A Nest of Nightmares

The children didn’t turn the television back on, and Sara heard no further sound from the family room until, the chicken cooking and a potato salad under construction, she heard the screen door open and close.

She smiled and, as she was going to check on the chicken, paused to look out of the window. What she saw froze her with terror.

The children were running toward the lake, silently, their bare arms and legs flashing in the twilight. Michael was in the lead because Melanie ran clumsily and sometimes fell.

Across the lake on the other shore stood the pale woman in white; on her shoulder, the white bird; and at her side, the pig. The woman raised her head slightly and looked past the children, directly at Sara. Her blood-red lips parted in a gleaming smile.

Sara cried out incoherently and ran for the door. Ahead of her she saw Michael leap into the lake with all his clothes on. She caught up with Melanie on the shore and grabbed her.

‘Go back to the house,’ she said, shaking the girl slightly for emphasis. ‘Go on back and stay there. You are not to go into the water, understand?’

Then, kicking off her sandals, Sara dived in and swam after her son.

She had nearly reached him when she heard a splashing behind her, and her courage failed: Melanie. But she couldn’t let herself be distracted by her worries about Melanie’s abilities as a swimmer. She caught hold of her son in a lifesaver’s neck-grip. He struggled grimly and silently against her, but he didn’t have a chance. Sara knew she could get him across to the other shore if only she didn’t have to try to save Melanie as well.

‘Michael,’ Sara gasped. ‘Honey, listen to me. It’s not safe. You must go back. Michael, please! This is very dangerous – she’ll kill you. She’s the one who sent the bird!’

Michael continued to thrash, kick, and choke. Sara wondered if he even heard her. She looked around and saw Melanie paddling slowly in their direction. And on the other shore the White Goddess stood, making no sound or motion.

‘Michael, please,’ Sara whispered close to his ear. ‘Don’t fight me. Relax, and we’ll all be safe.’ With great difficulty, Sara managed to pull him back toward the home shore.

Melanie swam with single-minded concentration and was within Sara’s grasp before she could try to avoid her. She thrashed about in Sara’s armlock, but not as wild nor as strongly as her brother.

Sara had them both, now, but how was she to swim? She was treading water, just holding her own against the children’s struggles and hoping they would soon tire when she felt a rush of air against her cheek, and Melanie shrieked.

It was the bird again. Sara caught sight of it just as it was diving for Michael’s head. The sharp beak gashed his face below one eye. Michael screamed, and the bright blood streamed down his cheek.

Trying to help him, Sara relaxed her stranglehold. At once he swam away, kicking and plunging below the water.

‘Michael, go back to the house – you’ll be safe there!’

She swallowed a mouthful of lake water as she spoke, and choked on it. Letting go of Melanie, she managed to catch hold of Michael’s flailing legs and pull him back close to her. Melanie, trying to avoid the bird which was still flapping around, screamed and cried, barely managing to keep herself afloat. Sara had no trouble catching her again.

Shouting at the bird, longing for a spare hand to strike at it, Sara pulled her children close to her, pressing their faces tightly against her breast. They struggled still to get away, but they were tiring and their struggles grew weaker. Sara knew she would win – she would save them from the bird and from the goddess; she would protect them with her own body.

Finally, the bird flew away. In the sudden calm, Sara realised that her children were much too quiet, much too still. She relaxed her tight hold, and their bodies slipped farther into the water.

She stared down at them, slow to understand. Their eyes were open, looking up through a film of water, but they did not see her. She looked up from their sweet, empty faces and across the silver water to where the white-faced figure still stood, her pale eyes staring out at death, her favourite offering.

Sara saw it all as a painting. The pale figure on the shore glowed against the deep blue twilight, and the water gave off its own shimmering light. The woman in the water, also dressed in white, was a terrible, pitiable figure with her two drowned children beside her, their hair floating out around their heads like fuzzy halos; an innocent murderess.

I was the one they were afraid of, thought Sara.

She threw back her head and howled her anguish to the empty world.

NEED