I had heard of the hatman before I met him. So when I did, it seemed almost expected; as if it was about time. Many of these other stories are frightening. They describe the hatman as evil. The hatman I saw meant me no ill will. I was lying in bed (as the story usually starts) and I glanced at my wall. There was a tall shadow on the wall, of a man in a suit and top hat. At first he was a silhouette, but the shadow seized a 3rd dimension, and it became clear that He was standing very upright, facing away from me. He held his hands together behind his back so that I could see them. His skin was remarkably flesh toned. Caucasian, but not white. He looked healthy. I stared for a moment, amused by the confident manner with which he wore a a 3 piece suit out of the roaring twenties. I unlike others, somehow felt okay with the hatman being in my house. His visit seemed important and I was not worried that he intended harm. Perhaps I was right. The hatman turned around and he had my father’s face. My fathers face looked out from under that top hat and smiled at me. The smile was slightly devious, but it was as if he knew a secret that I could not yet know, more than it seemed like he had a devious plan. I tried to ask him a question “I didn’t know you were secretly hatman too Dad?” But I could not speak. My father’s face just smiled at me again and Hatman faded back into my wall. Since then I have wondered if my dad is secretly hatman. Or if hatman is secretly my real father. I do not know whether any of the experience actually means anything. But I’ll never forget that smile. It was as if my father the hatman was beckoning to me. It was as if he said “We’ll meet again in the future. And then you will understand.”
–Airo Alexander