A Nest of Nightmares

I shook my head. ‘Something bigger. Much, much bigger. Like a man. It flew, but it wasn’t a bird. It couldn’t have been. Not an ordinary bird. It was huge and black and flapping. I was afraid. I knew you were up in the attic, and with that hole in the roof – you said yourself, anything could get in. Anything. I saw it. I was so afraid for you.’

‘I think you’d better sit down and rest,’ Sylvia said. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’

‘You didn’t see anything? Nothing came into the attic?’

‘You can see I’m all right.’

‘You were alone? Nothing came in?’

She led me out of the room and I followed her downstairs, desperate for reassurance, wanting to hear her say that there had been nothing in the attic with her. Instead she said, ‘I don’t understand what you think happened. Tell me again what you saw.’

I was silent, trying to remember. It was suddenly difficult to sort out fact from fantasy, the reality of what I had seen from the terrifying vision which had obsessed me while I struggled back to the house. Sylvia threatened; Sylvia engulfed or embraced by something, by someone . . . ‘I don’t know,’ I said at last. ‘I saw something. I don’t know what it was.’

The Monday after Christmas I went to Cheltenham to pick up some material for curtains – and went alone. Sylvia wasn’t interested in going, although I had planned the trip as a treat for her.

‘We could make a day of it,’ I said. ‘Do some shopping, have a meal, see a film – whatever you like.’

Sylvia only smiled and shook her head.

‘Why do you want to stay here alone? What will you do while I’m gone?’

‘What makes you think it will be anything different from what I do while you’re here?’

I hadn’t meant that at all, but her words awakened suspicion. ‘Please come,’ I said. ‘It’ll do you good to get out of the house.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll take a walk. That’ll get me out of the house. It’s a nice day for it. I haven’t really explored the neighbourhood yet.’

And so I drove away on my own, feeling uneasy. Once in Cheltenham I had no urge to linger. I bought the material, filled the petrol tank, and drove back home without stopping for so much as a cup of coffee.

The house did not feel empty when I came in. Sylvia might have gone out for a walk, I knew, but I went through the house quietly, looking for her. I was on the upstairs landing when I heard the sound; I’m sure it would not have been audible downstairs. The sound came from the attic, directly overhead. It was a rustling, scrabbling sort of sound, with the occasional small thump, as of something moving around. I stopped breathing and stood still, staring at the featureless white ceiling, so low I could almost have reached up and touched it, to feel the movements on the back of my hand. The scrabbling sound gradually retreated as I listened, and finally stopped.

I bolted down the stairs and out of the front door. It would have to come out through the hole in the roof – I was sure of it. I might see it on the roof or in the high branches of the tree nearest the house. I would be able see what I had seen from the hill, and this time, perhaps, I would recognise it. It would have been a reward to see anything, even a rook, but although I circled the house, craning skyward, I saw nothing that moved against the dark roof or the pale sky. Finally I gave up and went into the house.

Sylvia was in the hall. I wondered how she had managed to slip past me. She looked flushed and slightly out of breath.

‘Your shirt-tail’s out,’ I said.

She smiled vaguely and stuffed it back into her jeans.

‘Did you have a nice walk?’

‘Mmm, lovely.’ She drifted away towards the kitchen.

‘I heard something just now. In the attic.’

She stopped and looked back at me. ‘When? I thought you just got back?’

‘I did just get back. I went upstairs to look for you and heard something moving in the attic. So I went outside to see if there was anything on the roof.’

She went on looking at me.

I shrugged, admitting defeat. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

She turned away. ‘You want coffee or tea? I’m going to put the kettle on.’

‘Coffee. Thanks.’ I watched her walk away from me.

It proved remarkably difficult to get someone to agree to come out and fix the roof before March. In this part of the world, it seemed, one booked roof repairs farther ahead than wedding receptions or holidays. I complained about it to Sylvia, who was indifferent.

‘So what? There’s no rush. There’s that tarp over the hole to keep the rain out.’

‘That was supposed to be a temporary thing,’ I said. ‘And what if it’s got loose? We’ve had some windy nights. It might be flapping free, letting things in.’

She looked at me with a little half-smile. ‘Do you want me to go up and check that it’s still in place?’

‘Up on the roof, you mean?’

‘I can see it from the attic. I can touch it, for that matter.’

I shrugged. ‘Well, I could go up into the attic and see for myself.’