Comfort Blanket

Comfort Blanket

By Steve Laker

Mark lay staring into the darkness. It was four years ago now, but he
was still having the same recurring nightmare. He was driving home from
a particularly gruelling shopping trip with the three women in his
life. Beside him in the passenger seat, Jane looked beautiful following
her make over at the salon, and was sniffing the neck of the bottle of
perfume he'd bought her. In the back, like two peas in a pod, were
Emily and Charlotte, only four years old, but looking much older thanks
to the make-up they'd been playing with while their mum was being
pampered.

They were having a tug of war with the blanket they took everywhere
with them, when Mark turned around to hush them and noticed that
Charlotte wasn't wearing her seat belt. She laughed and tugged at the
blanket, seizing it from Emily before returning to her side of the seat
to put her belt on. She was too late. Returning his attention to the
road, Mark was blinded by the oncoming headlights. There was a
sickening sound of twisting metal and breaking glass and then
silence.

Mark had to identify Jane but was not allowed to see Charlotte, who was
identified by her fingerprints. Charlotte had been catapulted forward
by the impact and her face had gone through the back of her mum's head.
The coroner had made a good job of Jane, and she just looked at peace,
but there was nothing he could do with Charlotte. Mark found it
difficult to live with the knowledge that he'd killed both his wife and
his daughter. Although he was obviously devastated by both, somehow
coming to terms with the loss of Jane had been easier. With Charlotte
though, he'd robbed a young girl of her future and Emily of her best
friend. The twins had been inseparable, somehow joined by their shared
blanket.

As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, the red numerals in front of
his eyes were stark in comparison to their black surroundings: 04.45.
Three more hours till he had to get up for work. He needed the
bathroom, and thought he'd check on Emily.

Reaching her bedroom door, Mark was aware of the creaky floorboards and
tried to find a thus far undiscovered route around. He'd never got
around to repairing them and they served as a handy alarm whenever
Emily sleepwalked. He also left his own bedroom door open, and the
light in the hallway on.
Cringing as the floor creaked beneath him, he gently turned the handle
and pushed the door open, the noise it made seeming enhanced by the
prevailing silence. As the light from the hall spread across her bed
though, all was still and quiet. She looked so sweet and at peace, her
blanket pressed to her nose as she suckled on her thumb that he dare
not go in. Slowly closing the door, he peered through the
ever-narrowing gap into the room as the darkness crept back over her
and left her to sleep.

The blanket went everywhere with Emily, just as it had with her and
Charlotte. It was a constant reminder that she wouldn't let out of her
sight, let alone give up altogether, though that was what Mark would
have wanted.

Emily had been strong, even supportive of Mark, as though her young age
allowed her to come to terms with things easier than him. As recently
as the previous evening, she'd assured him that Charlotte was okay, as
if she'd know.

Creeping back along the hall and pausing as the floorboard creaked
again, Mark returned to his bed and to sleep.

The dream always started the same, and Mark normally woke up straight
after the crash. During the four years that had followed though, he'd
learned to become lucid, taking control of his dream as he tried to
come to terms with it. When he first managed this, he got out of bed
and went to what used to be the twins' room, and which was now Emily's.
He knew he was dreaming, as the floorboard outside the room didn't
creak. Emily was asleep, with her thumb in her mouth, and her end of
the comfort blanket gripped in her hand and pressed to her nose. There
was another figure under the blanket, and Mark was able to lift it up
and look underneath. That was when he woke up screaming, for under
there was Charlotte, faceless and a horror to behold for the few
seconds that he was able to hang on to the dream. Her eyes were pushed
deep inside her head, and where once there was a mouth and nose, now
there was just a gaping hole. Her blonde hair was stuck to her forehead
and tinged red with dried blood.

Ever since that first time, perhaps because of his inability to face
the truth, he'd woken himself each time just before he lifted the
blanket. And so it was this time, four years since the first dream that
it happened again. He relived the crash yet again, but managed to
continue with the dream. He got out of bed with Emily's words from
earlier resounding in his head. With a new found determination he
walked quickly along the hall. Arriving at Emily's door, he paused and
waited for the creak from the floorboards. It didn't come. Breathing
heavily in anticipation, he turned the handle and opened the door. The
light that crept across the bed revealed two figures side by side, as
always, one beneath the blanket. He walked slowly toward the girls and
reached for the blanket with a shaking hand. The sound of his heart
beat loudly in his ears and all of the images from before filled his
mind. He couldn't do it. He had to wake himself.
It was getting light outside and the red digits on the clock radio, not
so harsh in contrast to the receding darkness, read 06.45. One more
hour to try again. Mark rolled over in bed and thought he heard a
noise. Perhaps it was the floorboards. Emily often woke around now. He
turned onto his back and lifted his head, looking at the doorway and
listening as, sure enough, she approached.

Emily appeared at the doorway. She was sleep walking, and had the
blanket draped over her head as if she were pretending to be a ghost.
Mark got up to shepherd her back to bed, turned her around gently, not
wanting to wake her, and guided her along the hall. He winced as the
floorboards creaked beneath him and turned her toward the bed, where
she was already sitting, smiling at him.
Looking first at Emily on the bed, and then the draped figure beneath
him, Mark wondered if he was dreaming. He knew that he wasn't. Shaking,
he turned the draped figure to face him and slowly lifted the blanket.
It was Emily. She smiled.

"Charlotte wanted you to know that wounds do heal, Dad", said Emily
from the bed.

? Steve Laker, 2000.