Haunted Dreams

by Torquil MacWolff

I stop for the night not knowing where I am. I search around for wood to start a fire, yet all is covered with snow or is wet. So I lay down too weak and weary to eat. I use my tunic for a pillow and wrap my cloak about my body tightly to keep the winter chill from reaching my bones, but it is of no use for my body is drenched from the falling snow. I am tired beyond my years yet as I close my eyes I do not find peace. The wind whistles through the trees spilling the whi te fluffy cargo that each branch holds. I feel the cold sting of the snow as each flake touches my face and melts, soaking more and more into my already frozen body. I close my eyes tightly straining to hear any sounds above the wind which might remind me o f my home and better times, the creek that runs by my home, under my window. I then feel the pangs of hunger which brings me back to the cold hell that I now endure. I give in to the wind and snow and think that if I cannot find peace then this should be my new home for eternal sleep. I once more begin to listen for sounds or smells to remind me the spring is nearing when I hear a snap of a branch in the woods behind me. I jump to my feet to see what it is, expecting to find a wolf, a bear, or some other woodland creature coming to devour me as it's evening meal. I look to the trees, but find no animals. The trees as well look different, they no longer carry the heavy enshroudment of winters fleeting grasp, leaving behind the soft subtle fragrances and colo rs of spring. The whispers of dark clouds which once held the threat of snow are gone now, replaced by the shining brilliance of a winter solstice moon. I kneel to in thanks to the gods for bringing the warmth of the night to replenish my health and remov e the cold that has permeated my bones when I see a lone figure, shining with a bright blue radiance as if illuminated by the stars and moon. The figure begins to step from the trees, but it does not move with footfalls of normal movement, but seems to floa t as if carried by the winds. Yet as I look around, the trees do not seem to flow with the same movement of wind which seems to carry this apparition. I gasp in disbelief, startled and awe inspired by the figure which now gently moves in my direction. I c al l out to the figure, yet the only response that ensues is the wind echoing through the treetops. I call out again, hoping that there is some reason for this figure to come for me. As the figure steps into the light I begin to feel the cold chill rise thro ugh my spine once more as I hear the echoes of my fathers voice echoing in my head telling me stories of the Banshee's that come forth in the night to steal young men dragging them off for endless years of torture. I try to scream out, but my voice seems t o be frozen as if some unseen creature has crawled into my throat and is eating any and all sounds that might spring forth in protest of this night. In but a few breaths time the banshee now stands before me staring at me with eyes of the darkest pools fr om the bottom of the ocean, cold, lifeless, and uncaring. I try to look away, but am captivated by the beauty of this creature. I am torn from my trance when I sense her hand slowly rising from her side upward toward my head. I try to pull away and scream o nce more. I fall backward to the ground, the sounds that issues forth from my lungs can only be described as the song of the banshee that always sounds when each of my clansmen has disappeared. She is over me in an instant, as if somehow worried. She rea ches up once more as if to touch me, I look into her eyes once more. This time I sink deeper into her eyes and feel a warmth in places of my body that have ever been cold. I begin to wonder if this feeling is the reaper coming to end my life, I would sure ly welcome it. I close my eyes as her hand goes to touch my face. A moment later I feel a cold wet finger hit my face with the gentleness of a snow flake. I open my eyes to look at her once more, yet she is gone. I am once again looking up at the dull grey expanse of the sky, covered in clouds. The ground is still covered with the white blanket of snow that is the reason for my chill. The sun is beginning to rise in the eastern sky. The night has passed, but yet I do not feel as if sleep has had any effect on my soul. As I sit upon my knees a new rage begins to course through my veins with my weary eyes lifted to the now morning sky. Why do you haunt me so? Why do you keep my sleep from me? Is there anyplace that I will find peace from your incessant haunting dreams?