Somnambulist

by Andrew Mackay

  “Are you okay?” he asked, quietly.

  “Sure I’m okay.”

  Iris brushed her palm along his forehead and stared into his face.

  “Are you going to sleep properly this time?” he asked, innocently.

  “I hope so, sweetheart.”

  “Because it’s really scary sometimes. When you start walking.”

  “I… don’t remember,” Iris mouthed, suddenly concerned with her son’s statement. “I don’t remember.”

  “It’s like you’re a zombie and you are really scary.”

  She plumped his pillow behind his head and helped him back down, “Well, that’s why daddy needs to look after mommy while she sleeps.”

  “Dad said you tried to hurt yourself in the bath the other night.”

  Alarmed, Iris immediately played the story down. “It was an accident. Mommy was asleep, but it wasn’t her fault.”

  “Is that why daddy needs to save you from you?”

  “Daddy takes care of me when things get a bit strange. You know that. Now, be a good boy and close your eyes. Okay?”

  Sammy obliged his mother and closed them.

  “If I close my eyes will you still be here?”

  She moved her hand away from his face and carefully rose to her feet. “Sure I will. I’ll always be here.”

  Oh, those moments she had to lie, she thought to herself as she took in the sight of her son’s face; a constant regret that would bother her for the rest of her life.

  “And don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy is safe.”

  Sammy knew she was about to leave. In a way, it was he who was reassuring her; playing along with the lies, keeping his eyes closed and pretending to drift off.

  “It’s just adults playing games, right?” he asked, deeply unsure of what he’d been told a thousand times in the past.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. The noises are just adults playing games.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by a sniffing sound rifling through her throat. “Now… go to sleep.”

  “Have a nice sleep, mommy.”

  “You too, sweetheart.”

  She stepped back and applied a gentle pressure to the light switch. The light snapped off, throwing a blanket of darkness into the room.

  She took a moment to stop at the bathroom door and focus on the tub. The longer she stared, the louder her husband’s voice grew in her head

  Jesus Christ, Iris. What the fuck are you doing?

  Iris’s jaw yawned open as she saw her own naked behind walk into view from behind the bathroom door.

  “What the—?”

  Other Iris tested the bathwater with her right foot. Her face didn’t register any pain. In fact, it didn’t register anything.

  She sat in the bath, keeping her eyes fixed on the shower tube, and sat perfectly upright.

  Iris stepped forward and clutched her nightgown as she approached the woman in the tub. Looking down, she stepped over a length of cable that ran along the floor and up the side of the tub, finally connecting to a radio.

  “Is this what I did?”

  You’re not to be trusted, Iris Goddard.

  As if in a daze, Other Iris turned her head to the radio and stared at the volume control.

  “This can’t have happened,” Iris muttered as she watched her other self grip the radio in both hands. “I don’t remember it at all.”

  Zombie-like, Other Iris lifted the device to her chest and let the radio slip through her fingers.

  “My God, did I try to kill myself—?”

  Whoosh.

  Iris looked at her chest to see her husband race through it and make for the bathtub. Her memory of what she’d been told had rendered her a distant, visiting apparition from a future she nearly never had

  “Jesus Christ. What are you doing?”

  Nicholas swiped the falling radio out of Other Iris’s hands seconds before it hit the water and killed her.

  He tore the plug out from the radio and chucked it at the wash basin, barely able to steady his breathing.

  The woman in the bath simply stared at her oblong reflection in the hanging shower head, concerned for nothing. To Iris, the woman seemed distant and remote, as if she was long gone from the world.

  Did you hear what I said?

  ***

  Nicholas clicked his fingers, which snapped Iris back into the bedroom, and the conversation at hand.

  Iris blinked three times, somewhat surprised to find herself back in the bedroom with her husband.

  “We can’t have a repeat of last night,” Nicholas said as he pulled off his jeans. “There’s absolutely no fucking way that’s happening again.”

  “But, but—”

  “—No!” he scowled. “I dunno what the hell has happened in the past couple weeks, but you aren’t to be trusted when you’re sleepwalking, any more. You wanna tell me what’s changed?”

  Iris stood her ground, angered that her husband had taken command. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Thirty years, Iris. We’ve kept it under control for nearly thirty years. And then, last night, you nearly take yourself out of the game for good. Don’t bullshit me.”

  Iris felt the words fall from her mouth. “But, but… I don’t remember…”

  Nicholas folded his arms, about ready to give up on his wife. “The bedroom door. The lock. The key. You want it, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t even try. I’ve hidden the key. You won’t find it. You’re staying right here with me every fucking night until the end of recorded time, or one of us dies. Whichever is the sooner.”

  He threw his clothes onto the back of the lone chair by the bedroom window and grabbed the handle to the bedroom door.

  A quick rattle - left to right - revealed the door was locked.

  “Where am I supposed to pee?” she asked.

  “Over there.”

  Iris brushed her green nightgown with her hand and followed his finger to the bed pan in the corner of the room.

  “You want me to pee in there?”

  “If it’s a choice between you dropping the radio in the bath and killing yourself, or being safe in here with me, then yes.”

  She turned back to him with displeasure. “Where’s the key?”

  “Ah,” he chuckled and grimaced. “No, no. Not this time.”

  Iris felt her patience wear thin, “No, seriously. Where is it?”

  “It’s safe. That’s all you need to know—”

  “—What if there’s a fire?” she snapped.

  “We’re both in the same situation. So I’ll get the key and let us out.”

  Iris cracked an evil grin and made her way towards him, “But what if something happens to you and I need to get out?”

  Nicholas trained his eyes on her figure as she approached him. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t think you can get away with this. It isn’t going to work, so don’t even—”

  “—How about I earn the whereabouts of the key, huh?” she said, salaciously.

  Her hand reached his thigh and slipped its way under the elastic of his briefs.

  Nicholas didn’t fight back, “Nice try.”

  “But you can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?”

  An ironic sentence given the fact her hand was now doing the same thing to her husband.

  “Mmm,” he thought aloud. “A compelling argument, Mrs. Goddard.”

  She moved her face to his. “Uh-huh.”

  Their lips met for the briefest of moments. The kiss was enough to ignite inside him.

  “Tell me where the key is so I can get out,” she whispered in his ear.

  “You want to know where it is?”

  “Uh huh,” she said, speeding up her hand motion in his underwear. “Tell me.”

  “Shit.”

  Iris bit her lip, desperate to contain the excitement she was causing, “You can tell me. Sure you can, babe.”

  In a matter of seconds Nicholas would cave, of that much s
he was sure. Such a typical guy. Just like all the others.

  Nicholas felt his heart jump into his throat. “Don’t do this, babe. It’s not fair.”

  “Ha. Is it working?” Iris asked with all the charm of a nubile teenager. “Or maybe you want my mouth to convince you?”

  Nicholas grabbed a fistful of her jet black hair and pulled her head back; the lust inside desperate to burst out.

  “Damn it, you mischievous little bitch.”

  “Ahh,” she giggled and picked up the pace on his manhood, all the while playing along as the victim. “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?”

  ***

  Sammy endured at least half an hour of angry, muffled sounds emanating from his parents’ bedroom. Covering his ears and humming to himself, he shut out the sounds and passed out before it ended.

  In the master bedroom, Iris and Nicholas had finished making love.

  Things had taken a violent turn. The room was a mess, but it didn’t stop Nicholas nursing himself back to normality. Out of breath and sweating, he opened his knees out as he sprawled on his back and placed his head on the pillow.

  “Jesus Christ, you rock my world.”

  “Uh huh,” she said. “You rock mine, too.”

  “I love you, I hope you know that,” Nicholas said through his snickering.

  Iris curled up to him and draped her leg over his thighs, pecking gently against his neck.

  “I love you, too.”

  Nicholas calmed himself down. “You never have to be afraid as long as I’m around, you know that too, right?”

  She squeezed his body tight and closed her eyes. “Yes. I know.”

  A strange silence fell between their naked bodies, neither one of them wanting to venture first with their request.

  He wanted to know why her mood had changed.

  All she wanted to know was the location of the bedroom door key.

  And neither of them asked.

  “It’s better that we say nothing right now,” Nicholas said. “Just enjoy the moment.”

  “Mmm,” she whined, close to passing out in his arms.

  Nicholas really did mean every word he’d said. He loved her more than life itself. If anything were to threaten to harm her, he’d probably tear it apart with his bare hands.

  But what if the person trying to hurt her… was her? The fact didn’t bare thinking about, and demanded to be ignored.

  He ran the knuckle of his index finger along her cheek as she finally succumbed to her tiredness.

  A close, shallow breathing enabled her chest to billow against his. A perfect unity of two.

  “I love you, Iris Goddard,” he whispered.

  She didn’t respond.

  Instead, she began to snore…

  Chapter IV

  The snoring.

  Sweet Lord above, the snoring. It never stops.

  An eight-year-old Iris slept on the thin mattress within the tubular MRI machine.

  Still, I guess it’s an indication that she’s okay. An indication that she’s alive.

  The infrequent mechanical beeps rolled around the tube as the scanner ran up the length of her tiny frame, partially covered by a clinical, pale green nightgown.

  The results aren’t all that surprising, Mrs. Baskeyfield.

  The sleep specialist perused the thin sheets of paper at his desk. He kept a close eye on the glass window as he explained the results to Iris’s mother.

  “Mrs. Baskeyfield?”

  Gina Baskeyfield snapped out of her daydream. She found herself drawn to the name badge on the specialist’s lapel - Dr. R. Downy.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her, is there? Doctor?” Gina asked.

  Alone on the other side of the glass shield, Iris stared at her own reflection produced by the full-length mirror on the wall. Some of her favorite toys sat on a table beside her.

  Gina couldn’t help the distress she felt. Hiding a deep, dark secret only the family were aware of, she feared the worst.

  “No, there’s nothing wrong at all,” Dr. Downy said as he returned to the paper. “I can offer you that reassurance.”

  “So, what can be done?”

  “Many of your concerns logged by the pediatrician make perfect sense. The sleepless nights. The prescription of antidepressants, as well. I need to ask. When did this start happening?”

  “About a year ago,” Gina revealed. “Just out of the blue one night…”

  ***

  Gina opened her eyes to darkness, having been woken in her bed by the echo of something scraping against the wall. She lifted her nightgown and placed her feet on the carpet, cautious about the cause of the noise.

  She tiptoed carefully towards the bedroom door, and past an empty crib corner of the bedroom.

  I remember it vividly because of the heatwave we had. Every one of us was restless. Sweating like you wouldn’t believe. Nobody could sleep, except for my husband.

  Gina ran her fingers over her baby bump as she moved into the hallway.

  A timid hissing sound ran up the stairs.

  I remember the first time like it was yesterday. An image I’ll never forget.

  Gina gripped the stair rail as she descended the stairs. One foot, then the next, careful not to slip. As she did, the sound of the hissing became inescapable.

  Right there. Right in the middle of the kitchen.

  Iris stood in front of the open refrigerator.

  A cool, gentle frost enveloped her frame, lit up from behind by the bulb inside.

  “Iris?”

  Her daughter said nothing.

  A damp patch bled across the thighs on her pajamas. Before Gina could react, the stench of gas lifted into her nostrils.

  “Oh, good Lord.”

  The dial on all four gas cylinders had been moved to full power.

  “What are you doing?”

  Gina ran over and switched them all over before the fumes could do any real damage.

  A deep breath, a sigh of relief. Gina had prevented an otherwise serious outcome. Iris didn’t seem to care, despite a stern hand on her wrist.

  “Don’t ever do that again. Get back to bed, you hear me?”

  Whether she heard her mother or not wasn’t the question, and Gina knew it.

  That was the first time. My husband didn’t believe me, and so I had to prove it…

  ***

  Gina sat on the edge of her bed with her husband. They waited for something to happen.

  The door to their bedroom opened just enough to see the upper landing and Iris’s room.

  It happened every night at first. Strange things.

  The door to Iris’s bedroom hadn’t moved for a while until now. Slowly, it pushed open and produced the silhouette of a little girl.

  Gina whispered to her startled husband. “There, look. There she is. See?”

  “My God. Why is she just standing there?” her husband asked, suppressing his disbelief.

  Gina tightened her grip on his arm and prevented him from moving. “No, don’t move. Just wait. Let’s watch what she does.”

  Iris took a step forward. To all intents and purposes, she appeared to know precisely what she was doing. It was as if she was awake. Only her gentle snores gave the truth away as she walked, casually, towards the bathroom.

  Gina’s husband stood up and walked to the door, careful not to spook his daughter.

  “She’s going to the bathroom,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s nothing?”

  What happened next will stay with me until the day I die.

  Iris closed her fingers around the pull string and turned the bathroom light on. She stepped forward and placed her hands on the rim of the wash basin and looked at her face in the cabinet mirror.

  Gina and her husband peered around the door and watched Iris squeeze a line of toothpaste onto a toothbrush. Slowly, but surely, she began to brush her teeth without blinking.

  Does sleepwalking constitute a good night’s sleep? I don’t know anymore.

&nbs
p; Iris spit the mucky solution into the sink and dropped the toothbrush into the holder. Then, she turned around and saw her parents spying on her.

  Gina and her husband didn’t know how to react, so they didn’t.

  The little girl didn’t blink, nor flinch. Technically, she hadn’t been busted, because there wasn’t much to bust. Had she been awake and not brushed her teeth, she might have received a telling-off.

  She wasn’t awake, though, as evidenced by the rumbling in her throat. That much was clear to her mother.

  “Iris? Poppet, are you okay—”

  Gina’s question was cut short by the sound of a baby crying in a crib in the corner of the room.

  “I’ll attend to Irene,” her husband said. “Go and check on Iris. Make sure she’s okay?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  As her husband disappeared back into the room, Gina held out her arms and squatted, offering her daughter a cuddle.

  “Come and give your mother a hug?”

  Without a trace of emotion, Iris walked towards her mother with her arms by her side.

  For a brief moment, a wave of relief smacked Gina in the chest. It wouldn’t last long.

  When she’s sleepwalking, it’s like she’s possessed. It’s not like she’s a zombie. It’s as if someone has opened her up, removed her personality, and dismantled it piece by piece.

  Iris walked right past her mother, circumventing the offer of a hug, and headed for her bedroom. Gina turned her head as her little girl drifted past like a ghost.

  The bedroom door closed shut, pushing her mother out of her life for the rest of the night.

  ***

  Darkness befell the front room on a subsequent evening, where Iris had managed to remove her pajamas.

  She knelt in front of the coffee table and shook her black hair over her left shoulder. The tip of her finger traced down the cover of the first magazine - a fashion periodical called “The Big Six.”

  We had to lock the front door and hide the key away. We considered putting the stair gate back up. The same one we used when she was a toddler, so she wouldn’t hurt herself.

  Before long, Iris rearranged each of the six magazines into a perfect symmetry against the sides of the table. Three by three.