Room 14

When I lodge at Tahoe House in Virginia City, it is invariably in Room 14. Familiar and serene, it always retained a peculiar chill, even with the heater steadily running.

One winter’s eve, just before the break of dawn, a particularly icy draft stole through the room, sending shivers racing along my arms. Shivering, I reached down to tug my blankets higher, but my fingers brushed against something cool and solid. It was unmistakably a bracelet, with its metal links cold, solid, and foreign to my touch.

Blinking in disbelief, I dismissed it as a trick of the light, believing it to be a fold of the curtain. Yet, as my gaze rose in the dim light filtering through the window, I saw a lady swathed in layers of pale, whispering veils, standing quiet, unwavering stare. She hovered near the bed, her eyes holding an ageless sorrow. Glimmering faintly on her wrist was a bracelet–identical to the one I just touched.

Despite the startling apparition, I became enveloped by a curious calm. Startled, yes, but not frightened. I released my grip, withdrawing my hand under the blanket. Slowly, I pulled the covers over my head. My heart thudded in the ensuing silence, but so in the chill dissolved into a lingering silence.

Morning arrived, and I almost dismissed the encounter as a figment of my dreams. Yet, as I folded back my blanket, there on the bedside lay a single silver link from what could have been a bracelet–polished, cold, and undeniably real.