man looked like. As I described my middle-of-the-night visitor my grandpa’s face got increasingly pale. He silently got up from the table where we were having breakfast, walked behind me, to the other side of me, then up the stairs. I hollered after him, “he’s gone now.” When my grandpa came back a few moments later, he placed a photograph in front of me. It was the man who came into my room! “That’s him!” I yelled with a little too much exuberance, “Who is he?”
My grandpa was very pale and visibly shaking as he replied, “Your Uncle Paul.”
I think it was my turn to get pale. My Uncle Paul died when I was two and a half years old.
Grandpa looked at me solemly and said, “He always called you Ace.” Which reminded me of what he said to me on one of his first visits, “I won’t hurt you Ace, don’t worry, nothing and no one will ever hurt you. I’m protecting you.” I’m almost 63, I think he’s done a pretty good job.

I’ll leave it to you to figure out what this was all about and/or how it could be. I never could explain it, I can only relate my experience. Namaste.

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