One April Night-mare

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a story about a dream, and some history.

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



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?" 

Submitted: November 29, 2020

© Copyright 2021 D. Thurmond aka JEF. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Serge Wlodarski

Nice use of imagery, and a good twist at the end.

Mon, November 30th, 2020 12:41pm



Mon, November 30th, 2020 1:25pm


You did a great job with the haunting atmosphere!

Mon, November 30th, 2020 7:37pm


Thanks Hul.

Mon, November 30th, 2020 1:24pm

Vance Currie

Good story, DT. Reminds me of an old joke 'Last night, I dreamed I was awake, but when I woke up, I found that I was asleep.' Maybe one day, I'll dream that I am dead, and when I wake up ... but I wouldn't, would I?

Mon, November 30th, 2020 10:41pm


Thanks Joe. --- This was a dream that President Abraham Lincoln told a few people about, before his death, I just dramatized it some. Just Google, Lincoln's death dream.

Mon, November 30th, 2020 2:52pm

Suzanne Mays

I've read of this dream in quite a few books on Lincoln. Your story brings it to life.

Fri, December 4th, 2020 3:52pm


Thanks, and thanks for the reply.

Fri, December 4th, 2020 3:37pm

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