One April Night-mare

The tall thin man retired to his bed late in the night. Troubling events had plagued his day and he had stayed up late that night, hoping to hear word of the outcomes.

The house was silent, as it often is on these early April evenings. Only the occasional sounds of a clock chiming, or horseshoes could be heard out and along the avenue; yet, even they seemed to be muted by the cool breezes blowing past the windows.

It had been a late winter, and when the winter is lingering the weather proves to be cooler than normal, so the maids had added extra wood to the fireplaces before retiring for the night. Still, the tall man seemed to feel a chill within him.

Sleep came on quickly, as do the ghosts of previous residents that walk the halls late in the night, and sit in the tall chairs that are near the fireplaces.

But the tall man's sleep was not restful, and it wasn't long before his uneasiness turned into a less than enjoyable dream.

In the dream, the man thought he had awakened after experiencing a stillness around him; a death like stillness void of the sounds of horseshoes and clocks chiming.

Then came the sounds of people sobbing, quietly, off in the distance. So the disturbed man rose from his bed and made his way down the stairs, in search of the disturbances.

The chill in the air was without comfort from the fireplaces, and even the fireplaces looked dark as caverns of coal. But the rooms were alive with light, yet the mourners in the rooms were invisible to his eyes.

The sounds of crying continued as the man made his way along the corridors and hallways, past more room full of light, yet empty of people; the weeping continued.

Then, as he entered the east room he was met with a dreadful sight; a covered corpse was resting on a catafalque. There were soldiers standing guard, all around the catafalque, and around them were mourners. The mourners were looking at the covered corpse, and they were moaning and weeping relentlessly.

The man was shocked and demanded answers. "Who is dead in the White House?"

The reply came quickly from a guard, "The President, he was assassinated!

That answer awoke President Lincoln from his vivid dream, and a few days later he was dead.

D. Thurmond / JEF

11-29-2020

Note: This story was crafted using written accounts of something Abraham Lincoln may have told his wife, and others, about a dream he had just days before his death. Which begs the question, "A all dreams just dreams?"