The Boy in the Red Sweater

A few years ago, I experienced this bizarre incident so real, so material, and truthfully, so frightening that I still see snippets of it in the corner of my mind whenever I turn off the lights.

Let me get something straight: I'm not a wimp. I've lived by myself for years, I can replace fuse panels, sleep through thunderstorms, and walk home alone at night without a second thought. But something did happen that week that scared me in a way that nothing else ever had.

It began on what was to be a typical night. I had just read in bed — it was about 1:30 AM. My cat was sleeping next to my arm, and I turned off the reading light. Just another night, huh?

Then I heard it.

"Meow."

Only it wasn't my cat.

It wasn't even a normal sound for a cat. It was a person saying "Meow" like they were imitating a cat, but in a silly, childlike voice, creepy.

My heart froze.

I thought maybe someone outside was joking. My window had been opened a crack, and well it's a big city. Strange things happen. But then I opened my eyes.

And that's when I saw him.

There was a little boy at the end of my bed. He was maybe 7 or 8 years old, with a red sweater on, slowly waving one arm above his head as if he were playing.

It was like a dream only I was most definitely awake.

I sat up and flipped the light switch on.

Gone. Just. gone.

I was gasping, heart pounding, gazing into space. Was that real? A delusion? My head was reeling.

I did not sleep that night. I was awake, lying flat on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, too afraid to budge, too bewildered to think clearly. Each small noise seemed amplified. Each breeze seemed to be something hiding.

I nervously shared the experience with some coworkers the following day at work. Of course, they laughed. "A ghost kid meowing? You okay, man?" one asked. I laughed too sort of. But inside, I was not okay. I knew what I had seen. I could feel it. This was not a nightmare.

It worsened in the subsequent nights. I began sleeping on the couch, keeping TV on for noise. Despite that, I continued to hear unusual whispers that weren't on the screen. I'd see moving shadows close to my bed at high speeds. Each creak sounded like a message.

I whispered once, "I'm exhausted. If you are there please leave me alone.

I was desperate and I wasn't a believer in ghosts. Not until now.

Then something clicked.

One co-worker playfully asked, "You're on something, aren't you?"

Suddenly my mind burst into its own light bulb moment. I had just begun to take a new asthma medication: Montelukast. Nothing hard-core — just something to improve breathing at night. But I'd never used it before.

I ran home, found the leaflet buried in the box, and read it:

Rare Side Effects: Hallucinations, Nightmares, Mood Changes, Sleep Disturbances.

My heart fell.

I discontinued the pills straight away.

And just like that everything was fine again.

No more voices. No more ghost boy. No more shadows or spooky meowing. I slept like a real person again. My house was a house again. My mind was my own.

I was relieved but shaken. How didn't I pick up on this earlier? How far might this have progressed if I continued taking the pills?

Later on, I found out Montelukast is commonly given to kids. That was hard-hitting. To be a kid, hallucinating at night, scared and being unable to explain it not knowing it's just your meds playing tricks on you.

Ever since, I've been sleeping in the dark again like an adult.

But now, I always always read the side effects.

Because sometimes, the scariest ghosts are the ones we swallow.