text: Some summer days are too wrought with time. The kind of time where you \*have\* to think of something to do, and today, I was knocking around the house just trying to pass the time. I even found myself standing at the kitchen window, totally zoned-out and simply watching my mother out in the garden. Eventually I found myself sitting at the table with a drawing pad- figured I’d try and exercise my creative muscles. It was hard to keep my brain and hand from just stopping and remaining still, so I resolved to turn on the radio. The only thing that served to do, however, was inspire me to rap my hands and tap my feet. Restlessness had become me, and I had to just get up and move. After moving to the sink, I began tapping my knuckles lightly in tune with the song on the radio, and as the song reached its crescendo, I matched it with one hearty knock of my knuckles. In that moment, I began to feel a bit more relaxed, a bit calmer. Perhaps now I would finally be able to start being productive, back to the table. But then, the moment my back was turned I heard it, a *knock*. I glanced down at my hands, my feet. I didn’t make *that* sound, but the knock I heard was the same pitch, length, it had the same punchy sound my musical knock was. It had startled me so that I had to turn down the radio. I surveyed the kitchen windows- no one was there, no birds, no dogs. I figured it must have been the front door, but to my dismay, when I opened it, there was no one there. So I popped off the back porch to ask my mother why she knocked on the door, what she needed. Evidently nothing as she had not left her spot in the garden, and my question only confused her. Back inside I was left without conclusion - I heard a knock, but there was no perpetrator. So back to the table I went to try drawing again. I turned the music back on from the radio and my eyes fell down to my paper and work began. Thankfully I was able to get some ideas down on paper- I think the music really helped. I found myself once again tapping along when my pen was down...tap, tap, tap, tap\*.\* Unbeknownst to me the radio’s battery was dwindling down, and then it simply died. In the silence that filled the space, I heard it... *tap, tap, tap, tap.* There is was again, just like before- there was an echo to the sounds I was making. I brought my hands up to my face. I had to make sure the sound wasn’t coming from me, even subconsciously- I lifted my feet. The windows were still clear. *Where the hell were these noises coming from?* Before I knew it I was tapping my fingers again, t-t-t-t-tap. I hadn’t even realized it- must have been out of nervousness. Once I caught on, I stopped. But there it was *again- t-t-t-t-tap.* Was it coming from... the floors, the walls? This echo, if it truly was one, was beginning to induce some sort of mania in me. I wasn’t sure where its origins were, and almost without thinking I swiftly knocked my hand on the table- BOOM BOOM. It echoed back- *BOOM BOOM*\- instantaneously. I gently wrapped my knuckles on the table- brr- *brr* in return. There is something echoing me, there was no way to deny it. *But where the hell were these noises coming from?* It was too loud and too clear to be coming from the floor, so I ran up to the wall, and I knocked once more. 7 times, loudly, softly, quickly, slowly. And it all came back to me, from the wall. I froze- confused and afraid. Then, from the wall, there inexplicably came a firm and deliberate *knock-knock-knock.* Whatever was producing the sound was now brazenly going first. *How did it know to do that? Can it see me? Why is it doing this?* My hand shook as I laid it upon the wall and delivered my own knock-knock-knock. The air was heavy and thick with the presence of nervousness. *Tick-tick-tick-knock-tap-tap-knock.* Tick-tick-tick-knock-tap-tap-knock. And then the sound moved, downward. *Tap-tap-tap-BOOM.* From the vent at the floor this time. Tap-tap-tap-BOOM. Somehow, then, the vent rattled. Slowly a thin, white whip of smoke emerged from the vent. I raised my head parallel with its movements upward towards the ceiling. I held my breath as it gently lowered itself and graced me with its presence. The whip angelically swarmed around my upper body- warm and ethereal. I extended my arm and its smooth contours wrapped around and extended off of me. Behind it, it left a warm- almost glowing- sensation on my skin. It flowed through the air, contracting and extending as it discovered the dimensions of the kitchen, and then it seemed to settle. I froze, only my eyes being able to follow it. On the table where I was working it rested, only for a moment, and then it seemed to materialize a form. The smoke directed the movement of my sketchbook, lightly flipping over a page. As well it picked up a pen and began to write. When I could finally break myself from my stasis, I slowly approached to see what was written. “Thank you” A flurry of breaths came out of me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. *What is it thanking me for? Was it stuck in the wall?* But... its gratitude filled me with warmth, and the white whip of smoke moved into the noon-day light coming from the window. It floated like an angel, the light glittering on its form. *I need to show someone.* I ran to the porch to signal mother inside. Mother must have sensed the urgency in my voice, and she hurried from the garden into the house, leaving the door open behind her. As soon as she stepped into the house she saw the beautiful smoke, her eyes followed it as it spun and floated towards her. She stuttered with disbelief, but her eyes were bright and a smile grew. *I’m not the only one who can see this!* It felt as though we were stuck in time with this hypnotic glowing force, then it made it to mother. Slowly it descended upon her. Gracefully it slid from atop her head downward. It lay softly upon her shoulders. It then wrenched tight around her throat. Mother fell to the ground. The smoked creeped out the open door. ... Mother hasn’t woken up, and I don’t think she will. I keep trying to check if she has a pulse, but my hands are shaking so violently. I don’t know who to tell, I don’t even know how to explain what happened. But what I do know is that thing is out there now. And I let it out.