THE DISAPPEARING HAND
Lifting a cup filled with green tea Ilona tries to return the old woman’s smile, but her trembling lips refuse to curl upward. Burning her mouth on the hot liquid, she jumps in her seat.
‘Careful my love,’ said the old woman, placing her own china cup on the arm of her chair, ‘you’re quite safe here. Digestive?’
Looking at the offered biscuit turns Ilona’s stomach. ‘No thanks.’ All day she had felt weak and tired, but she could not bring herself to eat anything.
‘Then tell me what happened last night.’
Looking around the cluttered room filled with old cushions and stuffed animals, Ilona started to wonder whether it was wise to follow her sister’s advice to come here. A grey squirrel, its bushy tail specked with sawdust, watched her from a white stone mantel.
Ilona readied herself to relay the events that had awoken her. She felt foolish; it seemed like something that had happened to someone else. Perhaps it had happened in one of those horrible movies Mark always made her watch.
‘It was late,’ she began, ‘the moon still riding high in the sky painted my room in a silver wash. All looked normal; the dress I had worn to my sister’s still hung over the cupboard door. Only as I lay there my heart beat so fast I worried I was having an attack. I tried to move, but my muscles refused to obey. Frozen beneath my quilt I could only move my eyes. That’s when I saw it on the window.’ Her mouth felt dry, but refusing to take another sip of the hot tea she carried on with her tale. ‘It was a ghostly impression, left by a hand. I stared at the dissipating mist, watching the long fingers dwindle down to straws, until it evaporated. I thought I was going nuts.’ A nervous laugh escapes, bubbling over like coke in a shaken can. ‘Perhaps I am,’ she conceded, as a blush sears her cheeks.
‘I take it your bedroom is upstairs and that there is no means to reach the window from outside, a fire escape or a low roof which someone could climb?’
‘Nothing.’ Ilona had gone through all of this in her own mind before coming here. ‘The print itself appeared longer, and thinner than normal. The deep-set lines etching the palm swirled in wavy patterns.’ Holding her hand up to her face, she saw her white skin shone with moisture. ‘Not like the straight paths that crease my own.’
The old woman sat back nibbling her biscuit.
The ease in which the old woman had taken the news of the night-time visitor put Ilona on the back foot. She had expected some outward sign of shock. After all, how could a handprint be on her upstairs window, let alone the strange configuration of the print itself? To Ilona the old woman seemed far more concerned with the crumbs sprinkling her grey cardigan.
‘It was not only the paralysis,’ she said, digging her fingernails into the armrest, close to tears, ‘whilst I lay there watching the handprint disappear, I felt a weight on my chest as though someone was sitting on me. Only there was no one in the room with me?’
‘How long did this sensation last?’
‘I suppose about twenty minutes,’ said Ilona, ‘though it felt much longer.’
Brown teeth showed as the old woman grinned. ‘It’s quite normal for paralysis to last as long as that.’
Ilona knocked her drink, spilling the tea on the back of a Badger (which the old woman used as a footstool). ‘I’m so sorry, I’m not normally so clumsy,’ she said, mopping the matted fur of the dead animal with the hem of her skirt.
‘I don’t think he minds dear.’
Sitting back Ilona wiped cold sweat from her brow. ‘What do you mean normal?’
Instead of answering, the old woman asked, ‘Is this the first time you have awoken and been unable to move?’
‘I’m not crazy,’ said Ilona through gritted teeth. ‘It’s not every night I wake to find myself pinned under a crushing weight.’ She wanted to shed a bitter laugh. ‘What do you think about the impression left on my window?’ Her voice cracked.
‘Your poor sister comes here quite often,’ said the old woman, brushing crumbs to the floor with her long fingers. ‘Despite the pain inflicting her, she always speaks of you, so I know you aren’t one to make up stories.’
Mention of her sister hit Ilona hard, taking her anger away as quick as a snake snatching a mouse. Julie, always so fair and outgoing, now sat inside with dark circles under her greying eyes. It was hard to believe that only a year before she had trained with Julie to take part in the half marathon. Now Julie struggled to walk a hundred yards without gasping for breath.
‘Julie has had trouble sleeping herself. I interpret her dreams, so they aren’t so frightful.’
Ilona nodded, not trusting herself to speak without breaking into tears.
‘What you experienced is similar to Julie’s night terrors. The scientific community calls it sleep paralysis, or hypnopompic paralysis. Everything you have told me here today fits the pattern. Such sensation occurs when the mind is waking from a deep sleep, REM sleep if you will,’ said the old woman picking another Digestive from the packet. ‘During sleep the brain turns off your muscles, so you don’t thrash around and do yourself a mischief. Sometimes the brain tricks our bodies into thinking we’re still sleeping, when we are awake, and keeps you frozen.’
‘What about the print?’ For the first time she dared hope that what had happened was normal. I may not be heading to the loony bin after all.
‘Still part of the dream, dear,’ said the old woman. ‘You were having a nightmare, nothing more than that. But not knowing you were still in your dream’s thrall, you thought it was all real.’
Ilona felt wasted as though she had just come off a weeklong party full of alcohol and drugs. Again, she wanted to laugh, and she allowed herself this small luxury. ‘I hallucinated it all.’
‘You could say that,’ replied the old woman.
Slipping her hand inside her purse Ilona searched for a fifty-pound note to give the old woman.
‘No need for money,’ said the old woman standing. ‘I’m quite lonely, with only my pets to keep me company. So if you want to pay me back, please visit.’
Getting to her feet Ilona gave a tired smile. ‘I’d love to; I’ll come with Julie next time.’
‘That’ll be lovely, I do so like your sister; she has been most kind to me.’
Looking down at the long fingered hand the old woman offered, Ilona felt a slight twinge in her stomach as she remembered the disappearing hand on her window. Laughing at herself, she took the old woman’s hand, feeling the delicate bones tickle her fingertips.
‘You know your sleep disorder is not a new phenomenon. In the Fourteenth Century, they thought an Old Hag visited, to suck their life from them during the night.
Ilona wanted to laugh off the tale, but as the old woman spoke, she tightened her grip and, against her skin, Ilona felt the swirls wrinkling the old woman’s palm.
Lifting a cup filled with green tea Ilona tries to return the old woman’s smile, but her trembling lips refuse to curl upward. Burning her mouth on the hot liquid, she jumps in her seat.
‘Careful my love,’ said the old woman, placing her own china cup on the arm of her chair, ‘you’re quite safe here. Digestive?’
Looking at the offered biscuit turns Ilona’s stomach. ‘No thanks.’ All day she had felt weak and tired, but she could not bring herself to eat anything.
‘Then tell me what happened last night.’
Looking around the cluttered room filled with old cushions and stuffed animals, Ilona started to wonder whether it was wise to follow her sister’s advice to come here. A grey squirrel, its bushy tail specked with sawdust, watched her from a white stone mantel.
Ilona readied herself to relay the events that had awoken her. She felt foolish; it seemed like something that had happened to someone else. Perhaps it had happened in one of those horrible movies Mark always made her watch.
‘It was late,’ she began, ‘the moon still riding high in the sky painted my room in a silver wash. All looked normal; the dress I had worn to my sister’s still hung over the cupboard door. Only as I lay there my heart beat so fast I worried I was having an attack. I tried to move, but my muscles refused to obey. Frozen beneath my quilt I could only move my eyes. That’s when I saw it on the window.’ Her mouth felt dry, but refusing to take another sip of the hot tea she carried on with her tale. ‘It was a ghostly impression, left by a hand. I stared at the dissipating mist, watching the long fingers dwindle down to straws, until it evaporated. I thought I was going nuts.’ A nervous laugh escapes, bubbling over like coke in a shaken can. ‘Perhaps I am,’ she conceded, as a blush sears her cheeks.
‘I take it your bedroom is upstairs and that there is no means to reach the window from outside, a fire escape or a low roof which someone could climb?’
‘Nothing.’ Ilona had gone through all of this in her own mind before coming here. ‘The print itself appeared longer, and thinner than normal. The deep-set lines etching the palm swirled in wavy patterns.’ Holding her hand up to her face, she saw her white skin shone with moisture. ‘Not like the straight paths that crease my own.’
The old woman sat back nibbling her biscuit.
The ease in which the old woman had taken the news of the night-time visitor put Ilona on the back foot. She had expected some outward sign of shock. After all, how could a handprint be on her upstairs window, let alone the strange configuration of the print itself? To Ilona the old woman seemed far more concerned with the crumbs sprinkling her grey cardigan.
‘It was not only the paralysis,’ she said, digging her fingernails into the armrest, close to tears, ‘whilst I lay there watching the handprint disappear, I felt a weight on my chest as though someone was sitting on me. Only there was no one in the room with me?’
‘How long did this sensation last?’
‘I suppose about twenty minutes,’ said Ilona, ‘though it felt much longer.’
Brown teeth showed as the old woman grinned. ‘It’s quite normal for paralysis to last as long as that.’
Ilona knocked her drink, spilling the tea on the back of a Badger (which the old woman used as a footstool). ‘I’m so sorry, I’m not normally so clumsy,’ she said, mopping the matted fur of the dead animal with the hem of her skirt.
‘I don’t think he minds dear.’
Sitting back Ilona wiped cold sweat from her brow. ‘What do you mean normal?’
Instead of answering, the old woman asked, ‘Is this the first time you have awoken and been unable to move?’
‘I’m not crazy,’ said Ilona through gritted teeth. ‘It’s not every night I wake to find myself pinned under a crushing weight.’ She wanted to shed a bitter laugh. ‘What do you think about the impression left on my window?’ Her voice cracked.
‘Your poor sister comes here quite often,’ said the old woman, brushing crumbs to the floor with her long fingers. ‘Despite the pain inflicting her, she always speaks of you, so I know you aren’t one to make up stories.’
Mention of her sister hit Ilona hard, taking her anger away as quick as a snake snatching a mouse. Julie, always so fair and outgoing, now sat inside with dark circles under her greying eyes. It was hard to believe that only a year before she had trained with Julie to take part in the half marathon. Now Julie struggled to walk a hundred yards without gasping for breath.
‘Julie has had trouble sleeping herself. I interpret her dreams, so they aren’t so frightful.’
Ilona nodded, not trusting herself to speak without breaking into tears.
‘What you experienced is similar to Julie’s night terrors. The scientific community calls it sleep paralysis, or hypnopompic paralysis. Everything you have told me here today fits the pattern. Such sensation occurs when the mind is waking from a deep sleep, REM sleep if you will,’ said the old woman picking another Digestive from the packet. ‘During sleep the brain turns off your muscles, so you don’t thrash around and do yourself a mischief. Sometimes the brain tricks our bodies into thinking we’re still sleeping, when we are awake, and keeps you frozen.’
‘What about the print?’ For the first time she dared hope that what had happened was normal. I may not be heading to the loony bin after all.
‘Still part of the dream, dear,’ said the old woman. ‘You were having a nightmare, nothing more than that. But not knowing you were still in your dream’s thrall, you thought it was all real.’
Ilona felt wasted as though she had just come off a weeklong party full of alcohol and drugs. Again, she wanted to laugh, and she allowed herself this small luxury. ‘I hallucinated it all.’
‘You could say that,’ replied the old woman.
Slipping her hand inside her purse Ilona searched for a fifty-pound note to give the old woman.
‘No need for money,’ said the old woman standing. ‘I’m quite lonely, with only my pets to keep me company. So if you want to pay me back, please visit.’
Getting to her feet Ilona gave a tired smile. ‘I’d love to; I’ll come with Julie next time.’
‘That’ll be lovely, I do so like your sister; she has been most kind to me.’
Looking down at the long fingered hand the old woman offered, Ilona felt a slight twinge in her stomach as she remembered the disappearing hand on her window. Laughing at herself, she took the old woman’s hand, feeling the delicate bones tickle her fingertips.
‘You know your sleep disorder is not a new phenomenon. In the Fourteenth Century, they thought an Old Hag visited, to suck their life from them during the night.
Ilona wanted to laugh off the tale, but as the old woman spoke, she tightened her grip and, against her skin, Ilona felt the swirls wrinkling the old woman’s palm.