In the Dead of Wadhurst Winter

She still couldn't shake the previous night's dream. She wondered if it was a dream at all. It seemed all so real; it seemed as if she was the one lying on the bed, breathless, motionless, and as white as the fallen snow! Anna got up; her heart still racing. Who was the girl in the dream?

It was 1886. Julia was a 16 years old bride, spending her honeymoon at the Ale Inn in Wadhurst. No one would have ever bet that she would marry; yet, there she was. Not only she was married; she had managed to claim the most wanted bachelor in all of England, Lord Wadhurst, twenty years her senior. As she prepared for the night, a shiver went down her spine. She looked around to check for open windows; after all, it was very cold outside, as it was expected to be in the dead of Wadhurst winter.

All windows were closed; the fire brightly burning. She approached the flames and started chanting an old song, "In the dead of winter, I will come to take you home. In the dead of winter, I will make you my own. In the dead of winter, you will not be alone." As she sang, she thought of her husband. Where was he? Why had he not come in to see her? She shivered again. The fire had suddenly died. The only flicker in the room came from a single candle placed on the center table. What she saw caused her to gasp. Reaching for the candle, she tripped, stumbled, and reached for support. Unable to stop the fall, Julia hit her head and collapsed to the floor. Under her long, brown, curly hair, there was a small laceration. Lord Wadhurst picked her up and laid her on the bed, as if he was not surprised by the event. There she was, breathless, motionless, and as white as the fallen snow.

As Anna prepared for breakfast, she played and replayed the dream in her head. Why did Julia gasp? Why was her husband so composed? And, above all, why did it feel so real?

Brushing her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her likeness to Julia was astonishing. As if in a trance, she lifted her long, brown, curly hair right where Julia had hit her head. She quickly let go of the lock of hair. Her face turned pale and a shiver went down her spine. No, it could not be. That scar must have come from a fall she took when she was younger. That subconscious memory transferred to the dream. It was Julia's likeness to Anna that was astonishing, not the other way around. She created Julia in her dream by mixing and merging years of reading and movie watching. There was no other plausible explanation.

This reasoning did not give Anna peace. Somehow, she had to find out. Was it only a dream? She quickly typed the name Julia Wadhurst in her computer: "Julia Wadhurst, born Aug 1, 1870, married to Lord Edward Wadhurst. She died Dec. 29, 1886." It must be a coincidence. Perhaps, she had heard of Julia; she had heard of her untimely death, and her vivid imagination filled in everything else. If she only could find a newspaper article, a diary, something to explain it all, then she would possibly understand. Surely, there must have been something recorded somewhere!

Anna rushed along the corridor to ask the innkeeper about Julia. Who better could answer the question but the host of the oldest inn in Wadhurst? The only piece of information he had was that Anna was occupying Julia's room. Anna's heart started racing again. She went back to the room. As she opened the door, Anna felt a shiver down her spine. How was it possible? All the windows were locked. The central heat installed years earlier made the room warm, even in the dead of Wadhurst winter. She turned to the fireplace. The fire was brightly burning. A candle flickered. Anna turned around and gasped. There, standing by the window, stood Lord Wadhurst. The same Lord Wadhurst she had seen in her dream; the same Lord Wadhurst Julia saw; the man who, on Dec 29, 1886 had come for her, from beyond the grave.

Anna tripped, stumbled, and reached for support. Unable to stop the fall, Anna hit her head and collapsed to the floor. Under her long, brown, curly hair, there was a small laceration. He picked her up and laid her on the bed, as if he was not surprised by the event. There she was, breathless, motionless, and as white as the fallen snow.

He had come for her, just as he came for Julia, in the dead of Wadhurst winter.