On a bleak and horrid night, as a storm howled and the rain poured, all alone a figure floated silently and consciously across the awkward wooden corridors of the motionless suburban abode, moving in stride, but not in great haste. Its path illuminated through the narrow sanctum by the flashes of the celestial powers which cracked fiercely through the sky to lighten all the land in one brief second of magnificent brilliance, guiding it on its way, then casting the darkest shadows upon them again.

The boards of plastic creaked as burst of winds pounded against the house, muting the being's movement as it climbed heavily up the stairs. It paused for a moment and looked out the window above the door to see the blinding rays of another lightning bolt contrast everything in the darkness into black and white, gazing in wonder at the phenomenon, then turning towards its ascending height, not wanting to tarry. It breathed a moment, hanging its head down on its shoulders as its arm grasped the railing for support and began moving up the stairs again.

When it reached the summit of its apprehensive endeavors it spied down the hall and saw a faint light gleaming underneath one of the doors. Curious and intrigued that one of the inhabitants of the house could be up at this hour, it quietly transversed the distant down the hall to the door to investigate this happening, not knowing who it could be occupying the room from where the translucent light emerged. Knowing the room was an add-on in which there had recently been built as a library of sorts for everyone's use. This it mind, it could be anyone. It took a deep breath through its nostrils and turned the knob, slowly opening the door to reveal an unexpected sight. On the wall, farthest from the door, surrounded by book shelves, there was a writing desk, and on the writing desk, was Timmy, leaning far over the with a candle burning over him as he silently glanced over an unsightly large book which looked exactly like the ones that adorned the shelves.

As it peered through slender crevice of the opened door, Timmy's weary voice harkened from the vast expanse of the room to address it, "Come, in." The words were said shortly. It puckered its lower lip nervously as it pushed the door aside to enter into the chamber.

"Timmy, is there any reason you're not in bed?"

Timmy turned himself rearward to see it face to face. The candle casted large and disfigured shadows upon his features causing them to be hardly recognizable to anyone not accustomed to seeing him. But through the faint light several things could discerned by the intrusive visitor. The bags under his eyes were darker, his cheeks had become slightly hollowed, and his brow wrinkles, though still faint, had become more defined. His condition was the looks of a weary person who now stared reluctantly back at his guest through the gleaming darkness of the room, now resembling a tragic scene of a person who was consumed by his own thoughts.

Timmy shrugged, and looked to one side explaining, "I couldn't sleep, ya know, because of the storm…I thought…reading a little might help. Why, Wanda?"

"I don't know Timmy, this isn't the first time you've stayed up late, I'm just wondering if you get enough sleep?"

Timmy nodded his head slightly, "Yeah, it's just sometimes I'm restless, when it's too quite or too loud. Reading helps my mind lull."

"But, Timmy, you've never read books. Why now?"

"The TV is too loud. It would wake Mom and Dad. And besides, some of these are…actually…pretty good."

Wanda gave a perplexed look to what he had just said, extending her lower lip to show she was pondering if she understood what he had just said. It was as in a moment she realized, that the Timmy who had existed just three weeks earlier…was gone. Replaced with a somber, melancholy soul, whose physic and intellectual distinction was morphed, maybe not for the better, but different all the same.

His voice pierced through the silence like a bomb which whistled for an eternity, causing a dread of the moment that never seemed to come when it would, only it persisted: "Wanda?"

"Hmmm?" she hummed, nonchalantly, trying to cover her precepts of abnormality.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he didn't pause for an answer, "Because I do." The confidence in his voice faded as he continued. "Oh, yes I do, because one won't leave me alone." The tone was becoming slower and more dismayed. "He taunts me, taunts me everywhere I go. He beleaguers me, and he won't stop, he can't stop. He's all around me, day and night, but I don't fear him, because... I am him."

There was a long paused as the rain continued to crackle against the glass and washed down the house. Wanda didn't know what to say, what could she say? How do you reply to a statement like that without sounding like you thought he was insane? But she managed to, "Timmy," her voice the one of a mother who just heard her child state that the boogeyman man is under their bed, "there's no such thing as ghosts."

Timmy suddenly talked, as if he had come out of a trance, his voice normal and aware, "I'm sorry, Wanda, you're right. It has been all of these, these…things that are happening. I just feel…odd."

Wanda saw that he had not lost his mind, perhaps it was a sign of puberty, but she wasn't entirely satisfied with his change in emotions. Still, the answer was assuasive enough for her to continue. "Timmy, just remember, you're never alone, we are always here for you. And whatever is going on, you can talk to us. OK?"

"Yeah, thanks Wanda. Goodnight." he called out curtly as Wanda then left the room. He then turned around and started to read again from an antiquated history book.

His mind dwelt on her response, as he sat and started firmly into the candle. Bah! Why even try to explain? No use at all. I might as well expect her to understand as a person you meet on the street. And Cosmo, he might as well be a puppet. And a realization occurred to Timmy that made shivers go up his spine: he didn't really know his God Parents. Sure they knew each other, but how well? Well enough to tell them anything…no. They had god children before and they would have them again, their relationship was one of business associates, mutual until the one or the other left.

A mixture of anxiety and dreariness descended as he stared intimately at the spouting flame. He picked up the candle and blew it out preparing to return to his cell, when thunder shook the house causing him to shake uncontrollably, causing the extinguished candle to fall to the ground. Timmy flew into a rage as he kicked blindly in the dark toward the candle, catapulting it across the room. "Damn nerves."

It wasn't Timmy's fashion to curse, to some extent, even then at 14, he had considered it a taboo of sorts, particularly around friends, especially around adults. But the circumstances that were could afford him no less an outburst. This was the fourth time that night he had dropped something due the loudness of the storm, and he had enough.

He recognized then how weary he really was. He sighed deeply as he trudged aimlessly to the door so that he could retire in his bed, alone, and undisturbed.