Was it a dream? Or did he really bring me there? I had just gone to bed a few hours ago. I felt the warm summer breeze brush over my head, and could smell the field grass and flowers. My peaceful sleep was interrupted. I woke up in my bed dazed and confused. It all seemed so real.
I had looked out my window to the undeveloped field which my neighbors owned. Over the hill came a little boy who was probably 8 years old. This boy, dressed in 1800 era clothing, with a Dutch-boy haircut came into my room through the window. I sat up, and the little boy with the sad looking face took my hand. He did not say a word to me, but I was not afraid of him. From here, it was like we flew through the air. Over the trees we went, wind whipping through my curly blonde hair, I looked down to see the dirt road of my neighborhood. I wondered where he was bringing me.
We finally landed at a deep swimming hole. This swimming hole, surrounded by ledges of rock, appeared bottomless with its ominous black water. He stood with me there as we watched little kids playing in the deep water. These kids were swimming, splashing, and jumping off the rocks. It looked like they were having a ton of fun. The boy then brought me back to my house, left me in my bed, and I watched him disappear over the grassy hill. I immediately woke up. Sitting straight up in bed, I stared out the window, and replayed the trip over and over in my head. I tried to make sense of the entire situation, and wondered where I truly went.  This identical “dream” repeated every night for two weeks. I was curious why this little boy was coming to me, why he appeared sad, and what he wanted to tell me.
The last time I dreamt of the boy started off as the dream always went. The little boy came over the hill, grabbed my hand, and we were off. We landed at the same deep swimming hole, and saw the same kids playing in the water. However this time was different. The atmosphere at the swimming hole had changed. I felt anxious and uneasy, as if something bad was about to happen. The little boy jumped in. From the ledges, I watched the kids start to play a game. The children began roughhousing, and were holding each other under the water. The little boy was held under water, and cried and screamed every time he struggled to come up for air. The little boy did not say anything audible, but I knew what he was thinking. I could feel the panic, fear, and sadness that he felt.
I began to try to save him. I ran back and forth along the edge of the swimming hole, but could not jump in. It was like there was a clear glass door, and I could not cross the threshold.
“Stop it! He’s drowning!” I screamed
It was no use. The boys did not stop. Eventually the little boy did not come back up for air.  I immediately woke up, stunned, my heart was pounding out of my chest. I was a bucket of sweat. Even though I was shocked, I felt a sense of relief. I finally figured out what the little boy was trying to tell me. This was the last time I ever encountered the little boy in a dream.
It has been 31 years since I last dreamt of the little boy. That was the summer of 1984, I was 14 years old. At this point in time, I have my own family, and no longer live in the house that the little boy came to. The field which the little boy came over now has a house on it. I still think about this boy all the time. I wonder if his family ever knew how he died. Did they ever find him? Is he buried somewhere? Or is he still in his watery grave? For some reason, he needed to show me what happened. I believe he had to let someone know what happened before he could move on.