Memory of Raccoon

I once heard a story in a casual chat with a student from North America that I still remember vividly.
One stormy night, she said she woke up in the middle of the night because she sensed something was there. Terrified, she stayed frozen in bed. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of lightning. In that instant, the thing she had felt was clearly revealed.

To her shock, it was a wild raccoon standing outside her window, pressing its front paws against the glass, peering into her bedroom. She let out a scream.

I don’t know if that story somehow sank into my subconscious, but it was a stormy morning today, and I had a frightening dream.

In the dream, one of my students was supposed to come to my house for a lesson at 9 a.m. I woke up at 7 a.m., looked out toward the garden, and saw that, for some reason, the Shoji screen was open, leaving me completely visible. And there, sitting on a chair in the garden, was the student who was supposed to arrive at nine—already staring at me in my pajamas.

I panicked: “Wait, is it already nine? No, it’s only seven. But why on earth are you in my garden?”
That’s when I woke up. The Shoji was closed.

It was so scary. Even when I remembered it later that night, my heart raced again. By the way, the person in my dream was a face I didn’t recognize at all. And what was the scariest was the thought that I might have been late.
　
　
　
【I published a Kindle e-book under my pen name, TONE Riko】
https://jlesson-kyoto.jp/index.php?QBlog-20220801-1

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