I've told this story before:
When I was 15, my stepfather got stabbed right in front of me. There was an altercation in the middle of our street at 2 in the morning that woke our whole house up. My stepfather and my uncle were still up drinking and went outside to see what was going on. There was a young man kicking the shit out of one of our older neighbors- an alcoholic gentleman who lived a few houses down from us (found out afterward the young man was dating the older man's daughter).
My stepfather and uncle went out to break it up and in the commotion, my stepfather was stabbed by the guy. He stumbled back on to the porch and fell, and I tried to catch him. His blood smeared down the front of my shirt. The younger guy took off and we called 911.
We were in the hospital until the early morning. When me and my mom got home there was a message on our answering machine. It was a friend of mine from school, crying and apologizing for calling in the middle of the night, but she had just had a dream that there was screaming and a fight and I was covered in blood. She begged me to call her back. The time stamp on the message was the same time as the stabbing. This is in the late 80's, before computers and even cell phones really. I lived on the other side of town from her. There was no way she could have known what had happened.