The Pictures on the Ceiling

A SHORT STORY

Pictures tell stories. My ceiling tells me stories. At least the ceiling in my bedroom does.

Now and then when I’m close to falling asleep, it happens. Pictures slowly appear on my ceiling. Most of the time it’s like a video recording playback.

I haven’t told anyone about this. Well, one person. I’ll get to that in a moment. But I can’t tell anyone else because I know I’d be called crazy or told I’m making it up. But it’s real. I see them.

One recent night what I saw was a big, open field. Grass and flowers as far as the eye could see. Low mountains in the far background. Puffy clouds slowly moved across the sky. Beautiful. Idyllic.

Suddenly a plane approached from the distance. Something looked different. The plane was on fire. The plane grew in size as it descended towards the ground. The extent of the fire grew more obvious each second.

Eventually the plane hit the ground at the most distant point of the field. The plane skidded for what seemed an eternity until it stopped just short of being close enough to take me out.

I was terrified. Frozen in place. Too scared to run. My feet wouldn’t work even though in reality I was lying down on my bed. It was so real my legs had begun to move to escape but to no avail.

I was relieved the plane didn’t hit me. My breathing was fast and shallow as I realized my body had gone into panic mode. I tried to intentionally take some slow deep breaths but was only partially successful.

Finally, I calmed down enough to drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I was having breakfast and the small television in the kitchen was broadcasting the news. In large letters the words Breaking News were followed by Plane Crashes.

A plane had caught fire mid-air and couldn’t make it to the airport, likely due to fuel burning off rapidly from the fire. The plane crash landed in a wide-open field and all 84 passengers and crew were killed.

Of course, I knew that would happen. I’d seen ceiling images before that later proved to be exactly what happened the next morning. When I’d seen those plane crash images on my ceiling, then later learned it happened, I finally told my parents about it. Well, my mother. It was difficult to talk to dad.

Mom said it was just bad dreams and I’d be fine. I think she thought I was making it all up. I’m a kid after all. Eight years old. We kids are known for vivid imaginations. It was no surprise mom dismissed my fervor for a child’s rantings.

When I pushed it further my mom got stern. She told me in no uncertain terms I was to never mention such silliness again or I’d be punished.

So, I didn’t. The images appeared. Like the one when the Mayor was shot and injured. Another when the main bridge in town collapsed and killed seven people driving across it at the time. Or the time the images of horrific heat appeared, and the next day summer warm weather records were broken. People died from heat-related causes. The heat dome didn’t lift off the town for days.

Each time I considered telling mom again, I remembered how angry she was. I didn’t like getting punished. So, I kept silent.

One night I got out of bed and was stumbling around finding the bathroom door so I could piss. Mom appeared to be doing the same. We met near the bathroom door and I quietly said “Go ahead” and waved my mom to the bathroom.

“Thanks son,” she said just as quietly. “You sleeping alright?”

In my groggy haze, without thinking, I said “Yeah, I finally got to sleep after seeing that big crash of cars and trucks on the main highway.”

I recoiled as I realized what I’d said. My mom just tilted her head and gave me an interesting look.

In the morning I walked into the kitchen and noticed dad’s work clothes missing. He had gone to work. That was normal. My mom stood there with a weird look on her face. She was leaning on the counter evidently deciding if she was going to ask me something. She finally did.

“How did you know ahead of time about the crash this morning on the main highway.”

I paused. Which way was I going to go with this. Ultimately, I decided to go with the truth. After telling my mother the story she sat hard into a chair looking befuddled.

“Wait, that last time when the plane crashed in the field, then too?”

“Yes.”

“Have there been other times?”

“Dozens.”

My mom sat upright, horrified. Perhaps she regretted discounting my story the first time. I know she did. She told me later how much regret she felt.

From that moment on when I had one of those ceiling visions I would write quickly on a pad by my bed what I saw so I wouldn’t forget. Then I’d go into my parents’ room and quietly wake my mom how we had planned.

Mom would gently get out of bed, put on her robe, and make whatever calls seemed appropriate for avoiding a disaster. Most of the time that averted the catastrophe. Other times it didn’t.

The police came to our house a few times after mom made those calls and the tragedies came true. The nature of the accidents, crashes, and other mayhem I saw on my ceiling that mom told the authorities about was such that she or anyone in our family couldn’t have been culpable for them.

People can suspend disbelief completely if the end result lets them look like capable investigators in the local public eye. The police dispatchers and those they directed went with it. Few questions were asked.

Eventually the local police dispatch team installed a direct phone line in our house. Dad got suspicious but he worked all the time anyway or stayed out with the guys late, coming home smelling like a bar.

Mom would place the call to the dispatcher, and they would act on the information.

Our town was one of the safest places in my country to live. I didn’t get as much sleep as I should. Mom sure didn’t, but she likes feeling useful. She likes being important.

We did this until I turned 18. My 18th birthday ended my seeing things on my ceiling. Weeks passed. Nothing. The police checked in with us, but they finally realized the well had gone dry and stopped calling.

Our town isn’t as safe as it was, but at least me and my mom are getting some good sleep now.

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