I am proud to announce that my latest historical novel, co-authored with S.G. Garwood, The Last Confederate Coin, was officially released July 4, 2018. Order your copies at:
All of my titles, including my newest (co-authored with S.G. Garwood), The Last Confederate Coin, The Return to Brickendon Manor, Terror Times Thirteen, Terror Times Thirteen Volume Two, and I Rode With Morgan, are available from Amazon as paperbacks, as Kindle downloads, and can be "borrowed" from the Kindle lending library.
Excerpt from "I Rode with Morgan", Copyright 2004, Alexius Rex
Lt. Warther and I had a conversation, while we were resting. It began on a surprising note:
“What good is this raid, Roland? It was supposed to draw attention away from Bragg but has it? Do we know for sure whether Rosecrans diverted troops away from him? Maybe they just sent cavalry that was already in Kentucky. Now we’re threatening to cross the Ohio but we’re down to less than 2,400 men. There has to be 500,000 Yankees where we’re headed. I wish we’d turn around and ride all the way south to Georgia.”
“I’m no strategist but maybe, just maybe, we can take the war to the northern civilians and make them want to get the war over with. There’s supposed to be a whole lot of southern sympathizers in Indiana and Ohio that support peace with us, or our independence. I know there has been talk of Great Britain and France recognizing the Confederacy as an independent nation, too. Maybe we can just wear the Yankees down if we go on fighting. Especially if Lee beats the Yankees on northern soil.”
“How do we even know Lee is headed north for sure? How the H*** did Morgan know we could join Lee in Pennsylvania? How could he possibly know? Do you think he’s more privy to the goings-on in Richmond than General Bragg? I miss my family and my farm, Roland. I’m sure your wife wishes you’d come home, too. I am not talking about deserting and I’m not giving up. Not yet anyway but God, I don’t know what we’re doing here, anymore.”
“I don’t know how Morgan knows what he knows but he does. I think he knows things we don’t even dream about. And, as to why we fight, we’re fighting for our freedom. Just like the Minutemen at Lexington and Concord, just like Washington at Valley Forge and just like Andy Jackson at New Orleans in 1815. We’re fighting to the bitter end.”
“God, Roland, I’m glad you’re my friend. I feel better though heaven knows why!”
July 8th. Brandenburg, Kentucky. 5:30 AM. A diversionary raid commanded by Captain Davis has feinted toward Louisville, cutting wires and disrupting train traffic wherever possible. We are not attacking Louisville but instead are crossing the Ohio to Mauckport, Indiana. We want the pursuing Yankees to think we are moving on Louisville to draw them off us for a while.
The 10th Kentucky moved into Brandenburg, yesterday, and commandeered two steamboats using deception, for ferrying us across. One is the John T. McCombs and the other, the Alice Dean. The McCombs was captured at the wharf. The Alice Dean was going upriver to Cincinnati and saw the false distress signals on the John T. (which the 10th had caused to be placed there). She stopped to render assistance and was captured without firing a shot.
We understand that the Indiana militia is converging on Mauckport to prevent us coming ashore and that Yankee gunboats may be in the vicinity. We are positioning our artillery on a hill at the courthouse overlooking the Ohio, to convince the Yankee militia that they should not hinder our crossing. Most of the army is still spread out on the road from Garnettsville, a few miles below the river.
LATER: Just learned, the 2nd Kentucky is going to board the Alice Dean and the 9th, the McCombs. We’ll be the first regiments across the river. Guess we will get to chase the Indiana militia away. No time to write more.
5 P.M. We made it across and by now, we have about 1,300 men on this side of the river. We were fired at by the Yankee militia and a cannon shot hit the McCombs while we were crossing but did little damage. After our howitzers got their range, they silenced the Indiana militia after about three rounds.
Some of the troops that got across later in the day mentioned, that someone broke into a tavern or hotel this morning around 9 o’clock--we were already in the river then. They helped themselves to several barrels of whisky. Many of the men filled their canteens as they passed by. Morgan arrived later this morning and has met with Captain Hines, who left us last month to scout the Ohio River fords. He was also testing the political loyalties of the people of Indiana. He had crossed with his scouts into Indiana the middle of June. Most of his men got captured on the 19th when they had to surrender or swim back across the Ohio River into Kentucky but Hines had escaped with a dozen men. We are now informed that Morgan has given him command of Quirk’s scouts.
I never got to fire a single shot before the militia ran away but I talked to John Weatherred and he said, the gunboat U.S.S. Springfield fired on his company. It was also reported the Elk and Grey Eagle engaged us, as well. If so they did not have much stomach for a fight and I never saw them at all. The artillery and rear guard had crossed after dark and the Alice Dean was burned and sank in the river. The McCombs was spared because the skipper was a friend of Col. Duke. Weatherred recorded his observations as follows:
“Soon after getting to the river we boarded this boat, leaving our horses with horse holder on the Ky. Shore, when the boat moved across to the Indiana bank of the Ohio River. As we started, a gun boat up the river fired on us which made us think we were not very safe, before we landed.
River about 3/4 of mile wide and there was a regiment several hundred strong on the Indiana shore who fired on us as we crossed, we returned the fire all that were in a position to shoot. They fired at us with a cannon, made it hail against the boat, as this boat landed we jumped ashore and forward in line in about 5 minutes and charged them, they ran into the bushes back from the river and got away. We captured a former prisoner. The 2nd Ky. reg. was with us. We captured their cannon. Our Parrott gun had by this time or soon after silenced the gun boat and it had steamed toward Louisville.We formed in line of battle 1/2 mile from river on Indiana shore in about 2 hours our horses were with us. The two regiments remained on guard until near night then we all went into camp 3 or 4 miles on the road to Corydon, Indiana said town being about 15 miles from Brandenburg. This was first nights sleep we had had for sometime. We had plenty of feed for our horses and ourselves. The command all got across the river by a little while after dark.”
After we were all across, we divided into two columns, taking different roads north toward Corydon. This was to widen the area from which we could obtain fresh mounts, commandeer supplies and also give the illusion we numbered more than we really had. We were already down to less than 2,400 men. Of course, “Lightning” sent false telegraphic reports exaggerating our size.
An incident was reported at our camp tonight--some of the men had set fire to a mill belonging to a Mr. Lopp. They had approached him about purchasing flour but he refused to accept Confederate money! Well he gave up the flour and his mill. It is also being told that a pastor got killed because there was militia inside his house, firing at some of our boys. I imagine many civilians might be killed on this raid, never intentionally of course. After all, look at Fredericksburg when the Yankees shelled the town, or Vicksburg for that matter. It happens, sometimes.
July 9th. (Thursday) Temporary camp near Palmyra. We have lit fires, cooked a little food and fed and watered the horses but we are moving out again, soon. We had us a little battle today, against Col. Jordan and the Indiana militia, just south of Corydon. Duke’s advance led by Col. R. Morgan had run up against a makeshift log barricade and was unable to clear the top rail with the horses. There were some of the Yanks that had repeating rifles and they drove back the first assault. The militia had drawn up a battle-line about 700 yards across, behind those fence-rail barriers and had been joined by civilians, all armed.
As the whole brigade came up, the 9th was ordered to flank to the west and the 2nd Kentucky to the right. This and the presence of our cannon, soon compelled those blue-bellies to retreat north into town. The whole affair lasted about half an hour and was over by 12:30. We lost some killed and many wounded.
From a small hill outside Corydon, a few shells were lobbed into town and soon, Col. Jordan hoisted a white flag. We captured about 350 of them, together with their weapons. The other 100 were either killed, wounded or ran away before we got there. The General established headquarters at the Kintner House Hotel, while we went about the business of collecting supplies. A few stores were relieved of their excess inventory and three millers put up about $2,000 in gold to save their businesses. Reckon they had heard about Mr. Lopp? Some of the men relieved private citizens of their cash and pocket watches but I don’t cotton to that type of behavior.
We have also collected several hundred horses. The way this works is when one of ours gets too tired to go on, we “trade” it for a fresh one. These Yankees are getting the better deal. Really--they’re getting good Tennessee and Kentucky stock in exchange for some pretty pitiful plow animals! Thank God Annabelle has stayed healthy, in spite of all this riding.
The boys were pretty hungry and requested food from the townswomen. They provided us with some hams and other victuals but did not do it very graciously. I think they were relieved when we rode out of town. I spoke to several, attempting to convince them the Cavaliers were of good upbringing. One pretty little gal replied,
“You and all you d*** Rebels are nothing but horse thieves. How dare you come into town and expect to be welcome.”
Well, I’d say she had a point, of sorts, anyway. We were likely to get a bad reputation if we stayed much longer in one spot.
Friday, July 10th. We have had quite a day but once again, the Cavaliers and Company “C” have come through without a scratch. Ellsworth tapped the telegraph lines last night and learned Hobson has abandoned his supply wagons to move against us faster. So, we moved out early to stay ahead. We divided into two main columns. One traveled toward Greenville, while the other rode through Palmyra toward Salem. A small squad was sent toward Paoli to collect supplies, horses, etc.
Outside Salem which was about 15 miles from where we had rested, a very large woman was screaming at some of our boys. I guess someone had stolen a roll of cloth or something from her because the General road up, listened to her entreaties (and oaths that no lady should ever utter) and finally said something to the effect,
“Give her some cloth for a dress. On second thought, give her the whole roll. She’ll need it!”
Lt. Warther and I had a conversation, while we were resting. It began on a surprising note:
“What good is this raid, Roland? It was supposed to draw attention away from Bragg but has it? Do we know for sure whether Rosecrans diverted troops away from him? Maybe they just sent cavalry that was already in Kentucky. Now we’re threatening to cross the Ohio but we’re down to less than 2,400 men. There has to be 500,000 Yankees where we’re headed. I wish we’d turn around and ride all the way south to Georgia.”
“I’m no strategist but maybe, just maybe, we can take the war to the northern civilians and make them want to get the war over with. There’s supposed to be a whole lot of southern sympathizers in Indiana and Ohio that support peace with us, or our independence. I know there has been talk of Great Britain and France recognizing the Confederacy as an independent nation, too. Maybe we can just wear the Yankees down if we go on fighting. Especially if Lee beats the Yankees on northern soil.”
“How do we even know Lee is headed north for sure? How the H*** did Morgan know we could join Lee in Pennsylvania? How could he possibly know? Do you think he’s more privy to the goings-on in Richmond than General Bragg? I miss my family and my farm, Roland. I’m sure your wife wishes you’d come home, too. I am not talking about deserting and I’m not giving up. Not yet anyway but God, I don’t know what we’re doing here, anymore.”
“I don’t know how Morgan knows what he knows but he does. I think he knows things we don’t even dream about. And, as to why we fight, we’re fighting for our freedom. Just like the Minutemen at Lexington and Concord, just like Washington at Valley Forge and just like Andy Jackson at New Orleans in 1815. We’re fighting to the bitter end.”
“God, Roland, I’m glad you’re my friend. I feel better though heaven knows why!”
July 8th. Brandenburg, Kentucky. 5:30 AM. A diversionary raid commanded by Captain Davis has feinted toward Louisville, cutting wires and disrupting train traffic wherever possible. We are not attacking Louisville but instead are crossing the Ohio to Mauckport, Indiana. We want the pursuing Yankees to think we are moving on Louisville to draw them off us for a while.
The 10th Kentucky moved into Brandenburg, yesterday, and commandeered two steamboats using deception, for ferrying us across. One is the John T. McCombs and the other, the Alice Dean. The McCombs was captured at the wharf. The Alice Dean was going upriver to Cincinnati and saw the false distress signals on the John T. (which the 10th had caused to be placed there). She stopped to render assistance and was captured without firing a shot.
We understand that the Indiana militia is converging on Mauckport to prevent us coming ashore and that Yankee gunboats may be in the vicinity. We are positioning our artillery on a hill at the courthouse overlooking the Ohio, to convince the Yankee militia that they should not hinder our crossing. Most of the army is still spread out on the road from Garnettsville, a few miles below the river.
LATER: Just learned, the 2nd Kentucky is going to board the Alice Dean and the 9th, the McCombs. We’ll be the first regiments across the river. Guess we will get to chase the Indiana militia away. No time to write more.
5 P.M. We made it across and by now, we have about 1,300 men on this side of the river. We were fired at by the Yankee militia and a cannon shot hit the McCombs while we were crossing but did little damage. After our howitzers got their range, they silenced the Indiana militia after about three rounds.
Some of the troops that got across later in the day mentioned, that someone broke into a tavern or hotel this morning around 9 o’clock--we were already in the river then. They helped themselves to several barrels of whisky. Many of the men filled their canteens as they passed by. Morgan arrived later this morning and has met with Captain Hines, who left us last month to scout the Ohio River fords. He was also testing the political loyalties of the people of Indiana. He had crossed with his scouts into Indiana the middle of June. Most of his men got captured on the 19th when they had to surrender or swim back across the Ohio River into Kentucky but Hines had escaped with a dozen men. We are now informed that Morgan has given him command of Quirk’s scouts.
I never got to fire a single shot before the militia ran away but I talked to John Weatherred and he said, the gunboat U.S.S. Springfield fired on his company. It was also reported the Elk and Grey Eagle engaged us, as well. If so they did not have much stomach for a fight and I never saw them at all. The artillery and rear guard had crossed after dark and the Alice Dean was burned and sank in the river. The McCombs was spared because the skipper was a friend of Col. Duke. Weatherred recorded his observations as follows:
“Soon after getting to the river we boarded this boat, leaving our horses with horse holder on the Ky. Shore, when the boat moved across to the Indiana bank of the Ohio River. As we started, a gun boat up the river fired on us which made us think we were not very safe, before we landed.
River about 3/4 of mile wide and there was a regiment several hundred strong on the Indiana shore who fired on us as we crossed, we returned the fire all that were in a position to shoot. They fired at us with a cannon, made it hail against the boat, as this boat landed we jumped ashore and forward in line in about 5 minutes and charged them, they ran into the bushes back from the river and got away. We captured a former prisoner. The 2nd Ky. reg. was with us. We captured their cannon. Our Parrott gun had by this time or soon after silenced the gun boat and it had steamed toward Louisville.We formed in line of battle 1/2 mile from river on Indiana shore in about 2 hours our horses were with us. The two regiments remained on guard until near night then we all went into camp 3 or 4 miles on the road to Corydon, Indiana said town being about 15 miles from Brandenburg. This was first nights sleep we had had for sometime. We had plenty of feed for our horses and ourselves. The command all got across the river by a little while after dark.”
After we were all across, we divided into two columns, taking different roads north toward Corydon. This was to widen the area from which we could obtain fresh mounts, commandeer supplies and also give the illusion we numbered more than we really had. We were already down to less than 2,400 men. Of course, “Lightning” sent false telegraphic reports exaggerating our size.
An incident was reported at our camp tonight--some of the men had set fire to a mill belonging to a Mr. Lopp. They had approached him about purchasing flour but he refused to accept Confederate money! Well he gave up the flour and his mill. It is also being told that a pastor got killed because there was militia inside his house, firing at some of our boys. I imagine many civilians might be killed on this raid, never intentionally of course. After all, look at Fredericksburg when the Yankees shelled the town, or Vicksburg for that matter. It happens, sometimes.
July 9th. (Thursday) Temporary camp near Palmyra. We have lit fires, cooked a little food and fed and watered the horses but we are moving out again, soon. We had us a little battle today, against Col. Jordan and the Indiana militia, just south of Corydon. Duke’s advance led by Col. R. Morgan had run up against a makeshift log barricade and was unable to clear the top rail with the horses. There were some of the Yanks that had repeating rifles and they drove back the first assault. The militia had drawn up a battle-line about 700 yards across, behind those fence-rail barriers and had been joined by civilians, all armed.
As the whole brigade came up, the 9th was ordered to flank to the west and the 2nd Kentucky to the right. This and the presence of our cannon, soon compelled those blue-bellies to retreat north into town. The whole affair lasted about half an hour and was over by 12:30. We lost some killed and many wounded.
From a small hill outside Corydon, a few shells were lobbed into town and soon, Col. Jordan hoisted a white flag. We captured about 350 of them, together with their weapons. The other 100 were either killed, wounded or ran away before we got there. The General established headquarters at the Kintner House Hotel, while we went about the business of collecting supplies. A few stores were relieved of their excess inventory and three millers put up about $2,000 in gold to save their businesses. Reckon they had heard about Mr. Lopp? Some of the men relieved private citizens of their cash and pocket watches but I don’t cotton to that type of behavior.
We have also collected several hundred horses. The way this works is when one of ours gets too tired to go on, we “trade” it for a fresh one. These Yankees are getting the better deal. Really--they’re getting good Tennessee and Kentucky stock in exchange for some pretty pitiful plow animals! Thank God Annabelle has stayed healthy, in spite of all this riding.
The boys were pretty hungry and requested food from the townswomen. They provided us with some hams and other victuals but did not do it very graciously. I think they were relieved when we rode out of town. I spoke to several, attempting to convince them the Cavaliers were of good upbringing. One pretty little gal replied,
“You and all you d*** Rebels are nothing but horse thieves. How dare you come into town and expect to be welcome.”
Well, I’d say she had a point, of sorts, anyway. We were likely to get a bad reputation if we stayed much longer in one spot.
Friday, July 10th. We have had quite a day but once again, the Cavaliers and Company “C” have come through without a scratch. Ellsworth tapped the telegraph lines last night and learned Hobson has abandoned his supply wagons to move against us faster. So, we moved out early to stay ahead. We divided into two main columns. One traveled toward Greenville, while the other rode through Palmyra toward Salem. A small squad was sent toward Paoli to collect supplies, horses, etc.
Outside Salem which was about 15 miles from where we had rested, a very large woman was screaming at some of our boys. I guess someone had stolen a roll of cloth or something from her because the General road up, listened to her entreaties (and oaths that no lady should ever utter) and finally said something to the effect,
“Give her some cloth for a dress. On second thought, give her the whole roll. She’ll need it!”
Excerpt from "Jambala", Terror Times Thirteen, Vol. One, Copyright 2004 Alexius Rex
I’m still shaking from what happened in the graveyard and that was two whole nights, ago. So, if my handwriting is bad, you know why. I just about peed down my leg when those blue flames shot outta the grave and that skeleton hand grabbed the burning board. I wish that Stacey hadn't never made that Ouija Board and summoned her. Well, anyhow, I'm gonna try and get all this down on notebook paper because it's important. This here story is about a wraith, only it's not no story because it happened. There's two ways that a wraith is created--well, that's what Stacey says but that's not right, I think and I wanted very badly to get this right, the story that is. I only know of the two ways Stacey said but there are probably more. Anyway, the first way is that someone dies hard and their spirit, trapped between earth and heaven (or the other place), becomes mean, trying to dog everyone it comes near. (I can't blame it for staying earthbound if it's going to Hell, anyway.) Oops, ma would wail the daylights outta me if she knew I said H-E-double hockey sticks but, I didn't really say it, did I? (I just wrote it down). Anyway, did I mention the other way? No, I don't think so. The other way is that someone conjures it up to do the bidding of the conjurer. You know, like a witch or magician or warlock. Did you see "Warlock"? It was awesome. I seen it at the Tri-Plex and...Wait, I'm screwing up, again. Oops, ma would tan my hide for that one, too! Oh shit. I forgot to make paragraphs. Oh no! I done it again. Writing's a lot like talking, only you got to spell right. That's what my English teacher says, anyway. Her name's Ms. Angelique Beaudaux and she's real pretty for a teacher. She's at the middle school and I was supposed to repeat 8th grade because my English and math was so bad but pa argued with them and they let me go on, anyway but I'm trying real hard in the 9th but nothing comes easy for me. Gosh, I better go back and make paragraphs but it already took me an hour to write down this much. Maybe I'll just start doing it right, now.
How's that? Ms. Beaudaux says every paper's got to have a theme and a plot. Well, the plot is real so I'm not worried about that but the theme, that's different. I forgot to introduce myself--I'm Nate and I think I told you, I live in Bainbridge--anyway, if I didn't I did now. That's in Decatur County and the last exciting thing to happen here was when Old Hickory marched through after whippin the Creek Indians' asses up at the Horseshoe Bend. I know about that cause we got relatives up near Alexander City, Alabama. Anyway, Old General Jackson was on his way to Pensacola and came through here only it wasn't called Bainbridge when he was here. It was Fort Hughes or Fort Scott or something like that. Anyway, he rested up here, then set his men to buildin a road down to St. Marks and then eventually, he kicked serious British butt at Mobile and then New Orleans and won the whole War of 1812 by hisself. Well, I heard he had help from the Pirate Lafitte and his merry men. No, the merry men were with Robin Hood. Lafitte's men were called Baratarians. But, anyway, nothing exciting has happened since. Well, that's not exactly right either. During the Civil War some Yankees landed down at San Marcos de Apalache in Florida and tried to march up the Wakulla to capture Tallahassee. (I've been there a couple times and they was wasting their time). Well, anyway, they got up to the Natural Bridge and the Confederates were waiting for them and give them "what for". So, they went back south in a rush but then they mounted an expedition to come back up the Apalachicola River (what Florida folk call the Chattahoochee and Flint after they join). They was gonna burn Bainbridge and head north towards Ft. Payne and Columbus. Well, when they got a few miles away, they sent some scouts into town and they didn't see no Confederates so they went back and told their commander it would be "easy pickins" and so they all come back but when they arrived, they looked around and decided there warn't nothin worth burning. Well one thing led to another and they got drunk and then the women down on Shotwell Street got to being friendly and by the time the Yankees got around to do anything, they got word that General Lee had done surrendered to Grant. Oh God! Lookit this paragraph and I still ain't told nothing about the wraith.
Actually, there was one more exciting thing that happened, once. My dog, Beaumaris (Ms. Beuadaux helped me name him because she's French and she said Beaumaris meant "Beautiful Sea" after a place in Wales where King Edward went once and built this really neat castle). Anyway, Beau (I called him Beau for short), just like Nate's short for Nathaniel, because ma named me Nathaniel Hawthorne Longwood because she said she hoped I was going to be a good writer some day and I will if I can ever master paragraphs and commas and not write no run-on sentences or use double negatives (because Ms. Beaudaux says don't use none). Anyway, Beau went next door and stole some cat food from Miss Magnolia's porch and the cat come after Beau hissing like a panther and once Beau got in our yard, he felt like the cat had no business being there, so he turned around and barked "Go home, dumb cat" but the cat kept hissing, so Beau pounced on it and bit it on its neck and shook it like a snake and then killed it. I knew there'd be Hell to pay so I flung the cat back into Miss Magnolia's yard (she's a real B-I-T-C-H) but there was Hell to pay, anyway because she called the cops and then she sued us over in Mayor's Court and told him we were "harboring a cat-killer"--that's just how she said it. Even though I don't think the mayor liked cats, much, he said keep the durned dog chained up or it would get taken to the animal shelter, so we did. All of that was kinda exciting and that just happened two months ago. Sometimes Beau and I go down to the Flint and he likes to swim but there's gators down there. Anyway, this story's about a wraith. Maybe the wraith will get Miss Magnolia! (I'm getting better with the paragraphs and commas). I first realized that something was wrong when me and Kim and Stacey made a Ouija Board. Stacey said you had to bury it in graveyard dirt overnight for it to work right, so we went down to the cemetery after dark and we didn't have to climb no fence because there's just gates and no fence. Just bushes. And we had a little shovel and dug a hole back by the caretaker's shed and buried the thing.
Well, next night we went back and dug it up but we all were kinda spooked because we kept hearing noises and everything and first thing you know, we was all running back towards Stacey's house and couldn't get inside fast enough. Well, once we were in his room, it was o'k so we got a water glass to use for the planchette (I think that's how it's spelled) and we took to asking questions. Well, the first thing we asked it was if anyone was out there wanting to talk to us and after a while, it said "Yes". So we asked "Who?" Well, the glass took to shaking and then it quickly spelled "J-A-M-B-A-L-A".
I’m still shaking from what happened in the graveyard and that was two whole nights, ago. So, if my handwriting is bad, you know why. I just about peed down my leg when those blue flames shot outta the grave and that skeleton hand grabbed the burning board. I wish that Stacey hadn't never made that Ouija Board and summoned her. Well, anyhow, I'm gonna try and get all this down on notebook paper because it's important. This here story is about a wraith, only it's not no story because it happened. There's two ways that a wraith is created--well, that's what Stacey says but that's not right, I think and I wanted very badly to get this right, the story that is. I only know of the two ways Stacey said but there are probably more. Anyway, the first way is that someone dies hard and their spirit, trapped between earth and heaven (or the other place), becomes mean, trying to dog everyone it comes near. (I can't blame it for staying earthbound if it's going to Hell, anyway.) Oops, ma would wail the daylights outta me if she knew I said H-E-double hockey sticks but, I didn't really say it, did I? (I just wrote it down). Anyway, did I mention the other way? No, I don't think so. The other way is that someone conjures it up to do the bidding of the conjurer. You know, like a witch or magician or warlock. Did you see "Warlock"? It was awesome. I seen it at the Tri-Plex and...Wait, I'm screwing up, again. Oops, ma would tan my hide for that one, too! Oh shit. I forgot to make paragraphs. Oh no! I done it again. Writing's a lot like talking, only you got to spell right. That's what my English teacher says, anyway. Her name's Ms. Angelique Beaudaux and she's real pretty for a teacher. She's at the middle school and I was supposed to repeat 8th grade because my English and math was so bad but pa argued with them and they let me go on, anyway but I'm trying real hard in the 9th but nothing comes easy for me. Gosh, I better go back and make paragraphs but it already took me an hour to write down this much. Maybe I'll just start doing it right, now.
How's that? Ms. Beaudaux says every paper's got to have a theme and a plot. Well, the plot is real so I'm not worried about that but the theme, that's different. I forgot to introduce myself--I'm Nate and I think I told you, I live in Bainbridge--anyway, if I didn't I did now. That's in Decatur County and the last exciting thing to happen here was when Old Hickory marched through after whippin the Creek Indians' asses up at the Horseshoe Bend. I know about that cause we got relatives up near Alexander City, Alabama. Anyway, Old General Jackson was on his way to Pensacola and came through here only it wasn't called Bainbridge when he was here. It was Fort Hughes or Fort Scott or something like that. Anyway, he rested up here, then set his men to buildin a road down to St. Marks and then eventually, he kicked serious British butt at Mobile and then New Orleans and won the whole War of 1812 by hisself. Well, I heard he had help from the Pirate Lafitte and his merry men. No, the merry men were with Robin Hood. Lafitte's men were called Baratarians. But, anyway, nothing exciting has happened since. Well, that's not exactly right either. During the Civil War some Yankees landed down at San Marcos de Apalache in Florida and tried to march up the Wakulla to capture Tallahassee. (I've been there a couple times and they was wasting their time). Well, anyway, they got up to the Natural Bridge and the Confederates were waiting for them and give them "what for". So, they went back south in a rush but then they mounted an expedition to come back up the Apalachicola River (what Florida folk call the Chattahoochee and Flint after they join). They was gonna burn Bainbridge and head north towards Ft. Payne and Columbus. Well, when they got a few miles away, they sent some scouts into town and they didn't see no Confederates so they went back and told their commander it would be "easy pickins" and so they all come back but when they arrived, they looked around and decided there warn't nothin worth burning. Well one thing led to another and they got drunk and then the women down on Shotwell Street got to being friendly and by the time the Yankees got around to do anything, they got word that General Lee had done surrendered to Grant. Oh God! Lookit this paragraph and I still ain't told nothing about the wraith.
Actually, there was one more exciting thing that happened, once. My dog, Beaumaris (Ms. Beuadaux helped me name him because she's French and she said Beaumaris meant "Beautiful Sea" after a place in Wales where King Edward went once and built this really neat castle). Anyway, Beau (I called him Beau for short), just like Nate's short for Nathaniel, because ma named me Nathaniel Hawthorne Longwood because she said she hoped I was going to be a good writer some day and I will if I can ever master paragraphs and commas and not write no run-on sentences or use double negatives (because Ms. Beaudaux says don't use none). Anyway, Beau went next door and stole some cat food from Miss Magnolia's porch and the cat come after Beau hissing like a panther and once Beau got in our yard, he felt like the cat had no business being there, so he turned around and barked "Go home, dumb cat" but the cat kept hissing, so Beau pounced on it and bit it on its neck and shook it like a snake and then killed it. I knew there'd be Hell to pay so I flung the cat back into Miss Magnolia's yard (she's a real B-I-T-C-H) but there was Hell to pay, anyway because she called the cops and then she sued us over in Mayor's Court and told him we were "harboring a cat-killer"--that's just how she said it. Even though I don't think the mayor liked cats, much, he said keep the durned dog chained up or it would get taken to the animal shelter, so we did. All of that was kinda exciting and that just happened two months ago. Sometimes Beau and I go down to the Flint and he likes to swim but there's gators down there. Anyway, this story's about a wraith. Maybe the wraith will get Miss Magnolia! (I'm getting better with the paragraphs and commas). I first realized that something was wrong when me and Kim and Stacey made a Ouija Board. Stacey said you had to bury it in graveyard dirt overnight for it to work right, so we went down to the cemetery after dark and we didn't have to climb no fence because there's just gates and no fence. Just bushes. And we had a little shovel and dug a hole back by the caretaker's shed and buried the thing.
Well, next night we went back and dug it up but we all were kinda spooked because we kept hearing noises and everything and first thing you know, we was all running back towards Stacey's house and couldn't get inside fast enough. Well, once we were in his room, it was o'k so we got a water glass to use for the planchette (I think that's how it's spelled) and we took to asking questions. Well, the first thing we asked it was if anyone was out there wanting to talk to us and after a while, it said "Yes". So we asked "Who?" Well, the glass took to shaking and then it quickly spelled "J-A-M-B-A-L-A".
Excerpt from The Return to Brickendon Manor, Copyright 2002 Alexius Rex
Beth was out of touch with her senses. “Oww, my head hurts,” she whispered, as her fingers lightly brushed the back of her head, coming away with sticky blood. Looking around, she could perceive little--there was thick, black smoke obscuring her surroundings. “That really stings my eyes! Where am I, anyway?”
Sounds drifted on the dense air: horses stomping, metal grating against metal, children screaming and men shouting commands. Realizing what was happening to her, she spoke aloud “Beth, wake up! You know this is a very, very bad dream. This isn’t real.... you know it isn’t real. I’m supposed to be with Dr. Brickendon.” However, she did not awaken and even making an arduous exertion towards convincing herself she was dreaming did little to assuage her anxiety.
The smoke partially lifted, revealing its source: men on horseback had torched the fields and thatch-roofed huts. The village men fought back using sticks, scythes and other farm implements but against armored warriors, they were unevenly matched. Their endeavors were doomed to failure and death was the reward for the vanquished. The battle had ended as rapidly as its onset. Bodies were scattered about like discarded rag dolls at the hands of a spoiled child. The smell of coagulating blood filled the air. “It smells like copper, vomit and decay, even through the stench of the smoke,” Beth thought to herself, observing a handful of peasants racing for the safety of the nearby copse of trees. “Good, it’s almost finished now. Some macho horseman will gallop towards me and some stranger with strong arms will save me. Then I can wake up and get to Dr. Brickendon’ s office.”
As before, the victors gathered in the center of the flaming huts, surveying their devastation with pride. Beth couldn’t avoid the feeling of being awed by those thirteen men who had fought like devils from the pit. “The black crosses against their red shields are eerie”, Beth thought. “I wonder who they are and why they’ve destroyed these innocent people?” The leader slowly walked his horse to his congregated men. Beth could see that he wore a metal visor that obscured his face. “But I know his eyes are black as bottomless pits. Let’s just wake up now and skip the rest...” Even as these thoughts drifted through her consciousness, the leader turned her direction, lowered his lance and began a deliberate canter towards where she stood.
“Oh God, where am I going to run? There’s no shelter except for the woods.” Beth then discovered what her subconscious already knew: “I can’t move! But, I don’t need to move. This is just my dream but God, I want to wake up.”
The horse kicked up clouds of white-looking dust that was an incongruity against the smudgy backdrop. With horror, Beth relived her previous dream a few seconds before the real event followed. “Next, the horse’s nostrils will spread and then the rider will lower his head, begin galloping towards me and run me through...but that’s not right because I remember someone...” Before the thought could gel, Beth observed another’s approach, accompanied by several mounted men wearing golden crests that displayed three ravens. The black-eyed, devil-leader had not seen the approach of the others, basking in the obvious fear Beth felt. “I know he’s grinning from ear to ear under that damned helmet but you know, it’s time to be swept away before he does run me through.”
For a split second Beth fought off the horrible thought that the rescuer would arrive too late to be of service. “That’s ridiculous but you are going to be so mortified if Dr. Brickendon is standing above you when you awaken on the classroom floor. In fact, that disaster can wait a little longer! I’ll just keep on dreaming for a bit. You know, that horse is getting too close.” Beth involuntarily shuttered as a surge of adrenaline penetrated her bloodstream. “It’s only a dream but God, it’s so real. I’ll just close my eyes and wait. In fact...” Beth’s thoughts were cut off by her own scream as she was yanked from behind, thrust onto a horse, and at least, temporarily saved from impalement at the hands of the dark-eyed man.
“That arm feels so strong. Maybe this time I’ll see his face.” She saw his free arm rise, wielding the sword and then felt a blow land upon his shield that rivaled a thunderbolt striking a solid rock. She felt the arm tighten around her as she almost tumbled to the ground, then saw him slash at the enemy’s lance, knocking it to the earth. Having temporarily disarmed his foe, Beth felt the horse whip about and gallop towards the woods. Before she could speak to her rescuer, she was rudely lifted to the ground and the rider galloped back towards the conflict and his comrades.
“This is totally wild. My dream has never gone this far, before. Up until now, I knew everything that would happen but this is a surprise and I’m not feeling very good, suddenly.”
In fact, Beth wasn’t feeling well at all. Suddenly overcome by nausea and light-headedness, she felt as if the nightfall had descended very rapidly. Her last conscious thought was: “I’m going to faint twice in one day?”
Just as suddenly as her rescuer had galloped away, Beth’s eye’s fluttered open. “Ooh, my head feels like I got smacked with an anvil and the blacksmith is still hammering on it!” Reaching delicately to the focal point of the pain, she discovered a sort of cloth bandage, wrapped snugly around her forehead. Abruptly, everything came back to her as if someone had detonated a smart bomb in her cerebrum.
“I fell in the lecture hall and struck my head. While unconscious, the dream came back but it went further than before.” Strangely, however, her nostrils felt raw from the dream-smoke and her eyes still burned. Touching her face she whispered, “my skin feels sooty and smudged and I can still hear those battle-sounds.”
A slight smile crossed her lips as she recalled: “The mystery of the dream is solved. The torture of not recognizing his face after rescuing me was what was so bothersome. Since I know who he is, the dream should stop.”
Believing herself in the college clinic, she was shocked as sitting up she saw a strange room, more like a prison cell than an infirmary. The chamber was constructed of huge blocks of tightly fitting brown stones, fitted with gray mortar. The shape of the room was roughly a cube, measuring perhaps twenty feet each direction. A crude, whitish plaster adorned the walls in places. At one end, a massive fireplace blazed while in contrast, at the other end, a small opaque window, fitted with a wooden shutter that featured a cruciform opening, was set into the blocks. A small quantity of late-afternoon sunlight spilled through the narrow slit, making the wooden floor appear pockmarked and dull.
“This bed is really crude. Why it looks like they cut down trees and forgot to plane the logs or sand off the splinters. This mattress feels like its stuffed with dead porcupines.” As Beth tossed back the coverlet and started to swing her feet onto the floor, a large, oaken door grated open, causing her to emit a small shriek.
In walked a small, round-faced woman with silvery-gray hair. “Oh, me child! Ye are awake? That surely were a nasty cut upon yer crown.” Quickly crossing the room, Beth was dismayed to observe her closing the small shutter. Turning about, the woman placed her hands upon her hips and said “We ware all quite fearful for ye.”
This was spoken in a tone of genuine concern, alleviating some of Beth’s discomfort. “I still wonder, though, just what the Hell is going on?” The elderly lady continued in her peculiar intonation: “Ye gave us all quite a scare, not up from yer sleep for three whole days. The physician-ordinary said it ware from that awful lump.”
Beth thought to herself, “The accent’s horrid and the grammar atrocious but without a doubt, she is as English as kidney pie." Addressing herself to the mystery woman, Beth queried “Three days? Where exactly am I? What am I doing here? She instantly observed that her outburst had surprised the woman but she quickly regained her composure. Crossing the room to be next to the bed, Beth felt her hand lifted and squeezed. “Thar, thar, do not get yerself so upset. Everything will be righted. I am sure ye hast many questions but first things first. I be Helen. Thee art at Brickendon Manor, in the charge of me Lord and Lady Brickendon. It was Lord Brickendon that found ye and brought ye hither.”
“No, this is my dream. Yes that’s it, all this is the dream but I’m sick of it.” Attempting to rise for a second time, she pushed back the coarse quilt and felt its roughness on her hands. Helen placed her hands on Beth’s shoulders to keep her still.
“Ye just lie back down. Ye shant be arisin’ just yet. I assure ye, me child, ye not be dreamin’ now but perchance ye have been dreamin’ for the last three days. Ye are right to be confused because o’ that nasty bump. Now, what is yer name, me child?”
Angrily, Beth shouted: “Please! Stop calling me ‘me child’”. Taken aback, Helen recoiled as if bitten by a viper. Seeing the wretched woman cowering behind the bedpost brought a burst of instant remorse. “That was incredibly rude and inconsiderate of me. It is just that my head hurts really badly. My name is Beth...oh, I mean, Elizabeth. Elizabeth Charingworth.”
“Well, Miss Elizabeth, it is nice to meet ye. Lady Brickendon will want to come in to speak with ye now that ye are awakened.” She quickly and deftly tucked in the coverlet as she spoke.
“Oh, I thought that you were...” Helen chuckled and with a warm smile said “Oh no, me child...I mean, Miss Elizabeth. I am in me Lady’s charge. I am the head maidservant. The Lady Brickendon asked that I see to yer comfort. She and the Lord hast been quite concerned for ye. Now, Miss Elizabeth of Charingworth, are ye hungry?”
Feeling a ravenous grumbling inside her abdomen, she realized “I’m starving but how can I feel hunger in a dream?” Patiently awaiting a response, Helen stood smiling benignly. “Yes, thank you Helen. I am famished.”
“I am gladdened. It be a good portent that ye are hungry. I will fetch ye some victuals and inform Lady Brickendon ye are ready to speak to her. She will likely hasten here. She will have many questions to ask ye.” This last phrase died on the air, as Helen pattered out the door, closing it gently behind her.
Alarmed, Beth thought “Questions. What kind of questions. Better yet, what kind of answers can I give? “Don’t be concerned...it’s only a dream where mounted devils burn villages, try to pierce you with lances and you can feel things like hunger and texture and... God, what’s happening to me? Well, Lady Brickendon, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I fell this morning about 700 years in the future, on the way to see your husband.” At the thought of husband, Beth began to whimper. “It’s bad enough that I have to dream about him but to dream he’s married is too much. I don’t want to meet his wife. I just want to wake up.”
For a third time, Beth threw back the covers and planted her bare feet on the hard, cold floor. Surveying her outfit for the first time, she felt and saw, a coarse, white linen gown covering her otherwise, nude body. “Ooh, I’m still dizzy from my bump. I can’t even walk, yet.” Humbly, she climbed back under the covers, again feeling the roughness of the material. “I just can’t wake up but I’ve got to. This is too stressful. You shouldn’t be able to feel lumpy mattresses and rough blankets in a dream. I can even feel the cold floor and the warm fire and the mustiness of this room.”
Reaching for a pewter tankard on the table near the bed, she took a gulp of sweet, cool water. The water tasted so good, she drank all of it. “There’s another instance of how bizarre this is--I can taste the beverage.” Adjusting the pillows so she could sit up, she surveyed the room. “It’s all so clear, not dreamlike at all. The furniture looks real, the sounds drifting through the shuttered window sound real, the room smells real, even the hunger pains feel real. Even the tap at the door is real...Oh my God, Lady Brickendon has arrived!”
Beth was out of touch with her senses. “Oww, my head hurts,” she whispered, as her fingers lightly brushed the back of her head, coming away with sticky blood. Looking around, she could perceive little--there was thick, black smoke obscuring her surroundings. “That really stings my eyes! Where am I, anyway?”
Sounds drifted on the dense air: horses stomping, metal grating against metal, children screaming and men shouting commands. Realizing what was happening to her, she spoke aloud “Beth, wake up! You know this is a very, very bad dream. This isn’t real.... you know it isn’t real. I’m supposed to be with Dr. Brickendon.” However, she did not awaken and even making an arduous exertion towards convincing herself she was dreaming did little to assuage her anxiety.
The smoke partially lifted, revealing its source: men on horseback had torched the fields and thatch-roofed huts. The village men fought back using sticks, scythes and other farm implements but against armored warriors, they were unevenly matched. Their endeavors were doomed to failure and death was the reward for the vanquished. The battle had ended as rapidly as its onset. Bodies were scattered about like discarded rag dolls at the hands of a spoiled child. The smell of coagulating blood filled the air. “It smells like copper, vomit and decay, even through the stench of the smoke,” Beth thought to herself, observing a handful of peasants racing for the safety of the nearby copse of trees. “Good, it’s almost finished now. Some macho horseman will gallop towards me and some stranger with strong arms will save me. Then I can wake up and get to Dr. Brickendon’ s office.”
As before, the victors gathered in the center of the flaming huts, surveying their devastation with pride. Beth couldn’t avoid the feeling of being awed by those thirteen men who had fought like devils from the pit. “The black crosses against their red shields are eerie”, Beth thought. “I wonder who they are and why they’ve destroyed these innocent people?” The leader slowly walked his horse to his congregated men. Beth could see that he wore a metal visor that obscured his face. “But I know his eyes are black as bottomless pits. Let’s just wake up now and skip the rest...” Even as these thoughts drifted through her consciousness, the leader turned her direction, lowered his lance and began a deliberate canter towards where she stood.
“Oh God, where am I going to run? There’s no shelter except for the woods.” Beth then discovered what her subconscious already knew: “I can’t move! But, I don’t need to move. This is just my dream but God, I want to wake up.”
The horse kicked up clouds of white-looking dust that was an incongruity against the smudgy backdrop. With horror, Beth relived her previous dream a few seconds before the real event followed. “Next, the horse’s nostrils will spread and then the rider will lower his head, begin galloping towards me and run me through...but that’s not right because I remember someone...” Before the thought could gel, Beth observed another’s approach, accompanied by several mounted men wearing golden crests that displayed three ravens. The black-eyed, devil-leader had not seen the approach of the others, basking in the obvious fear Beth felt. “I know he’s grinning from ear to ear under that damned helmet but you know, it’s time to be swept away before he does run me through.”
For a split second Beth fought off the horrible thought that the rescuer would arrive too late to be of service. “That’s ridiculous but you are going to be so mortified if Dr. Brickendon is standing above you when you awaken on the classroom floor. In fact, that disaster can wait a little longer! I’ll just keep on dreaming for a bit. You know, that horse is getting too close.” Beth involuntarily shuttered as a surge of adrenaline penetrated her bloodstream. “It’s only a dream but God, it’s so real. I’ll just close my eyes and wait. In fact...” Beth’s thoughts were cut off by her own scream as she was yanked from behind, thrust onto a horse, and at least, temporarily saved from impalement at the hands of the dark-eyed man.
“That arm feels so strong. Maybe this time I’ll see his face.” She saw his free arm rise, wielding the sword and then felt a blow land upon his shield that rivaled a thunderbolt striking a solid rock. She felt the arm tighten around her as she almost tumbled to the ground, then saw him slash at the enemy’s lance, knocking it to the earth. Having temporarily disarmed his foe, Beth felt the horse whip about and gallop towards the woods. Before she could speak to her rescuer, she was rudely lifted to the ground and the rider galloped back towards the conflict and his comrades.
“This is totally wild. My dream has never gone this far, before. Up until now, I knew everything that would happen but this is a surprise and I’m not feeling very good, suddenly.”
In fact, Beth wasn’t feeling well at all. Suddenly overcome by nausea and light-headedness, she felt as if the nightfall had descended very rapidly. Her last conscious thought was: “I’m going to faint twice in one day?”
Just as suddenly as her rescuer had galloped away, Beth’s eye’s fluttered open. “Ooh, my head feels like I got smacked with an anvil and the blacksmith is still hammering on it!” Reaching delicately to the focal point of the pain, she discovered a sort of cloth bandage, wrapped snugly around her forehead. Abruptly, everything came back to her as if someone had detonated a smart bomb in her cerebrum.
“I fell in the lecture hall and struck my head. While unconscious, the dream came back but it went further than before.” Strangely, however, her nostrils felt raw from the dream-smoke and her eyes still burned. Touching her face she whispered, “my skin feels sooty and smudged and I can still hear those battle-sounds.”
A slight smile crossed her lips as she recalled: “The mystery of the dream is solved. The torture of not recognizing his face after rescuing me was what was so bothersome. Since I know who he is, the dream should stop.”
Believing herself in the college clinic, she was shocked as sitting up she saw a strange room, more like a prison cell than an infirmary. The chamber was constructed of huge blocks of tightly fitting brown stones, fitted with gray mortar. The shape of the room was roughly a cube, measuring perhaps twenty feet each direction. A crude, whitish plaster adorned the walls in places. At one end, a massive fireplace blazed while in contrast, at the other end, a small opaque window, fitted with a wooden shutter that featured a cruciform opening, was set into the blocks. A small quantity of late-afternoon sunlight spilled through the narrow slit, making the wooden floor appear pockmarked and dull.
“This bed is really crude. Why it looks like they cut down trees and forgot to plane the logs or sand off the splinters. This mattress feels like its stuffed with dead porcupines.” As Beth tossed back the coverlet and started to swing her feet onto the floor, a large, oaken door grated open, causing her to emit a small shriek.
In walked a small, round-faced woman with silvery-gray hair. “Oh, me child! Ye are awake? That surely were a nasty cut upon yer crown.” Quickly crossing the room, Beth was dismayed to observe her closing the small shutter. Turning about, the woman placed her hands upon her hips and said “We ware all quite fearful for ye.”
This was spoken in a tone of genuine concern, alleviating some of Beth’s discomfort. “I still wonder, though, just what the Hell is going on?” The elderly lady continued in her peculiar intonation: “Ye gave us all quite a scare, not up from yer sleep for three whole days. The physician-ordinary said it ware from that awful lump.”
Beth thought to herself, “The accent’s horrid and the grammar atrocious but without a doubt, she is as English as kidney pie." Addressing herself to the mystery woman, Beth queried “Three days? Where exactly am I? What am I doing here? She instantly observed that her outburst had surprised the woman but she quickly regained her composure. Crossing the room to be next to the bed, Beth felt her hand lifted and squeezed. “Thar, thar, do not get yerself so upset. Everything will be righted. I am sure ye hast many questions but first things first. I be Helen. Thee art at Brickendon Manor, in the charge of me Lord and Lady Brickendon. It was Lord Brickendon that found ye and brought ye hither.”
“No, this is my dream. Yes that’s it, all this is the dream but I’m sick of it.” Attempting to rise for a second time, she pushed back the coarse quilt and felt its roughness on her hands. Helen placed her hands on Beth’s shoulders to keep her still.
“Ye just lie back down. Ye shant be arisin’ just yet. I assure ye, me child, ye not be dreamin’ now but perchance ye have been dreamin’ for the last three days. Ye are right to be confused because o’ that nasty bump. Now, what is yer name, me child?”
Angrily, Beth shouted: “Please! Stop calling me ‘me child’”. Taken aback, Helen recoiled as if bitten by a viper. Seeing the wretched woman cowering behind the bedpost brought a burst of instant remorse. “That was incredibly rude and inconsiderate of me. It is just that my head hurts really badly. My name is Beth...oh, I mean, Elizabeth. Elizabeth Charingworth.”
“Well, Miss Elizabeth, it is nice to meet ye. Lady Brickendon will want to come in to speak with ye now that ye are awakened.” She quickly and deftly tucked in the coverlet as she spoke.
“Oh, I thought that you were...” Helen chuckled and with a warm smile said “Oh no, me child...I mean, Miss Elizabeth. I am in me Lady’s charge. I am the head maidservant. The Lady Brickendon asked that I see to yer comfort. She and the Lord hast been quite concerned for ye. Now, Miss Elizabeth of Charingworth, are ye hungry?”
Feeling a ravenous grumbling inside her abdomen, she realized “I’m starving but how can I feel hunger in a dream?” Patiently awaiting a response, Helen stood smiling benignly. “Yes, thank you Helen. I am famished.”
“I am gladdened. It be a good portent that ye are hungry. I will fetch ye some victuals and inform Lady Brickendon ye are ready to speak to her. She will likely hasten here. She will have many questions to ask ye.” This last phrase died on the air, as Helen pattered out the door, closing it gently behind her.
Alarmed, Beth thought “Questions. What kind of questions. Better yet, what kind of answers can I give? “Don’t be concerned...it’s only a dream where mounted devils burn villages, try to pierce you with lances and you can feel things like hunger and texture and... God, what’s happening to me? Well, Lady Brickendon, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I fell this morning about 700 years in the future, on the way to see your husband.” At the thought of husband, Beth began to whimper. “It’s bad enough that I have to dream about him but to dream he’s married is too much. I don’t want to meet his wife. I just want to wake up.”
For a third time, Beth threw back the covers and planted her bare feet on the hard, cold floor. Surveying her outfit for the first time, she felt and saw, a coarse, white linen gown covering her otherwise, nude body. “Ooh, I’m still dizzy from my bump. I can’t even walk, yet.” Humbly, she climbed back under the covers, again feeling the roughness of the material. “I just can’t wake up but I’ve got to. This is too stressful. You shouldn’t be able to feel lumpy mattresses and rough blankets in a dream. I can even feel the cold floor and the warm fire and the mustiness of this room.”
Reaching for a pewter tankard on the table near the bed, she took a gulp of sweet, cool water. The water tasted so good, she drank all of it. “There’s another instance of how bizarre this is--I can taste the beverage.” Adjusting the pillows so she could sit up, she surveyed the room. “It’s all so clear, not dreamlike at all. The furniture looks real, the sounds drifting through the shuttered window sound real, the room smells real, even the hunger pains feel real. Even the tap at the door is real...Oh my God, Lady Brickendon has arrived!”