My father told me a story one day about the night his best friend was hit and killed by a train. It was in the 70's and my father was sharing a split-level home with his brother, my uncle. My dad told me that he had come home and fallen asleep on the floor of the living room, which was the lower level of the house and contained the gas furnace which heated the house. The furnace was not bright, but created a faint light in the room. My uncle had been out that evening and so my father was home alone. My father told me that after sleeping for a while, he was awakened by a voice calling out his name. At first it was not too loud, but got louder each time he heard it. He assumed that it was my uncle, arriving home and calling out to my dad. But when my father called back to my uncle, there was no reply. He quickly started to doze back off assuming that he had dreamed the whole thing, but soon awoke again to someone calling out his name, only this time he heard his name being called out much louder. This time, when he opened his eyes, from the light of the furnace, he saw a shadow moving towards him and then entering the bathroom off of the living room he was sleeping in. Still assuming that this was my uncle, perhaps playing a trick on him, he got up and walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. The bathroom was empty! My father stood there shaking his head, but sleepily made his way back to where he had been napping. He soon fell back asleep after looking at the time on the clock, which showed to be 12:10 a.m. The next day at work, my father found out that his best friend had been hit by a train the night before, and had died at 12:10 a.m.