Somnambulist

by Andrew Mackay

  Despite the warm Friday afternoon, she felt a chill drill down her spine as she pulled her car into her driveway.

  What a day, she thought to herself, and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

  She pulled the handbrake and was about to get out of the car, when she decided to simply stare at her front door. The letterbox at knee-height seemed to flap as it produced her son’s voice.

  Mommy?

  “Yes, sweetheart?” Iris mouthed at the front door.

  What will happen when you and daddy die?

  Confused, Iris tilted her head at the door, and then up at Sammy’s bedroom on the first floor. “How do you mean, sweetheart?”

  The letterbox flapped again.

  Well, who will look after me when you are gone?

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Iris whispered at the windshield. “That won’t happen for a long, long time—”

  THUD.

  The steering wheel punched both of Iris’s palms, snapping her out of her slumber.

  She blinked rapidly at her house, and found everything to be normal. Falling asleep at the wheel had its consequences, but at least this time she was stationary.

  “God,” she huffed and relaxed into the seat.

  Moments later, she entered her house.

  The hallway walls breathed in and out. Iris fought off the urge to faint as she stepped forward.

  Creak… creak…

  Somebody was in the house. Upstairs, judging by the floorboards shifting around, albeit quietly.

  Her husband’s voice ran through her mind; a conversation she’d overheard as he spoke to a friend.

  She’s screwed in the head, you know.

  Iris could have called out, but knew better of it. Announcing herself would spook the person who’d broken in.

  It’s as if someone’s found a switch in her brain that only works when she’s sleeping.

  She reached for the only weapon she could find - the fountain pen by the notepad on the oakwood hallway desk. The lid came off, revealing the sharp, silver nub. She gripped it tightly in her right hand and carefully ascended the stairs.

  First step, second step… careful.

  The wooden railings trailed from left to right, acting as prison bars to the master bedroom’s open door.

  I dunno, she has this strange thing where she does stuff in the middle of the night.

  A pair of legs shuffled into view by the edge of the bed in the bedroom. The person appeared to be looking for something. If whoever it was had looked hard enough, they’d find a terrified house owner with a pen in her hand, ready to stab.

  Fourth step, fifth step…

  Get this, I caught her cooking a full-on breakfast the other night. Eggs, bacon, and sausages in the pan. Right in the middle of the night. She never did anything like this in thirty years. I tried touching her, and she nearly hit me.

  “Shit,” came a familiar voice from the bedroom as the floorboards stopped creaking. “Yeah, I know. Here.”

  Iris paused for a moment. It was her husband’s voice. She breathed a sigh of relief and lowered the fountain pen.

  Something wasn’t right, though.

  Nicholas was meant to be at work right about now, and wasn’t due back until at least seven o’clock. Nevertheless, Iris held her nerve, reached the top step and slid her back against the wall for a better view inside.

  It was her husband moving around, and acting very suspiciously.

  He plumped the pillow on the back of the headboard and looked at his palm. A silver key lay in it.

  “Come on, think,” he whispered to himself as he crouched by the bedside table. “Somewhere where she won’t find—aha.”

  Iris took a step forward and planted her foot outside the door to the bathroom.

  Creak.

  She lifted the weight off her foot and slid behind the wall, out of sight. “Shit.”

  “What was that?”

  Nicholas peered through the bedroom door and scanned the landing. Satisfied nobody was there, he grabbed the bedroom door handle and inserted the key.

  Click-switch.

  The lock turned out, and then back in.

  “Right, let’s get this hidden.”

  Iris moved her head forward and watched him return to the bedside table and crouch to his knees.

  He slipped his fingers under the carpet and lifted it up. All he had to do was drop the key underneath.

  We’re gonna have to do something about your sleepwalking. You’re going to injure yourself one of these days.

  Iris bit her lip, decided she’d seen enough, and made for the stairs.

  Shortly after that, Nicholas did the same - in time to see the front door swing open.

  Iris walked into the house, acting as if she’d just returned home. An award-winning performance, all told.

  “Oh, hey,” Nicholas said as he hopped off the last step. “Not at work today?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” Iris said.

  “Nah, Double-T’s got me working from home today but the internet is down. I’m at a bit of a loose end, if I’m honest. I was planning to jerk off, but you’re home now.”

  Iris grinned at her husband’s crude joke. Typical of him, ever the affable comedian. Perhaps that’s why he bonded with Sammy more successfully than she did.

  “Ha. Very funny.”

  Nevertheless, Nicholas tried his chances. “So, here we are.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You. Me. All alone at home. No Sammy.”

  “Mmm.”

  Iris shunned his none-too-subtle advances and made her way to the kitchen with Nicholas in tow.

  “Whaddya say, sweetheart?” he asked in a friendly manner. “Shall we make a nuisance of ourselves upstairs?”

  “Not right now. I’m kinda tired.”

  Nicholas knew his wife better than this; the cold shoulder, and the pathetic excuse. Something was definitely not quite right.

  “Okay, go on. Tell me.”

  “Huh? Tell you what?”

  “Something’s bothering you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  “What? Nothing’s bothering me.”

  Plenty bothered Iris, all right.

  For starters, did he bury the key to the bedroom door under the carpet? What would he say if she told him she’d spent a vast amount of their savings on hiring a private eye to follow some random stranger on a whim. It was only a matter of a few days until they’d cook the books for the month and he’d notice.

  “Something is definitely up, Iris.”

  “No, no,” she struggled through her lies. “It’s all good.”

  “You sure?”

  Nicholas watched on as Iris shot him a look. Her eyes suggested she needed help. Inside, she was screaming as much.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sammy get to school okay?”

  “Uh-huh, yeah—”

  “—Where’d you go after that?”

  “Stopped by the store to get some stuff—”

  “—Stuff?”

  “Yes, stuff.”

  Nicholas looked at her hands. “So, where are the bags, then?”

  “In the car,” Iris blurted, as if rehearsed.

  “Why’d you leave it in the car?”

  “Dunno. Must’ve forgot—”

  “—What’s on your mind? Tell me?”

  Nicholas held her shoulders. His desire to catch her off-guard was about to work. He knew as well as she did that that a trip to the store hadn’t happened.

  “Making up stories, now? Tell me what’s going on—”

  “—I’ve done something really bad, Nick. Really, really bad.”

  She pushed him away and paced out of the kitchen in tears. Her husband wasn’t having any nonsense and so followed her into the front room.

  “What’s really bad? What did you do?”

  She fell into his arms like a dirty heap of regret and bawled into his chest. “I want it t-to stop. I want it to stop.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,�
� he whispered. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

  She thumped his chest and cried hard as she stuttered through her pathetic confession.

  “I c-can’t stop it. I’m so tired.”

  Nicholas sighed and nodded. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  He knew her problem had gotten worse over the past week or so. When they married six years ago, just before Sammy was born, her problem seemed to have solved itself…

  ***

  March, 1990.

  The Brand boutique store at the Kaleidoscope shopping mall. Iris held up a beautiful, white wedding dress in front of her chest in the mirror.

  Her older sister, Irene, giggled and clicked her fingers. The two girls were essentially clones of each other, made all the more bizarre by the quadrupling in the two-way mirror.

  “Mmm-hmm. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Hell yeah,” Irene grinned. “It’s even got a little zipper at the back for Nick when you get back to the hotel.”

  Iris patted her sister’s hand away, and pretended to take offense. “Oh, quit being silly. Besides, that’s between me and him.”

  “Oh yeah, there’s certainly gonna be something between you and him.”

  The female store attendant walked over and smiled at the pair. “Oh, my. I think that’ll work just fine.”

  Iris nodded and agreed. She returned to the mirror and tilted her head. “I’d like to try it on.”

  “Sure.”

  Ten minutes later, Iris emerged from the changing room in full attire. Both the store attendant and Irene struggle to suppress their excitement.

  Irene burst into a fit of giggles and applause as Iris twirled around for them.

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah. We nailed it,” Irene sang. “Bitch looks damn hot.”

  Iris smirked as Nicholas’s voice pervaded her mind.

  Someone needs to protect you, you know. Look at you. You’re an angel.

  “You know,” Irene said with hesitation. “You kinda look like an Oreo.”

  “Pfft. Very funny.”

  “No, seriously,” Irene continued. “Stark contrast, white and black. You sure you wanna go with pure white?”

  “The husband or the dress?” Iris joked to an unamused Irene.

  “Tch. The dress, you fool.”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  I just wish it didn’t happen every Goddamned night….

  ***

  A shaft of moonlight smothered the bed, and up the wooden closet by the desk in the corner of the room.

  Iris stood perfectly still in her nightgown, staring at the closet door.

  Nicholas was fast asleep on his side of the bed with his leg arched onto the vacated side. His throaty snoring had no effect on Iris’s thoughts.

  When we first met, it was every night. Lately, you’ve chilled. It’s less frequent. I’m not sure what’s changed.

  Like a zombie, Iris marched forward and pulled the door open. The wedding dress hung inside, taking first position amongst the dozens of other garments.

  She unhooked it from the rail and made for the bedroom door.

  Her fingers crept around the cold, silver door knob and twisted it clockwise

  She was free…

  I know I don’t dare touch you or try to wake you up when you’re in this state.

  Iris lifted her arms out and inspected the wedding dress in the mirror hanging over the kitchen door.

  The frying pan sizzled.

  The gas hissed away on full power.

  The four rings on the stove roared, heating the room into an overzealous sauna. Her dress was damn near perfect. She even considered wearing it full-time, at every event she could possibly get away with.

  How do you feel when you’re like that, Iris? What’s going on in that mind of yours? You never talk when you’re like this.

  Iris hop, skipped, and jumped like a little girl in circles around the kitchen, careful to avoid the food.

  You crazy sleepwalker, you. Iris Goddard. Always afraid of everything and nothing at the same time.

  Her eyes weren’t green any longer. Instead, they were a dull gray; an indication she was fast asleep.

  Mommy?

  Iris stopped her jig, clutched her dress and looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, sweetheart?” she said without moving her lips.

  Sammy’s voice melted through the tiles in the kitchen ceiling from his bedroom.

  Why aren’t you in bed, mommy?”

  “Oh, but I am, sweetheart,” Iris explained as she rested her hand on the stove dial and rotated it counter-clockwise. “I’m asleep. I’m just not in bed, that’s all.”

  You’re weird, sometimes.

  “We’re all a bit weird, sweetheart. This is just mommy’s silly little thing, okay? It’s just adults playing games.”

  Can I play, too?

  Iris held back her tears and released the stove dial from her grip.

  “Oh, sweetheart. I hope not. I really hope not.”

  Chapter 3

  6 pm came quickly today at the Goddard household.

  A dozen takeout leaflets lined the stove, indicating that a cooked meal was out of the question this evening.

  “Sam?” she called out as she fiddled with her cell phone. “Are you done with your homework?”

  The little boy obediently marched into the kitchen, “Yes, mom. What are you doing?”

  She looked up at him for a brief moment and smiled. “Can’t be any cooking, so I’m ordering something. What are you in the mood for?”

  A wave of delight ran across Sam’s face, “Really?”

  “Uh huh. You want pizza? Or something else?”

  “Yeah, pizza. Pizza!”

  “You got it.”

  ***

  The lid of the twelve-inch pizza box flipped open. A large pie smothered with cheese and anchovies nestled within, soaked in its own sweat.

  Sam pulled out a thin slice bit into it.

  Iris rubbed her hands as she watched her husband take one of the bigger pieces for himself.

  “Good day today, babe?” Nicholas asked.

  Iris grinned as she watched him chomp at the crust. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “You meet with your sister?”

  “I did.”

  Nicholas swallowed down the first bite and rubbed Sammy’s hair as he, too, enjoyed his first bite.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Still playing around behind that poor guy’s back?” Nicholas asked, having failed to realize their son could hear everything.

  Iris frowned and moved away from the kitchen counter. “Not in front of Sammy, babe.”

  “Sorry,” Nicholas offered. “You’re not eating?”

  “Nah.”

  Nicholas winked at Sammy and helped himself to another slice, “More for us then, eh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Sammy squealed with delight.

  With the two men in her life focused on their food, she pulled open the kitchen drawer and peered inside.

  Forks, spoons, and next to them… knives.

  “So, what did you do today?” Nicholas asked.

  “Ugh, I don’t like school,” came an unhappy response. “The other kids there are mean.”

  “How do you mean mean?”

  Iris shut her eyes and absorbed the conversation whirling behind her head.

  “Well,” Sammy continued. “White boys keep picking on me.”

  “Huh? White boys?”

  “Yeah. They look at me weird.”

  Nicholas giggled and shrugged. “So? You know what we say to bullies, don’t we?”

  “Yeah. I know. Tell them to knock it off.”

  “That’s right,” Nicholas said. “And what do we do if they don’t knock it off?”

  “We hit ‘em,” Sammy giggled.

  “That’s right. And what do we do if a teacher finds out?”

  “We tell them they started it.”

  �
�Damn straight.”

  Nicholas tapped his son on the shoulder and offered him a knowing wink.

  “Good man. Look at you, all grown up and taking care of yourself.”

  ***

  An hour later and it was time for Sammy to go to bed. His mother told him to go upstairs and change into his PJs, which he duly did without fuss.

  A rare moment alone with her husband was now on the cards. Nicholas knew something wasn’t right. He could see it in her face; a long and distant stare she couldn’t quite keep to herself.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked in such a way as to avoid confrontation. “You seem kinda… vacant?”

  Iris blinked and lifted her head. “Huh?”

  “I said you seem kinda vacant.”

  “Oh. Me? Naw,” she quipped, playing off the assessment. “No, everything is absolutely fine.”

  Nicholas wasn’t convinced.

  “Everything is absolutely not fine, Iris.”

  “Iris?” she asked.

  “You heard me,” Nicholas said as he made for the stairs in a state of unease. “And you don’t fool me, either.”

  She continued to play along and bat away any concern, much to his chagrin, “Since when did you start calling me Iris? You haven’t called me Iris for years.”

  “Since you started acting all weird and shit, you know. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know something’s up.”

  Nicholas gripped the stair rail and hoisted himself up the stairs at double-speed, leaving his wife to watch his behind disappear around the upper landing.

  His voice rumbled down the stairs in time to the creaking floorboards indicating his entrance into Sammy’s bedroom.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me what’s going on when you’re ready. It’s okay. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

  She knew he was onto her.

  It didn’t matter, though. There was simply no way this would fester. Besides, knowing him as well as she did, he’d forget all about it in a matter of minutes.

  ***

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  Sammy snuggled into bed. “Daddy says you’re acting weird. And you’re sitting on my sheet.”

  “Oh.”

  Iris lifted her behind and allowed Sammy to wrench the covers up to his neck.