The dream was always the same. The wind, no matter the season, was bitter. So chilling it froze the body in motion, paralyzing and undaunted. It never crept, but was rather swift and brutal. It stole the air from her lungs and left her gasping. The mixture of gravel, frozen earth, and dried leaves crunched in an empty sound beneath her feet. There was an endless kind of shade. No moon, no light at all. It was as if the orchard behind her wasn’t there in this world. Just the dark, the tree line ahead, calling her without words.
She didn’t want to go. Like a child she feared what lay beyond the woods, terrorized beyond comprehension. Once on the path it would lead her there. To the place children told tales about and parents dare not speak of. The Drake House.
The wind whipped her nightgown into a frenzy then clung itself to her body, offering no comfort or protection. She stepped in, first with her right foot then the left. Surrounded in a sinister cloak of hundred year old trees the immediate alarm deepened, wrenching with underlining sadness and haunting the mind.
It was at the same time the wind halted she heard the voice. The air dead, no movement in any way. Just a shrill whisper without a soul to speak it, sounding irritated and grateful all at once.
“Thank you for coming."