Last night I dreamt that Daphne Du Maurier Was Here.

Well, actually, that’s the way I phrased it afterwards for Peter – who had slept all through – and for most people. But to you, I can tell the truth: I know that it was no dream. She was here. There was this flowery fragrance clinging to her, still floating around in the morning – a sure enough olfactory proof.
I am a young and inexperienced writer. For years I have been reading and rereading Rebecca, trying for the umpteenth time to determine what makes it so fascinating – what is there that definitely is not in my own novel. And then last night, its author came… to help me – at least that’s what she said. She said she enjoyed helping struggling writers – now that she was dead.
She told me about the regrets she had, the things she had not done: loving women, for instance… She said she had stayed with her husband through convention, through fear of the unknown – fear of life, really. “I poured my anguish, my passion and my secrets into my writing”, she said. “Do not do that! Love and write and take risks – in your writing and in your loving. It is highly dangerous not to take risks”.
I opened my mouth and she said – very quickly: “Do not ask any questions. I have not been sent here for very long and there are so many things I need to share: I know all about betrayal, you see. I was very interested in Jungian psychology. I read and read and read, but my heart was frozen. You can see it, my frozen heart – on my photographs – can’t you?”
“My frozen heart”… I heard the phrase again and again and it became a litany, a sad song inside… Birds were singing outside, although the night was still very dark. I could see pale moonlight slicing through the shutters. And Daphne Du Maurier herself was in my chamber – a benevolent spectre, chatting away, giving me advice on life & writing…
“Yes”, she said in response to my unexpressed thought, “I am here.” “Not I, if truth be told”, she added as an afterthought, “but the thread of the spider who spins on the wall, who is lost, who is dead, who is nothing at all”.
She started fading. A strong shadow appeared in her stead – a tall, dark-haired, extremely beautiful woman…