A tale just in time for Halloween. Shivers included. By author Mike Staton on Writing Wranglers and Warriors
The road to the country cemetery hadn’t been in use for decades. Just to make sure, the current owners put up a barrier and wrecked portion of the roadway, leaving jagged asphalt blocks in front of the barricade. I parked the jeep. We’d walk in.
“This is crazy,” Jolene told me as we made our way past the barrier. “
You and your stupid dreams, Danny.”
For the last month, I’d been dreaming about a dead woman, a Victorian in an alluring satin nightgown sure to entice her Confederate colonel into their bed when he returned from the war. Every night at exactly 3 o’clock she’d tiptoe to my bed and beseeched me to save her. Always, the same words: “I can’t get out. Come to me. Open the lid.”
“Maybe the dreams will go away…
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