In the stillness of a Toronto dawn, at precisely 5:05 am, I was jolted awake by my cat’s frantic yowling. What made this moment eerily unforgettable was the shadowy silhouette looming over me—a slender figure, about five feet tall, with an unusually large, bald head. What caught my eye were the strange green LED-like lights that punctuated its body in mysterious patterns.
I lay on my right side, an unusual position for me considering my sixteen years of battling sciatica post-spinal injury. The figure bent over me twice, its attention focused on my lower back and legs as if studying or examining something. It never uttered a sound; it simply moved methodically, outlined sharply by the soft glow of a nearby night light which threw its perfectly black form into stark relief.
My cat’s frantic yowling only added to the night’s tension, an anxious soundtrack to an encounter that defied rational explanation. I shouted out twice, asking, “Who are you?” and “What do you want?” but my voice was met with silence. Then, summoning what courage remained, I moved slowly toward the lamp switch. As I shifted, the figure began to fade, disappearing completely just as the light flickered on and my home’s familiar surroundings restored.
That night, fear held me captive long after the figure vanquished into the darkness. Yet, an odd twist soon followed—a recent change in my pain medication had unexpectedly allowed me to ride a bicycle for the first time in sixteen years. Whether coincidence or something more, the memory of that intense 20-second encounter remains seared into my mind, leaving questions about what truly wandered through my bedroom that night in Toronto.