There was nothing unusual about that January
night, the north wind howled round the two hundred year old cottage, promising
snow. Frank, my husband retired early. Then, having washed the supper dishes, and
placed the guard around the remaining fire, I followed.
Not wanting to disturb Frank, I undressed, and
climbed into bed in the dark. I had lain awake for some time when, I heard the
first creak, and then another. Someone was coming; coming up stairs. The fine
hairs on my body became horizontal, every sense I possessed was alerted. Someone
was listening at the door. I watched transfixed, as the latch lifted, and the
door slowly and soundlessly, began to open.
Terrified, I dived beneath the covers,
trying to silence my breath, and thumping heart. After what seemed an age, but
could have only been a minute, I sensed whoever was in the room, was moving around
the bed. I had to see who, so very carefully, and holding my breath; I eased
back the eiderdown, and silently turned my head towards the figure looking down
on, my sleeping husband.
I was aware of her Edwardian style, ringlets
hung loosely at her neck and cheeks. The bodice of her pale green dress was
pleated to the waist, with a collar of white lace. There was no malice in her face;
it was pleasant and kindly, with the hint of a smile. Who is she? I thought,
diving under the covers once more. When I plucked up the courage to peep again,
she had gone.
My husband insists it had been a dream, but I know
otherwise. Her expression intrigued me for days until, having told a friend, who
suggested she maybe a mother, looking at her sleeping child. Then I understood.
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