I woke up from the same dream again. The din of the clashing swords, still ringing in my head and the smell of blood and rotting bodies, so vivid it almost had me gagging for fresh air.

I was ten years old when the nightmares started. Every time the same thing, the gory battlefield, the shouts and cries of dying men, and the figure upon the horse, his face in shadow, leading the charge.

What’s wrong with me?

I have been thinking about visiting my grandmother for years. I think it’s time to finally listen to what she has to say. She claims she’s an oracle and could be helpful in getting answers. So what if she’s a little eccentric?

I cleared my schedule for the day and drove to her house. The cottage was beautiful in the late summer afternoon. The garden was blooming with roses and the smell of my favourite lemon cake drifted out on a balmy breeze.

I rang the bell and waited for her to let me in.

I could hear her moving around inside, gently humming to herself. The door suddenly opened, and she said, “ Arthur, I knew you would come.”