The Man Over My Bed
When I was twenty-four, my birthmother found me. She told me I was conceived when she was only fifteen. Her parents had quietly moved her away to carry out the pregnancy in secret, forcing her to give me up at birth. Nobody from her hometown ever knew I existed—not even my father. My birthmother never spoke of him, and I chose not to push her for answers.
Then, twenty-three years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. My wife was asleep beside me. Hovering directly over me in the dark was a man.
He was a solid figure, so clear that I could see his face perfectly. His eyes peered deeply into mine. It looked as if he was straining to speak, desperately trying to pull out words that just wouldn't come. Terrified—not knowing if he was a ghost or an intruder—I screamed. The moment my wife sat up, he vanished into a bright flash of white light that she saw, too. I had never seen that face before in my life. I never forgot it.
Ten years ago, the Long Island Medium, Theresa Caputo, came to Canada on tour. My wife and mother-in-law wanted to go, so we got tickets. The arena was packed to capacity—far too full for her to read everyone. Over the course of the night, she only read five people. I was the third.
During her second reading, Theresa suddenly threw up her hands, looking visibly frustrated. She announced that a spirit was desperately and rudely demanding her attention, breaking her concentration. She began walking across the arena floor, heading right in my general direction.
All of a sudden, I felt a heavy, disembodied hand grip my shoulder.
As I snapped my focus back forward, Theresa was right there. She looked directly over my shoulder and handed me a microphone. Suddenly, my face was projected onto the arena's big screens; it felt like everyone in my town was staring right at me.
Theresa asked, "Do you know who this man is?"
"No," I replied.
"This is your father," she said. "He never knew about you until he passed away. Ever since he crossed over, he has been right next to you, trying to let you know that he knows." She told me his name was Guy.
Through her, he began listing things no stranger could possibly know. “I was there when you won the fishing derby,” he said. “I was there when you were hurt and I sent a man to your room.” Then, he told me he was proud of me for the father I had become. They were all exact, true events from my life. Tears welled up in my eyes. He was proud of me.
When I got home that night, I called my birthmother immediately and explained everything that had happened at the show. Then, I told her his name: Guy.
The line went completely dead. She hung up on me, and we never spoke of him again.
Seven years ago, my wife and I divorced. I fell into a severe depression. Seeing my pain, my birthmother finally decided to point me toward my father. She sent me a Facebook link to one of my dad's old friends. That friend, in turn, connected me on Facebook with my dad's nephew, Jim.
I messaged Jim, explaining who I was, where I was conceived, who my mother was, and that I had been told Guy might be my father. Jim replied that Guy was his uncle, and that Guy had actually raised him. He told me his uncle had died a bachelor and had never mentioned having a child. Respecting his memory, I didn’t push any further.
Fifteen minutes later, Jim messaged me back. He said he had gone through my Facebook photos, and the family resemblance was undeniable.
We ended up speaking at great length. At the end of our conversation, he typed out a message and attached a file. It was a photo of his uncle.
As the image loaded, absolute chills ran down my spine. Staring back at me from the screen was the exact same face that had hovered over my bed twenty-three years ago.