A Nest of Nightmares

The sea air, damp and warm though it was, was a relief after the smoldering closeness of the house. But Ellen, taking in deep breaths, still felt sick.

They were lovers, her dying aunt and that awful young man.

That muscular, hard-eyed, insolent stranger was sleeping with her frail, elderly aunt. The idea shocked and revolted her, but she had no doubt of it – the brief conversation, her aunt’s voice, could not have been more plain.

Ellen ran down the sandy, weedy incline toward the narrow beach, wanting to lose her knowledge. She didn’t know how she could face her aunt now, how she could stay in a house where –

She heard Danny’s voice, tired, contemptuous, yet still caring, ‘You’re so naïve about sex, Ellen. You think everything’s black and white. You’re such a child.’

Ellen started to cry, thinking of Danny, wishing she had not run away from him. What would he say to her about this? That her aunt had a right to pleasure, too, and age was just another prejudice.

But what about him? Ellen wondered. What about Peter – what did he get out of it? He was using her aunt in some way, she was certain of it. Perhaps he was stealing from her – she thought of all the empty rooms upstairs and wondered.

She found a piece of Kleenex in a pocket of her jeans and wiped away the tears. So much was explained by this, she thought. Now she knew why her aunt was so desperate not to leave this rotting hulk of a house, why she didn’t want her brother to come.

‘Hello, Ellen Morrow.’

She raised her head, startled, and found him standing directly in her path, smiling his hard smile. She briefly met, then glanced away from, his dark, ungiving eyes.

‘You’re not very friendly,’ he said. ‘You left us so quickly. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.’

She glared at him and tried to walk away, but he fell into step with her. ‘You shouldn’t be so unfriendly,’ he said. ‘You should try to get to know me.’

She stopped walking and faced him. ‘Why? I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing in my aunt’s house.’

‘I think you have some idea. I look after your aunt. She was all alone out here before I came, with no family or friends. She was completely unprotected. You may find it shocking, but she’s grateful to me now. She wouldn’t approve of you trying to send me away.’

‘I’m here now,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m a part of her family. And her brother will come . . . she won’t be left alone, at the mercy of strangers.’

‘But I’m not a stranger anymore. And she doesn’t want me to leave.’

Ellen was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘She’s a sick, lonely old woman – she needs someone. But what do you get out of it? Do you think she’s going to leave you her money when she dies?’

He smiled contemptuously. ‘Your aunt doesn’t have any money. All she has is that wreck of a house – which she plans to leave to you. I give her what she needs, and she gives me what I need – which is something a lot more basic and important than money.’

Afraid she was blushing, Ellen turned and began striding across the sand, back toward the house. She could feel him keeping pace with her, but she did not acknowledge his presence.

Until he grabbed her arm – and she let out a gasp that embarrassed her as soon as she heard it. But Peter gave no sign that he had noticed. Having halted her, he directed her attention to something on the ground.

Feeling foolish but still a little frightened she let him draw her down to a crouching position. A battle had drawn his attention, a fight for survival in a small, sandy arena. A spider, pale as the sand, danced warily on pipe-cleaner legs. Circling it, chitinous body gleaming darkly in the sunlight, was a deadly black dart of a wasp.

There was something eerily fascinating in the way the tiny antagonists circled each other, feinting, freezing, drawing back, and darting forward. The spider on its delicate legs seemed nervous to Ellen, while the wasp was steady and single-minded. Although she liked neither spiders nor wasps, Ellen hoped that the spider would win.

Suddenly the wasp shot forward; the spider rolled over, legs clenching and kicking like fingers from a fist, and the two seemed to wrestle for a moment.

‘Ah, now she’s got him,’ murmured Ellen’s companion. Ellen saw that his face was intent, and he was absorbed by the deadly battle.

Glancing down again, she saw that the spider was lying perfectly still, while the wasp circled it warily.

‘He killed him,’ Ellen said.

‘Not he, she.’ Peter corrected. ‘And the spider isn’t dead. Just paralyzed. The wasp is making sure that her sting has him completely under control before going on. She’ll dig a hole and pull the spider into it, then lay her egg on his body. The spider won’t be able to do a thing but lie in the home of his enemy and wait for the egg to hatch and start eating him.’ He smiled his unpleasant smile.

Ellen stood up.