A Nest of Nightmares

But she saw nothing more and at last she shrugged and began to tighten lids on tubes of paint, putting her supplies away. She deliberately avoided looking at the painting she had been working on. Already she disliked it, and was annoyed with herself for failing again.

The house was stifling after the balmy evening air, and it reeked of the pizza she had given the children for dinner. They had left chunks of it uneaten on the coffee table and were now sprawled on the floor in front of the television set, absorbed in a noisy situation comedy.

‘Hello, sweethearts,’ Sara said.

Michael gave a squirming shrug and twitched his mouth in what might have been a greeting; Melanie did not move. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes followed the tiny moving images intently.

Sara put her painting and supplies back in her bedroom and then began to clean up the leftover pizza and soft drinks, wanting to turn off the set and reclaim her children, but too aware of the tantrums that would ensue if she interrupted a program.

At the next commercial, to catch their attention, Sara said, ‘I just saw a ghost across the lake.’

Michael sat up and turned to his mother, his expression intrigued but wary. ‘Really?’

‘Well, it looked like a ghost,’ Sara said. ‘You want to come with me and see if she’s still there?’

‘Not she, ghosts aren’t girls,’ Michael said. But he scrambled to his feet. Melanie was still watching the set: a domestic squabble over coffee.

‘Why can’t ghosts be girls?’ Sara asked. ‘Come on, Melanie. We’re going outside to look for a ghost.’

‘They just can’t be,’ Michael said. ‘Come on.’

Sara took hold of Melanie’s sticky little hand and led her outside after Michael. Outdoors, Michael suddenly halted and looked around. ‘Did you really see a ghost?’

‘I saw something,’ Sara said. She felt relieved to be outside again, away from the stale, noisy house. ‘I saw a pale white figure which glided past. When I looked more closely, it was gone. Vanished, just like that.’

‘Sounds like a ghost,’ said Michael. ‘They float around, and they’re all white, and they disappear. Did it make a noise?’

‘Not that I noticed. What sort of noise does a ghost make?’

Michael began to produce a low moaning sound, gradually building in intensity and volume.

‘Mommy, make him stop!’ Melanie said suddenly.

‘That’s enough, Michael.’

They had reached the water’s edge and they were quiet as they looked across the dark water. Almost nothing could be seen now of the opposite shore.

‘Did you really see a ghost?’ Michael asked, yet again. Sara felt his hand touching her blue-jeaned hip.

She put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him close. ‘Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was an animal of some kind. I just saw something from the corner of my eye, and I had the impression that it was, well, a woman in a long white gown, moving more quickly and quietly than any living person should. I felt she wasn’t ready to let me really see her yet. So when I tried to find her, she had disappeared.’

Sara felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and was suddenly ashamed of herself. If she had made herself nervous, what must the children be feeling?

Melanie began to whimper for the light.

‘She can’t turn the light on here – we’re outside, stupid,’ Michael said. Sara suspected a quaver in his voice.

‘Come on, kids. There’s nothing out here. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you a story before you go to bed.’

Michael broke into a run toward the safe harbour of the lighted house, and Melanie let go of her mother’s hand to chase him.

Sara turned to follow her children but then paused, feeling that she was being watched. She turned and looked back across the lake. But even if someone were standing on the opposite shore, it was now much too dark to see.

After the children had bathed and were in their pajamas, Sara told a story about a tricycle-riding bear, a character both the children loved, but which Michael was beginning to outgrow.

Melanie was good about going to bed, snuggling sleepily under the bedclothes and raising her round, sweet face for a good-night kiss.

‘Now a butterfly kiss,’ Melanie commanded, after exchanging several smacking kisses with her mother.

Sara, kneeling by the bed, bent her head and fluttered her eyelashes against her daughter’s downy cheek. The sound of Melanie’s sleepy giggle, her warmth, the good, clean smell of her inspired a rush of love, and Sara wanted to grab her daughter and hug her suffocatingly tight. But she only whispered, soft as a breath, ‘I love you, sweetie,’ before she drew away.

Michael was waiting for her in his room with a deck of cards. They played two games of Go Fish and one of Crazy Eights before his uncontrollable yawns gave him away. He agreed to go to bed, but insisted upon hearing a story first.

‘A short one,’ Sara said.

‘A ghost story,’ he responded, nodding impatiently.

‘Oh, Michael,’ Sara sighed, envisioning nightmares and demands for comfort later.

‘Yes. A ghost story. About that ghost you saw across the lake today.’