Return to the Vicarage

For those who have read my short collection, Come Into My Cellar: Darker Tales From A Cerebral Vault, you were introduced to the Vicarage, a recurring nightmare I have suffered from for years:

All my life I have enjoyed the experience of being a dreamer. At night, I wander dreams flowing with color, rich in plot, and often stay with me upon awakening. Yet, no other dreamer has ever mentioned one aspect of my daily nocturnal wanderings. My subconscious, much like a Grade-B film director, has for six decades repeatedly used the same sets as if the budget for backdrops and scenery had vanished. One place I always return to is the Vicarage.

I have been dreaming about the Vicarage for almost four decades now, a setting so commonplace I can actually draw the floor plans for you.

Well, last night I returned to the Vicarage and it felt like I was there all night long. However, unlike other nights spent avoiding the unholy, otherworldly, and invisible Presence that walks its halls "primal and serene," I met a young lady of about 14 who is as much trapped in the house as I am, but she never leaves simply because she can't.

Looking at her oddly dated clothes, a strange thought came to me and I asked her what year it was. "Oh, it's 1897."

Poor child.

So, when I awoke, a full-blown story popped into my mind, a story about a young child trapped in a nightmarish mansion that others visit in their dreams, a Vicarage that holds a primal terror that walks its halls and, if it finds you, it will kill you, but only if it's in a merciful mood.

(sigh) I'm busy as it is, but as the cliche goes, you strike while the iron is hot.

I'll keep you abreast of my travelogue as I plumb the mysteries of the Vicarage and try to save a young girl who has been trapped inside its walls for almost 120 years.

I've got a gut feeling this is NOT going to end well.