A Nest of Nightmares

She shook her head, bent to kiss Michael, and went with him into the house.

In the middle of the night Sara started up in bed, wide awake and frightened. The children? She couldn’t pinpoint her anxiety, but her automatic reaction was to check on their safety. In the hall, on the way to their rooms, she heard the sound of a muffled giggle coming from the family room. There she saw Michael and Melanie standing before the window, curtains opened wide, gazing into the garden.

Sara walked slowly toward the window, vaguely dreading what she would see.

There was a white pig on the lawn, almost shining in the moonlight. It stood very still, looking up at them.

Sara put her hand on Melanie’s shoulders and the little girl leaped away, letting out a small scream.

‘Melanie!’ Sara said sharply.

Both children stood still and quiet, looking at her. There was a wariness in their gaze that Sara did not like. They looked as if they were expecting punishment. What had they done? Sara wondered.

‘Both of you, go to bed. You shouldn’t be up and roaming around at this hour.’

‘Look, she’s dancing,’ Michael said softly.

Sara turned and looked out of the window. The pig was romping on the lawn in what was surely an unnatural fashion, capering in circles that took it gradually away from the house and toward the lake. It wasn’t trotting or running or walking – it was, as Michael had said, dancing.

On the shore of the lake it stopped. To Sara’s eyes the figure of the pig seemed to become dim and blurred – she blinked, wondering if a cloud had passed across the moon. The whiteness that had been a pig now seemed to flow and swirl like a dense fog, finally settling in the shape of a tall, pale woman in a silver-white gown.

Sara shivered and rubbed her bare arms with her hands. She wanted to hide. She wanted to turn her gaze away but could not move.

It’s not possible, she thought. I’m dreaming.

The harsh, unmistakable sound of the bolt being drawn on the door brought her out of her daze, and she turned in time to see Michael opening the door, Melanie close behind him.

‘No!’ She rushed to pull the children away and to push the door shut again. She snapped the bolt to and stood in front of the door, blocking it from the children. She was trembling.

The children began to weep. They stood with their arms half-outstretched as if begging for an embrace from someone just out of their reach.

Sara walked past her weeping children to the window and looked out. There was nothing unusual to be seen in the moonlit garden – no white pig or ghostly woman. Nothing that should not have been there amid the shadows. Across the lake she saw a sudden pale blur, as if a white bird had risen into the air. But that might have been moonlight on the leaves.

‘Go back to bed,’ Sara said wearily. ‘She’s gone – it’s all over now.’

Watching them shuffle away, sniffing and rubbing their faces, Sara remembered the story she had told Michael on the first night she had caught a glimpse of the woman. It seemed bitterly ironic now, that story of a ghostly mother searching for her children.

‘You can’t have them,’ Sara whispered to the empty night. ‘I’ll never let you hurt them.’

Sara woke in the morning feeling as if she had been painting all night: tired, yet satisfied and hopeful. The picture was there, just behind her eyes, and she could hardly wait to get started.

The children were quiet and sullen, not talking to her and with only enough energy to stare at the television set. Sara diagnosed it as lack of sleep and thought that it was just as well – she had no time for their questions or games today. She made them breakfast but let the dishes and other housework go and hurried to set up her canvas and paints outside in the clear morning sunlight.

Another cool night-time painting, all swirling grays, blue, and cold white. A metamorphosis: pale-coloured pig transforming into a pale-faced, blue-gowned woman who shifts into a bird, flying away.

The new creation absorbed her utterly and she worked all day, with only a brief pause when the children demanded lunch. At a little before six she decided to stop for the day. She was tired, pleased with herself, and utterly ravenous.

She found the children sitting before the television, and wondered if they had been there, just like that, all day. After putting her unfinished painting safely away and cleaning her brushes, she marched decisively to the television set and turned it off.

Michael and Melanie began a deprived wailing.

‘Oh, come on!’ Sara scoffed. ‘All that fuss about the news? You’ve watched enough of that pap for one day. How would you like to go for a swim before dinner?’

Michael shrugged. Melanie hugged her knees and muttered, ‘I want to watch.’

‘If you want to swim, say so and I’ll go out with you. If you don’t, I’m going to start cooking.’

They didn’t respond, so Sara shrugged and went into the kitchen. She was feeling too good to be annoyed by their moodiness.