Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 35

Only months before, I had lost my closest friend in the world: Emily. And months before her Branwell had died a sudden death, shocking us to the core. Nothing was left for me. No love or friendship. Only endless service amongst people who cared nothing for me and valued me even less. Or maybe more novels, in which I poured out my deepest thoughts to have them scorned and derided by those who read them.

I was ready to go. I felt no fear, only love. My greatest worry was for Charlotte and my father. For them to lose us all so rapidly would be a grievous blow from which I knew they would never recover.

I journeyed to Scarborough to see the sea once more. On my final night, Charlotte stayed by my side. "Have courage, Charlotte," I whispered, as she grasped my burning hand. She was so pale with fear and grief. Stoic, yes, but I could see the horror swimming beneath her facade. All of her creative confidants, Branwell, Emily and now me, dying within one year. It was too much. There wasn't enough courage in the world to shield her from this loss. Poised on the edge of death, I forgave her then, all her judgment. Her damnation of my work. So much pain was coming for her and my poor father, whom she begged not to come, afraid the sight of me would kill him, that I could feel nothing for her but pity.

And transcendent love.

Fever dragged me into a dreadful darkness. Steaming delirium. The heat felt like hell and in desperation I hacked off my long hot hair with a pair of my sister's sewing shears. Charlotte, at the insistence of her friends, had retired for a few hours to take some much-needed rest, and in those moments Emily appeared by my side. She glowed in the darkness like a beacon. I remember the feel of her cool hand against my forehead. So soothing. So settling. "Don't be afraid, my love," she said. "I'm here now."

The vision gave me immense comfort. I thought my dead sister was waiting for me at heaven's door. All of it was true! God. Heaven. Serenity. I would be reunited with all my loves. My mother would hold me in her arms. My sisters Maria and Elizabeth. And I would finally know the existence of God. Bathe in His divine light. Be one with Him. In that feverish apparition, all my faith was restored. "Take me, my Lord," I prayed. "I am yours."

I survived the night, beset by wild dreams and apparitions. Branwell's ghost murmured in my ear. A dark form loomed over me, trying to kiss me. The blessed sun arose one final time as I rested upon the couch, listening to the waves outside our window, Charlotte speaking softly to Ellen in the background.

I closed my eyes against the day and called my willing soul away, from earth, and air, and sky.

I was leaving her, leaving this world behind. And I was ready. Inwardly, I recited my poem like a prayer:

I know that my Redeemer lives; I do not fear to die;

Full sure that I shall rise again to immortality.

I long to view that bliss divine, which eye hath never seen,

Like Moses I will see His face, without the veil between.

Then was all blackness and cold.

I awoke in a frigid grave, buried deep. It smelled like wet earth and worms and fresh pine. I don't know how much time had passed, but possibly days. I was so ravaged by disease, it took time for me to heal and turn. All the fears you can imagine upon waking in a grave came rushing at me. Absolute horror at the knowledge I had been buried alive. Thirst so fierce it tore my throat. Cold so deep my limbs felt frozen. I could hardly move. I screamed and scratched and clawed at the wood. Panic welled and broke in brutal waves over my ravaged mind. In a frenzied blur of terror, I smashed through the coffin and dug my way up out of the earth into the warm night air.