A Nest of Nightmares

She walked forward again, and when she reached the porch she set her knuckles against the warped, grey door and rapped sharply, twice.

An old, old woman, stick-thin and obviously ailing, opened the door. Ellen and the woman gazed at each other in silence.

‘Aunt May?’

The old woman’s eyes cleared with recognition, and she nodded slightly. ‘Ellen, of course!’

But when had her aunt grown so old?

‘Come in, dear.’ The old woman stretched out a parchment claw. At her back, Ellen felt the wind. The house creaked, and for a moment Ellen thought she felt the porch floor give beneath her feet. She stumbled forward, into the house. The old woman – her aunt, she reminded herself – closed the door behind her.

‘Surely you don’t live here all alone,’ Ellen began. ‘If I’d known – if Dad had known – we would have . . .’

‘If I’d needed help I would’ve asked for it,’ Aunt May said with a sharpness that reminded Ellen of her father.

‘But this house,’ Ellen said. ‘It’s too much for one person. It looks like it might fall down at any minute, and if something should happen to you here, all alone . . .’

The old woman laughed, a dry, papery rustle. ‘Nonsense. This house will outlast me. And appearances can be deceiving. Look around you – I’m quite cozy here.’

Ellen saw the hall for the first time. A wide, high-ceilinged room with a brass chandelier and a rich oriental carpet. The walls were painted cream, and the grand staircase looked in no danger of collapse.

‘It does look a lot better inside,’ Ellen said. ‘It looked deserted from the road. The taxi driver couldn’t believe anyone lived here.’

‘The inside is all that matters to me,’ said the old woman. ‘I have let it all go rather badly. The house is honeycombed with dry rot and eaten by insects, but even so it’s in nowhere near as bad shape as I am. It will still be standing when I’m underground, and that’s enough for me.’

‘But, Aunt May . . .’ Ellen took hold of her aunt’s bony shoulders. ‘Don’t talk like that. You’re not dying.’

That laugh again. ‘My dear, look at me. I am. I’m long past saving. I’m all eaten up inside. There’s barely enough of me left to welcome you here.’

Ellen looked into her aunt’s eyes, and what she saw there made her vision blur with tears. ‘But doctors . . .’

‘Doctors don’t know everything. There comes a time, my dear, for everyone. A time to leave this life for another one. Let’s go in and sit down. Would you like some lunch? You must be hungry after that long trip.’

Feeling dazed, Ellen followed her aunt into the kitchen, a narrow room decorated in greens and gold. She sat at the table and stared at the wallpaper, a pattern of fish and frying pans.

Her aunt was dying. It was totally unexpected. Her father’s older sister – but only eight years older, Ellen remembered. And her father was a vigorously healthy man, a man still in the prime of life. She looked at her aunt, saw her moving painfully slowly from cupboard to counter to shelf, preparing a lunch.

Ellen rose. ‘Let me do it, Aunt May.’

‘No, no, dear. I know where everything is, you see. You don’t. I can still get around all right.’

‘Does Dad know about you? When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Oh, dear me, I didn’t want to burden him with my problems. We haven’t been close for years, you know. I suppose I last saw him – why, it was at your wedding, dear.’

Ellen remembered. That had been the last time she had seen Aunt May. She could hardly believe that woman and the one speaking to her now were the same. What had happened to age her so in only three years?

May set a plate on the table before Ellen. A pile of tuna and mayonnaise was surrounded by sesame crackers.

‘I don’t keep much fresh food on hand,’ she said. ‘Mostly canned goods. I find it difficult to get out shopping much anymore, but then I haven’t much appetite lately, either. So it doesn’t much matter what I eat. Would you like some coffee? Or tea?’

‘Tea, please. Aunt May, shouldn’t you be in a hospital? Where someone would care for you?’

‘I can care for myself right here.’

‘I’m sure Dad and Mom would love to have you visit . . .’

May shook her head firmly.

‘In a hospital they might be able to find a cure.’

‘There’s no cure for dying except death, Ellen.’

The kettle began to whistle, and May poured boiling water over a teabag in a cup.

Ellen leaned back in her chair, resting the right side of her head against the wall. She could hear a tiny, persistent, crunching sound from within the wall – termites?

‘Sugar in your tea?’

‘Please,’ Ellen responded automatically. She had not touched her food, and felt no desire for anything to eat or drink.

‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Aunt May. ‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to drink it plain. It must have been a very long time since I used this – there are more ants here than sugar grains.’

Ellen watched her aunt drop the whole canister into the garbage can.

‘Aunt May, is money a problem? I mean, if you’re staying here because you can’t afford – ’