In My Head Bed

Last night I was reading a book about near death experiences. George was being a bit of a rascal, to put it nicely, and was not getting on board with our usual bedtime routine. So I'd go back and forth to his room trying to get him to stay in bed and fall asleep. George is a peculiar kid because, even though he wants me to lay next to him in bed, he can not control his excitement by all the possible fun that could arise, and this makes him very restless, and unable to fall asleep. Even at a couple months old, he was only able to fall asleep if he was in his crib alone.
So I tried laying with him, and he'd seem like he was drifting off, but then shoot up like a rocket, and look at me with a wide, mischievous grin. Then, I moved to the rocking chair at the foot of the bed, thinking the distance would help him drift off. I continued reading my book, but eventually George sat up, looking at me with giant, darkened eyes, smiling like he is watching an amusing scene. Then I got the chills.
Usually ongoing failed attempts at getting George to bed would be more annoying than scary, but I was reading a book about people who had near death experiences. The book's stories were mainly about how people who had NDEs were confronted by dead relatives. The spookiest of the encounters were when someone met a relative they didn't know they had until they came back to life. Like a young girl who told her parents she met her brother, but was confused because she didn't have a brother, but the parents, brought to tears, said they never told her she did have a brother, but he died three months before she was born. Another story, was a woman who called her doctor to tell him that, even though her daughter was diagnosed with terminal cancer, her daughter was going to live, and she knew this because of a dream her daughter had. Her daughter explained that she dreamed of her recently deceased father, and he told her, "Don't worry, this is not going to be your death, you'll live through this." The mom wasn't convinced by the words, it was when the daughter was explaining how her dad looked, he was young and wearing a yellow shirt and fedora hat, the daughter found this odd, since she'd never seen her dad wearing a fedora. The mother immediately believed her daughter's dream was an encounter with her father because she described what he wore on their honeymoon, and her daughter never knew this.

Needless to say, the stories had the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. The silence of George's room, and his spontaneous bursts of happiness, had my mind reeling. I thought, George was having full blown party with my dead ancestors. I didn't work up the courage to shout, "Hey, Pops! I need to get some rest here, can you let the boy sleep?!"
The creepiness intensified after I'd leave George's room, hoping he'd stay in bed. I walked to my room, laying in bed, returning to my book. I heard a door creak, and knew it was George. Then I'd get up, and look down the hallway where I was greeted with an image that is akin to Hollywood Ghost Movies. George is standing in the crack of the doorway, his head at doorknob level. His eyes are shadowed by the darkness, and his little figure is perfectly still. Although I can't see his eyes, I feel him looking directly at me, with his chin jutted down, and belly sticking out.
I have to pretend to be very pissed, rather than creeped out, and I stomp down there blaring empty threats like, "This is the last time, then I'm locking the door. Lay down, and don't get up!"
I laid next to him. After a couple minutes, he sat up, like he were tanning his back on a beach blanket and looked up to take in the beach surroundings. This time his gigantic smile wasn't directed at me, his eyes were looking over my shoulder. I said, "Lay down, George, and go to sleep."

Then I walked quickly back to my room, and told my husband, "You got to go in there and deal with him because he is freaking me out." After he wrapped up some work, he walked down the hall, and laid in bed with George. I looked at the monitor and watched them, George laying on his stomach, occasionally kicking his legs in a playful swimming motion, and my husband's face lit up by the screen of his phone.
Then I curled up on my bed, and cracked my book open, where I continued reading about people who nearly died, and flew around a new dimension, talking to their dead relatives.