Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It was not the first dream I've had of Manderley, and I am certain it will not be the last. In this dream, I was on the outside of the gate to the drive, which was locked. Gripping the bars, I stared through the mist to see what had become of Manderley, my once home. Even with the light of the moon, it was so dark, but I managed to make out what I knew was Manderley far off in the distance, quiet and resigned to its grim fate. I wanted to pass the gates, to see more of the grounds, but the gates were locked firmly in place. No amount of shaking would move the great gates to allow me entrance. Distraught by this barrier, I backed up several paces and prepared myself to run a shoulder to the rusted gates in hopes that the erosion would have weakened them over time.
Before I hit the gate, I possessed supernatural powers and was able to pass through with ease, moving like a summer breeze through Manderley, hardly recognizable in its current state. The drive was in horrible shape; it had not been tended to since my abrupt departure. Manderley was reclaimed by nature; even the gatekeeper lodgings were covered in ivy. The woods that had once been mere background scenery on drives to and from the estate were now the main focal point, visually overpowering everything that dared to challenge them. The impenetrable silence that had fallen over the grounds was sinister, foreboding. The drive trailed off into a thin ribbon the closer I came to Manderley, looking like a shell of its former self from a much happier time. I stood in front of the once grand house and gaped, shocked by its bleak presence. I knew Manderley was deserted, that no one lived there anymore, but I wasn't expecting this void of nothingness that had consumed the house. There was no smoke coming from the chimneys, no lights coming from the windows, nothing to suggest it was inhabited, or ever had been. Seeing how desolate the once thriving manor had become caused an unexpected chill down my spine, but I couldn't return to Manderley now. Manderley was no more, a ruin.
I glided through the house, noting how empty it was, even though the furniture and decor were in their proper places, exactly the same as when I had left. Nothing had been removed or added to the interior of Manderley since I had fled so long ago and everything was covered dust. The wallpaper, once elegant and trendy in its time, was peeling from the walls. The carpeting was thick with dust; no one had come to Manderley since its abrupt abandonment. Such a waste, I thought. Manderley truly had been grandiose in its time, but was little more than a forgotten haunted house now. No one would be giving dances or receiving visitors anymore. I wondered if anyone even remembered Manderley's presence now. It looked so forlorn, so dreary in the darkness of night that I was afraid to see what the house looked like in the light.
While I was looking over the overgrown estate and musing over its fate, the sun began to rise, and I realised in horror I was not human. I was no longer a vapor, I was very much solid and real. To my terror, sharp fangs sprouted from my otherwise white, even teeth, and there was a burning in my throat, making me unbearably thirsty. As I stood in the middle of the parlor, utterly dumbfounded by this turn of events, my flesh was beginning to smoke under the faint rays of light coming in through the windows. I searched frantically for shelter, somewhere the sun could not reach, and came up short. There was nowhere in the house that the sun could not reach, with all the many windows Manderley had, and the curtains, my only protection, were hanging haphazardly from their rods, weighed down with time. The sun, which had been warm and inviting once upon a time, would now be my undoing, my untimely death; of that I was certain.
With an anguished scream, I burned alive in the ruins that had once been my home, and woke up with a start. I stared around the hotel room as if looking for supernatural predators, but of course found nothing of the sort, not in the nice, normal French bed and breakfast we were currently lodged in. Rubbing my arms as though to ensure that, yes, I was still alive and very much human, and glanced over at my husband snoring loudly on the other side of the bed. Making sure he was deep in sleep, I silently slipped out of bed and crossed over to the window, where I stared out at the starry night sky and remembered what our lives used to be.