The Bronte Room at the Victoria Inn in Antigonish will give you cinematic dreams that need to be continued.
True. I'd forgotten I was in Emily Bronte's room until Norma Jean told me the next morning—the dreams I had made sense then a dark, foreboding man, danger, wind
Except my Heathcliff strangled everyone he met.
I may have gotten stories and myths mixed up
Bluebeard's Ghost, Jane Eyre, Jekyll and Hyde
Jack the Ripper, Rebecca.
Have you noticed this?
After a while, all stories blend into one.
I'd forgotten too that Emily wrote poems—archaic now perhaps, but Emily—
the other one—
requested No Coward Soul is Mine for recitation when that fly stopped buzzing
when she stopped for death.
The Emilys are with me now forever
until I return to the Victoria Inn
to bring Heathcliff to justice
To imagine, watch, write the sequel.