Southern US Narration
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US South)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
our poor says. I reached the landing and stare at the door. A thin beam of purplish lied flickers across the hardwood floor. I watch mesmerize for a few moments. My heart skips when I suddenly see movement as if someone inside my son's bedroom had just walked past the door. Hello, I call out shakily. How could there be anyone in there? Surely it was just a tree branch blowing outside the bedroom window, and then it dawned on me. There weren't any trees on that side of the house frozen. I listen and hear nothing. I'm just about to move on when I hear a faint noise. As I listen, my heart begins to race. Is that someone crying? The more I listen, the more suddenly become that a child is crying in Seth's room. Could this be one of his friends? I don't think so. Seth was only six, and the nearest child his age lives about four blocks away, a far piece for a six year old to travel by himself. Nevertheless, I am positive. It is the undersized sobs of a child. I suddenly feel as if 100 miles are running up and down my spine. My interest about what is going on outside has been brushed aside for a new, single minded focus who are what is on the other side of the door. Ah, slowly creep forward, not daring to breathe. A tall vase percent. The bathroom contains two large golf umbrellas on Grasp on by its handle and slowly pull it from the vase like a night drawing a sword. I don't know what I'm going to do with an umbrella unless the intruder is armed with a water pistol. I place my left palm against the door and gently push. I poke the tip of the umbrella into the widening crack, ready to repel any attack. The door gives one last tiny creek as it stops. When I peer into the bedroom, the umbrella drops from my hand and the hair stands up on my neck, sitting on the bed, crying and looking sadly, at a shelf of Star Wars stores, its staff. I rubbed my eyes and shake my head. Surely this is some trick of the light. Some trick of this weirdness going on outside head doesn't seem to notice me. At first, it looks the same as they had the last time I saw him alive. His blond hair is parted neatly in the middle. He's wearing an orange and yellow striped shirt with khaki shorts at the end of his skinny legs. Dangling over the edge of the bed is a pair of faded spatter man tennis shoes. As a step further into the room, it turns his head and looks at me. He is the same sef, but on the other hand, he is not his whole form. Flesh and close, a lack shimmer faintly like the surface of a lake. At the moment, dawn breaks. Hey gives off the same ethereal go is the mysterious light outside. Whatever this oddness is, he seems to be both independent and part of it. At the same time, I find myself fixed with a mix of joyous elation and profound horror. My son is back, which makes me happy. I should be happy, but his dad forgot sick. I buried him and his mother two weeks ago. This can't be real. It is riel. That point is driven home like a bolt of lightning. When Seth speaks. Daddy, you can see me! He asks in a tired and frightened voice.