I woke up in my bed like usual. Oh my gosh. “Was all that just a dream?” I asked myself out loud, “I really hope not.” I have been noticing myself doing that more and more lately, asking myself questions and then answering them. It’s called hypophora. Anyway, so you may be wondering what I’m talking about. “Was what all just a dream?” You might be asking. Well, I’ll start from the beginning of the evening.?I was sitting alone on the terrace of my new appartment. Just looking at the sky and the stars. I’d heard the legends. The darkest whispers that scare small children into staying under their covers no matter how hot they are. I was thinking of the stories my mum used to tell me.?“She’s beautiful. So beautiful she’s almost flawless. She’s got alabaster skin and dark purple eyes. Her clothes spun of pure gold. Her hair the color of cherries. She comes in the night. She’ll whisper your name. You must never heed her call. For those who do, are never seen again.” ?The Woman of the Night was what they called her. According to the actual legends, her name was once Maria Helena Troye. Tragically predicting name. Just as her namesakes. She was a child produced by a rape, became one of the most beautiful women in all of history and then became a rape/murder victim. That’s why her soul was so restless, her violent and tragic life.?I had seen her many times from this spot since I had bought the apartment three months before. She walked slowly beneath my balcony. Sometimes smiling, sometimes weeping. She had never called my name, though. Tonight was different. She looked at me this time. She said my name. She was calling me. Beckoning me toward her. I abandoned everything my mother had ever told me and I followed her. Just as my father had.?It was always men she called. Some figured it was revenge toward all men because of the man who raped her. I didn’t know about all that, but I did know that her story had always intrigued me. I thought of her differently than others did. I saw her, not as a revenge-seeking monster, but as a lost soul trying to forgive. ?When I was close enough to really see her face, she was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. “No wonder it’s so easy for men to get up and follow her,” I though to myself. We meandered down toward the river. We ended up at a spot I was fairly familiar with. It was the place where she and her mother had both been raped. She stepped out on the water and started to disappear. Without even thinking, I stepped out with her.?Suddenly I was somewhere completely different. The home of a wealthy family outside of town, but this version of it was almost completely deserted. Except for every man who had ever been whisked away by her. I saw my father. She whispered to me. “I’ve tried to help them. I tried to make them happier. They seemed so lonely. Can you help me help them? You understand me better than any other man. Please?” I was amazed. THIS was the secret of the Woman of the Night.?“How do we help them?” I asked her. “I am too weak, my spirit is tired. You must help me bring them back across safely to where they belong,” She answered, “Like a bridge.”?She told me exactly what to do and I followed all of her instructions very closely. We started helping them across. My father was last. He crossed. She helped me up. I felt a slight tremor at my feet. ?“The door is closed. I’m trapped here now. I have no way to move on from this world and now people will see me in fear as they always do. What good is being beautiful if no one will ever look at you?” She was totally distraught. She brought these men back so that they could be happy, but what about her? Now she’ll always be sad.?I told her to find somewhere quiet to stay for a time while I tried to think of something. She disappeared under a nearby bridge. I went back to my apartment and started looking. I looked and looked and searched for anything I could on how to help spirits move on to the next life.?And that’s the last thing I remember before I woke up. I decided to walk down to the bridge just to be sure. She was there. She was hiding and she looked like she was sobbing. When she saw me she immediately perked up. I told her my searches the night before had turned up empty.?“Google it,” she said. I realized then just how tired I must’ve been last night to have not tried that. So we finally found something that just might work. She decided she was ready and so I gathered the necessary materials for the ceremony. She showed me where she was buried and I burned her bones.?There was a breeze that felt like a kiss on the cheek and she was gone. Just like that. The most beautiful and tragic woman who had ever walked the Earth. And I had the privilege of being the only man who ever made her happy. Goodbye, Maria Helena Troye