Is This The Boy Who Was Murdered?About a week ago on the news I heard about a fifteen year old boy who had been brutally murdered not an hour from where I live. Usually, when I hear of a murder, it doesn’t really affect me. I mean, I’m saddened and bothered by it, but in today’s society murder is the norm. You either have to find a way to not let it get to you or be swallowed up by it. But for some reason his name would not leave me alone. I hardly knew anything about him other than his name and that he was killed, but it kept nagging at me. I tried to ignore it and went to bed that night. As I was laying there watching television, I felt this tingling cold on my right leg, even though my room was extremely hot. I looked to the edge of my bed but couldn’t see anything, even though I could still distinctly feel the tingling in my leg. Being brave, I reached out to where I presumed the spirit was. I was hit with this cold block of air. I knew I was feeling a spirit, but it didn’t scare me in the slightest. I felt safe, which sounds crazy, but something about it just made me feel at ease. Eventually it left and I continued on watching television.
Finally I decided to look the boy up and find out the details of what happened. After I read the horrific facts of his murder, it’s like I blanked for a second. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. This image played in my head like a film reel. It was from the boy’s perspective. I could see myself walking into that house, could see those people coming at me, could feel the fear he must have felt as they beat him. It’s like I was locked in his head as he went through his ordeal. I saw everything in such perfect detail. It seemed to switch points of view and I could see the boy being tossed into the bathtub, could see them beating him, stuffing him into a sleeping bag and burning his body.
It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced, and the images wouldn’t leave me alone. I’ve never been so strongly affected by anything. All I could do was sit there with my knees pulled up to my chest and try not to cry. If you knew me you’d know I haven’t cried in two years, since my uncle died. And I’ve had a lot to cry about in those two years. I just don’t. It’s almost like I’m not physically capable of it. As I was sitting there, I felt something touch my back. It was almost like the way your mother rubs your back when you’re upset or not feeling well; just this soothing gesture. Again, I didn’t feel at all threatened. Almost like protected. A few moments later I felt something stroke my cheek. It wasn’t hair or a part of my blanket. It was this obvious, cold, tingly sensation; just like the other two times I had been touched.
At around four in the morning, after hours of trying to hold back tears and block out the images, I finally just let them out. I cried for a solid ten minutes. My pillow was soaked with my tears. Then, out of the blue, this incredible feeling of ease overtook me and I drifted off to sleep. I have issues with sleep and it usually takes me hours to actually get to sleep, and I wake up several times throughout the night. I slept sound from 4-11 am.
During my sleep I had this dream that seemed to stretch on for the entire night. The entire dream consisted of me staring at this boy who kept smiling at me. I awoke feeling at ease, like a large weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I mused to myself about what a good dream I had just had when I realized who the boy was. The boy in my dream was the boy who was murdered. Every single detail about him was correct; his brown hair, his cherub face, his dark eyes. Even his smile was exact. I’ve dreamt of real people before, but they’re always people I’m close with, and the “moral” of the dream always plays out in real life. Like, I dreamed of my best friend once. In the dream he turned out to be something other than what I thought he was. A week later he did something to sabotage our friendship.
I’m really curious right now as to what’s going on. My gut tells me the spirit I keep feeling, the sudden ease, the dream, it’s all the boy who was murdered. But why would that be? Why would he come to me over his grieving family? How would he even find me, or know to come? And why did I feel so drawn to find out more about him in the first place? Why is any of this happening? I’m really confused at the moment. I would greatly appreciate any opinions you have on my situation, and any advice you have for me. If it is the boy, is there any way I can communicate with him? I feel like I need to speak with him, just as I felt I needed to find out more about him. I don’t know what to do.