A Traditional Scottish Prayer:
From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
I had tucked Tim into bed about a half-hour earlier, and had left his bedroom door slightly ajar, as was our custom. Now, as I walked down the hall, past his door, I thought I heard a tiny and desperate whisper come from his room. "Mom. Mom! Come here!"
I pushed open his door and found him lying in bed, with his little index finger pressed to his lips, apparently warning me to be quiet. Puzzled, I went to his bedside and leaned down to find out what he wanted.
Pointing to his closet, which had been left open, he whispered, "Look. In my closet. There's a flying saucer!"
I turned my head and peered, through the darkness, at the closet. At first I didn't see the "saucer," but then . . . there it was, eerily hovering above his closet's top shelf. A very small "saucer," indeed, but as realistic as any I'd seen on TV.
A Mylar balloon, mostly depleted of its helium, had drifted into the closet, had tipped onto its side and was just barely levitating a few inches above the shelf. The air from the heater vent caused it to tremble slightly in its hover mode, and the dim light from the hallway reflected off its shimmery surface.
I gave Tim a hug and turned on his bedroom light. I couldn't tell whether he was more relieved or disappointed at what the light revealed. But, either way, he was insistent that the rogue balloon be banished from his bedroom.
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