I awakened to the sound of gunfire and cannons. Soldiers fought in hand- to-hand combat on my bed. Bayonets tore through the sheets missing my head by inches. I heard the names Grant and Lee being spoken. Is the Civil War being fought in my room? I wanted to run but was surrounded.
A ghost angrily screamed, “Are you a Yankee?”
“NO!” I’m French!” I assumed that he was talking to me.
“You don’t sound French!”
I peeked from under my sheet. He pointed his rifle at me and prepared to
shoot but a bullet hit him. His body fell on top of mine.
The soldier, who shot him, leaned next to me and said, “Don’t cha worry
Frenchie, I’ll keep ya safe.” Then he returned to battle.
The butler returned and was vacuuming again. This time he pushed me out of the bed and changed the sheets. They were ripped in the battle.
I had breakfast with the homeowners before they left for work. I told them about my night. They acted jealous when I mentioned the Civil War battle. Apparently it usually takes place in their bedroom.
I informed them that I would be leaving this morning and thanked them for the opportunity to stay in their home. They smiled, and said if I ever wanted to return that I would be welcomed.