1:09AM flashed on the clock in little Jenny’s bedroom as she awoke in a fright. She screamed at the dark figure looming in the corner. Her parents came running in and just like that the light from the hallway sent the shadow away, as her clock returned to normal.
 

“It was only a nightmare, sweetie,” her father reassured her.
 

She held onto those words after he went back to his own bed, leaving her door slightly cracked and her lamp on. No matter how much she repeated the mantra, though, she could not get herself to fall back to sleep. Eventually, she got out from under her covers and quietly sneaked into the next room, which held all her painting supplies. Without meaning to, she found her hands drawing the shapes from her dream. The ones which felt so real and present in the house with her.
 

Everyone always marveled at Jenny’s talent, admiring her impressive eye for detail and texture at only 10 years old. But tonight, she wished for less realistic imagery. As she examined her finished artwork, her entire body chilled at the impossible memories flooding her brain. A series of flashes sped through like a view master stuck on a loop. She could not make sense of how she could see moments from someone else’s life. Someone from the past.
 

She could not explain who the person was or how she knew they died decades ago. But she felt the drop in her stomach and weight of her head as she finally returned to the present day in her present surroundings.