A Nest of Nightmares

I remember, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, an incident from our adolescence. We’d gone down to the drugstore as we often did, on an errand for our mother. Ready to leave, I had looked around for Sylvia. I found her at last in the shadow of a hulking, black-leather-jacketed boy. My immediate inclination was to go, and let Sylvia find her own way home. Boys, especially boys like that, made me uneasy. Usually they ignored me, but they were always hovering around my little sister, drawn to her blonde prettiness and easy charm.

Then Sylvia caught sight of me, and the look she sent was an unmistakable cry for help. My heart beat faster as I approached, wondering what on earth I could do. As I reached her side she said, ‘Oh, gee, I’ve got to go – my sister’s waiting for me.’ She took my arm and – I didn’t even have to speak to the monster – we were away.

Outside, safe, she began giggling. She told me how awful he was and how nervous she had been until she saw me. ‘He’s dropped out of school, imagine! And he wanted to take me for a ride on his motorbike – I couldn’t think how to say no, how to get away without making him mad. Then, thank goodness, you were there to save me.’

I basked in her praise, believing that I had saved her from some awful fate. But only a week later I saw the horrible black leather jacket again: Sylvia’s arms were tight around him as she sat on his motorcycle, and on her face was a look of blissful terror, beyond my saving.

On Christmas Eve I went looking for Sylvia. Upstairs all was dark, but still I called her name.

‘I’m in here.’

Surprised, I went forward and found her sitting in her bedroom.

‘All alone in the dark, Sylvia?’ I switched on the bedside lamp.

‘Don’t.’ She held up a shielding hand. I saw that she had been crying, and I sighed. There was a chair situated oddly in the centre of the room. I moved it closer to the bed and sat down.

‘You’re not doing yourself any good, Sylvia, sitting alone and crying. Anyway, he’s not worth crying over.’

‘How would you know? You never met him.’

‘I know enough from what you told me. The facts speak for themselves: a married man, who couldn’t even be bothered to come to mother’s funeral, to be with you when he must have known how much you – ’

‘God, I wish I’d never told you! Can’t you ever leave me alone, let me make my own mistakes?’

‘If you really want to go back to him, I won’t stop you.’

‘You know it’s too late.’ She stared down at her lap, looking like a sullen child. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to. I wasn’t crying about him.’

I felt embarrassed and full of remorse. Of course. It was Christmas Eve – her first not spent with mother.

‘Come on,’ I said gently. ‘You’ll only make yourself feel worse, sitting up here alone. Come downstairs and help me decorate the tree. We always used to do that on Christmas Eve, remember? I’ve got a fire going and I thought I’d make some mulled wine. We’ll put the Christmas Oratorio on – would you like that?’

‘All right,’ she said, her voice dreary. ‘But in a minute. Just give me a minute alone.’

I hesitated, hating to leave her in such a mood. Her hand went out and switched off the light.

‘Sitting alone in the dark,’ I said. ‘Well.’ I stood up and moved uncertainly towards the door. ‘You always used to be afraid of the dark.’

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Not for years, Pam. And it never scared me half as much as it did you.’

I left without answering. I was surprised, and a little shaken, to discover that she knew that about me. I had always been terrified of the dark. Even now a residual uneasiness lingered. But my own fear had always meant very little to me beside my obligation to protect my little sister. I had been her scout and protector, going ahead of her into darkened rooms to turn on the light and make certain no monsters lurked. I remembered the night my protectorate had ended, when Sylvia had turned on me, screaming, ‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone! You never let me do anything! I’m not a baby, I’m not scared!’ To prove it, to free herself from my loving care, she had rushed headlong, alone, into the terrifying dark.

On Christmas Day Sylvia vanished. It was to be the first of many such disappearances, although I didn’t know that at the time. I had no particular reason for searching for her, but finding her room empty made me curious and I went on a circuit of the house. I hadn’t heard her go out, and looking out of the window I saw that the car was still parked in the drive, and there was no one in sight. I went upstairs again, thinking that somehow I had missed her, but still the rooms were empty. In her room I found a straight-backed chair in an odd position, almost blocking the door. I had my hands on it to move it when I happened to glance up. The loft door was directly overhead.

I stared up, wondering. ‘Sylvia,’ I said loudly. ‘Sylvia?’