Henry trudged over the moor, wondering what on earth he was doing there when, through the veils of mist, he saw a group of figures - crouching, menacing!
The shock stopped him in his tracks as he peered intently, then grimaced ruefully to himself.
'Damn fool', he muttered, 'Being scared of an old stone circle.'
He breathed a sigh of relief. Even so, he was aware of his thudding heartbeat and a strange sense of foreboding. He hadn't meant to come this far and the mist was closing in. This moor wasn't the best place to be on such a damp, foggy morning, he thought, best get back to a nice warm fire.

'Hello, I'm home!' Henry stamped the water from his boots, before crossing the threshold.
'Oh, there you are', his wife emerged from the kitchen, 'I was beginning to think you had got lost.' Joan smiled and raised her face for a kiss, but Henry bent down to remove his boots, pretending not to notice.
'No need to worry about me,' he remarked gruffly, 'You forget, I was raised on the moors. I can look after myself.'
Joan raised a sceptical eyebrow, 'But you haven't been back in years.'

Henry followed her into the kitchen and thrust some more logs on the open range, watching the scarlet sparks flying up the old cavernous chimney.
Joan busied herself making a pot of steaming coffee. It's fragrance mingled with the delicious aroma of beef, simmering in herbs and wine. He had to admit, he would miss her cooking.
Henry stared blankly at the flames which were leaping and crackling around the dry logs. How could he tell her? What could he say?

'Here's your coffee, dear.' Joan set a large mug beside him and pushed the sugar bowl towards him.
'Thanks,' Henry spooned in the sugar, knowing she was staring at him with a puzzled frown, but he couldn't meet her eyes.
His wife sighed, 'Henry, what is the matter?'
'What do you mean,' he stalled. 
Joan shrugged, 'I don't know, but you haven't been yourself recently.'
'Oh, really? Who am I, then?' he inquired, with heavy irony.
'You know perfectly well what I mean,' Joan sounded exasperated, 'Take this holiday, for instance.'
Henry felt his heart jolt, 'What about it?'
'Well, coming to this isolated spot in the middle of winter! Not letting anybody know where you are. You've never done that before, we always go abroad.'

'November's not exactly the middle of winter,' Henry snapped, 'I don't want the office bothering me, and you know I have to see the agents about selling this place.'
'I don't know why you suddenly want to sell it,' Joan replied, 'You were born here. It's been in your family for donkey's years. It was your inheritance.'
'Well, I've got no one to inherit it after me, have I?'
Joan turned away, hurt by his words. Henry sipped at his coffee, knowing he was behaving badly towards her. Wasn't her fault she couldn't have kids. But she'd be far more hurt when he asked her for a divorce, so that he could marry Susie.

For the past twenty five years Joan had been a clinging vine. Always had to be told what to do. He had only to say the word and it would be done, but how insufferably boring it had been.
How he'd wished, over the years, that she would show some life, some spirit, of her own, but no, she was like some mindless zombie, waiting on him hand and foot.
Whereas Susie...

A warm thrill surged through his loins at the thought of Susie's young and exciting body, which now carried his child. She certainly had a mind of her own, and it was at her insistence that his one and only heir should carry his father's name. After all, he had quite a fortune to leave. That had been a bit of a jolt, he'd assumed he would set her up seperately. But now he had got used to the idea, he couldn't wait to get rid of Joan.

Henry roused himself and determined to ask Joan for his freedom before the week was out. He'd see her settled all right, she could have their large mansion, it was all she was really interested in, the domestic side of things. She was at her happiest cooking, cleaning, polishing. 
He felt a deep sense of relief sweep over him at having made the decision.

'Saw an old stone circle, this morning,' he volunteered into the silence.
Joan started suddenly and dropped a spoon.
'Oh, that breaks my dream,' she shuddered, 'It was awful! I was a Bronze Age woman
about to be sacrificed to the Gods,' she frowned thoughtfully, 'It's coming back now - yes, that's odd!'
Henry looked up, 'What is?'
Joan shook her head in a puzzled manner, 'The odd thing was, the priest had your hunting knife in his hand. I woke up just as he was about to  plunge it into me.'
She shuddered again.

Henry felt his scalp prickle and a weird despairing thrill sang along his nerves. Now he knew why he had brought Joan down here. Why he had told his office he'd be in Birmingham for a week, and why he had slipped his knife into his case at the last minute.
It all fell into place now, although he'd been at a loss to understand his own actions before. But now he knew, with a compelling sense of elation, that it was what he had always intended. Susie could be very expensive.

'That's strange,' he remarked carefully, 'You may have had a flash from a previous lifetime. We'll go along tomorrow, if you like, and see if you can pick up anything else.'
'Ha! You and your superstitions!' Joan teased him, 'Okay, as long as you don't bring your knife with you,'  she laughed merrily at the very idea.
Henry felt as if he had been shot but he managed a casual grin.
'Didn't think to bring it with me, I'm afraid.'  

Next morning, they reached the Stone Circle just as sleet began to fall.
'God, it's icy,' Joan shivered. She clapped her hands together and stamped her feet, 'This place is just like the morgue.'
Henry gave an involuntary shudder at her choice of words. Joan noticed it and reached into her holdall for the thermos flask.
'Here, let's have a hot drink, dear, before we both go down with 'flu,' she tutted at her husband, 'You and your previous lifetimes!'

She poured them each a beaker-full of the aromatic coffee. Henry gulped his down. The scalding liquid stung his throat, but he needed to steady his jangling nerves.
He reached into his pocket and his shaking hand closed around the knife. His thudding heart pounded in his ears. He felt sick and feverish with fear. He had to do it now. Now! But he couldn't, he just couldn't. 

Suddenly, his knees buckled and he slumped to the ground, rigid.

Joan threw her coffee away and gazed ruefully at Henry's inert figure. With a bit of luck, the snow would cover him and he wouldn't be found for weeks.  Nobody knew where they were and wouldn't think of looking for him here. She gathered the beakers and started back to the cottage.

'Always trust your dreams, Henry!' she said