ragged

Sitting on the toilet in the back bathroom, I hear a sound at the door — as through someone pressed against it from the outside, maybe one of the cats?

But the door has nearly an inch gap at the bottom. I can see nothing outside.

A few minutes later I am jolted into a panic by the sight of something coming quickly towards me — it is as if it passed through the door.

It is white and ragged, trailing fluttering strips of cloth. I have an impression of gray hair, a wrinkled face . . . an old woman who vanishes just before she reaches me.

I am startled. I am scared. My hair is standing on end. The akin on my arms feels prickled and tight, almost sunburnt.

This was not a vague impression or an easily explained corner-of-the-eye episode. I saw something.