This took place around 4 AM on a cold winter's day recently. Because I report to work quite early, I'm usually up at that time using the restroom.
As I've mentioned before in some of my accounts, my apartment is the top floor of a very old house. I've long suspicioned that at one time it was the attic or possibly a loft because of its layout. The restroom is a long rectangular shape, and can be rather claustrophobic for some as all the utilities are down at one end.
So that this account might make better sense, I'll try to describe the room to you. If you are standing in the doorway, the wall to your right is solid. Although closer inspection will reveal that there once was a door there, long since removed and plastered over; however, the plaster has a crack that reveals its outline. Directly across is a 'long' wall (although it's a mere 12 feet) with a window almost inline with the doorway you're standing in. On that wall about 2 feet down from the window sits an ancient claw footed tub, the faucet end against another short wall (maybe 4 foot wide). Not 4 inches from the tub's edge sits the commode, facing towards the other short wall. These two objects completely fill that space. On the opposing wall, less than 2 feet from the commode is the porcelain sink, encased in a cheap vanity, above hangs an ancient metal medicine cabinet. It is important to note this mirror is NOT inline with the window. A couple of inches closes the circuit and you are back in the doorway.
Now that you have a visual, I'll tell you what happened. I was sitting on the commode, when all I can describe as a glimmer on my left caught my attention. I looked towards the shower curtains, suspended from a metal ring that hangs over the tub. To my enchantment, there were five wavy lines of tiny flickering lights playing against the curtain. They did not flicker all at once, but seemed to be emitting a pattern; one brightly shining while others were dim, then it dimming as another shone. I watched mesmerized for a moment, then tore my eyes away thinking there was something wrong with my eyes. However I didn't see these wee lights anywhere else. I glanced back and the lights still played. I watched as they went through the pattern, paused then replayed.
"What are you?" I whispered. I again glanced down to the window, then up at the mirror trying to determine if this was some refraction of light I just never noticed before. But at 4 AM it's dark out with few, if any, cars passing. As I had not heard the rumbling of any engine I ruled car windshield out. The lights flickered faster, as if demanding my attention. It hit me then, I was seeing music! Each wee light representing a note. Although I come from a musical family, I can't sight read music and have to take the long way: Every Good Boy Does Fine and F-A-C-E. I stood up and snatched an eyeliner pencil from my makeup basket on the vanity and begin scrawling the letters across the white vanity top. "Slow down... I can't decipher that fast," I softly implored. "B-C-D-E-A-G-E-D-C-A-C..." I continued to write as the lights slowly blinked their code to me. What a sight it must have been - me standing with pants around my ankles, feverishly whispering "Every good boy does fine, F-A-C-E," as I scribbled the letters! Then all the lights faded into nothingness.
I felt slightly accelerated and my heart was beating a bit faster, as I quickly finished up my business and ran for paper and pen to rewrite the 'message' before it could become smudged and unreadable. I forced myself to calm down, and get a cup of coffee before trying to figure out what the notes were telling me. Lacking any musical instruments (only one in the family who didn't play something) I had to settle for la-de-dumming my way through.
Midway I choked and tears formed as I recognized my dad's favorite song, "O, Danny Boy". It had been his request to have it played at his funeral (although he had also requested that I did not attend). If you've read my story "Possession by Nightmare?", you understand how this request came as no surprise to me. I think, even as he was dying, he was afraid I would tell someone about the way he was. I'm not sure he ever believed that he was forgiven, or that I knew he was no longer that man. Or maybe he knew I could ill afford the expense of travel and was just trying to make it easier on me. I prefer the latter explanation, but don't know for certain.
Then the date jumped up and slapped me: November 18, his birthday. I went back into the bathroom and stood by the shower curtains. I didn't feel anything there, and there were no dancing lights. Still, I spoke into the air, "Dad, if you can hear me, Happy Birthday. Rest now, I forgive you."