Walking On Thin Ice

         Her scream yanked her awake, issuing from her throat with a tremulous cry as she writhed and thrashed in terror. She fought the darkness, kicking and crying out, until her husband's arms enfolded her and his voice whispered in her ear, "It's all right. Wake up. It's just a dream."

         Slowly, she relaxed against his chest, taking comfort in his presence, but still trembling all over. "Are you all right?" he asked after holding her for some time.

         "I think so. I had a nightmare." She clung to him tightly, unable to stop shaking. The dream remained vivid in her mind's eye.

         "Do you want to talk about it?" He caressed her long hair, kissing her brow.

         What she wanted more than anything else was to erase it from her mind; but since it didn't show any signs of vanishing, she decided to tell him. "It was a winter night, and the snow was falling. I was out in the cold, in the country somewhere, walking on a frozen lake. The wind blew my hair full of ice." She shuddered at the memory, and he rocked her back and forth.

         "Then I heard you call my name. I couldn't see you through the snow, but I heard your voice. I looked down in my hand and I saw...I had a knife. And I knew I was going to kill myself with it." She shook hard as he murmured reassurances to her. After a moment, she went on, forcing the words from her throat.

         "Then...you came to me and held me. You took the knife away, and you told me to come home. I started walking with you, hand in hand, and then...."

         "Then?" he prompted when she faltered.

         "Then, I fell through the ice." She clenched her muscles in knots to stop the shakes that would not cease. "The water was so cold, like a shock. I couldn't breathe, and my body was frozen. And I sank under...."

         "Sshh. It's all right, now." He kissed her cheek, and the warmth and solidity of his arms reassured her. "It was just a dream. You're not planning to kill yourself, are you?"

         "God, no." She put her head on his chest as he went on.

         "And we're in New York City. Miles from the country. You've got nothing to worry about, Mother." Mother was his nickname for her; she always loved to hear him say it. "It couldn't happen."

         "No, I suppose not." Now that she was awake, she became aware of sweat covering her naked body in the heat of the early morning. She smiled at him, loving his answering smile and his kiss. She knew he was right; it was only a dream.

         But it lingered in her mind for days afterward, striking her cold in the middle of the long New York summer afternoons.

*********

         The days passed pleasantly, as they had in each year of their marriage. Ian, enjoying his sabbatical from work, came home one night and announced that he wanted to buy a new winter home. "We need to get away from the city for a while," he said in his usual impulsive manner. "Come on, Mother. It'll do you good to get away from the office." And since she loved him, she agreed, and they talked it over. "Florida?" he asked her, holding her hand as they looked through property listings a real estate agent had recommended.

         "No, I like New England. How about this one?" She pointed to a photograph of a lovely old house in Vermont. "Do you like it?"

         "For you, we'll take a look." And he was as good as his word; that weekend, they were on a plane and landing at the Montpelier airport, getting in a limo and riding out to the house, where an agent was waiting to give them the tour.

         "It's a lovely place, newly refurbished, but with that special New England charm," she said as they admired each room, fireplace and back patio. "And it's near town, but isolated enough to keep your privacy."

         "Nice place. Look at that, Maris, it's on the water." Ian stepped to the window and peered out, and she joined him to see a wide lake down the hill, spreading out into the forest. "Shall we have a closer look?"

         "Why not?" she said, smiling.

*********

         They lingered on the dock that jutted out into the water's edge, gazing over the lake's surface to the far edge, barely visible. "Like Loch Ness or something," Ian commented, smiling at her as she stared across the water.

         "Yes. It's eerie." She felt as if she'd seen it before, somewhere.

         He glanced around to where the agent waited on the shore and lowered his voice. "You like it?"

         "It's...all right. How about you?"

         "I love it. It's quiet, old and secluded. It's got atmosphere." He squeezed her hand, smiling. "I think we should buy it."

         "Sounds good, then." He was right; it was a beautiful house. She could picture winter nights by the fire quite easily.

*********

         "Pleased to meet you both." The caretaker, Mr. Edwin, shook her hand and Ian's, nodding his head. He was a typical New Englander, with a wrinkled face and thinning gray hair, dressed in a plaid cotton shirt and overalls. She also noted with a smile that he was taciturn; he showed them around the property, explaining the flue and the water heater and the central heat with as few words as possible.

         Ian, restless as always, went to the window and peered out over the lake. "Which lake is that?" he asked as Edwin joined him. She stayed by the fireplace, watching them uneasily.

         "That? That's Black Shore," Edwin said, nodding. "Quite a large lake, 'tis." He pronounced "large" as laage. She could barely understand him. "Ayuh, had several swimmers drown there over the years. You want to be careful."

         "We don't swim," Ian said, glancing at him searchingly. "Is it haunted?" She tensed; she knew her husband was fascinated by the spirit world.

         Edwin shook his head, considering. "Never heard that. Summer people, mainly, who didn't know nothin' about bein' careful. I knew one girl who tried to walk across the lake."

         "She did what?" Maris started forward and joined them at the window, staring at the dark gray water, her heart pounding.

         Edwin turned and looked at her, seeming to size her up. "Ayuh. 'Coss, this was winter, when all this was ice." He nodded slowly. "Helluva thing to do."

         "What happened to her?" Ian's eyes were alive with excitement.

         Edwin's next words broke the spell. "Gave up halfway across and came back. Had frostbite over her toes; had to see a doctor." He gave a short laugh. "Summer people!"

         Ian smiled and she relaxed, feeling better at once. For some reason, though, the story made her shiver. Something she almost remembered....

*********

         They celebrated Ian's birthday at the house that October. He was turning forty, and was quite excited about it. "Life begins at forty, Mother, isn't that right?" he said, grinning at her over his birthday cake. "I've got my life in front of me."

         She nodded, but inside she felt watchful. The Vermont forest was beautiful in the fall; the trees competed in a riot of gold and crimson. But with each passing day, her oppression grew more and more, as if she were trapped.

*********

         "I think we should spend the winter back in the city," she announced one day at breakfast.

         Ian glanced up from the paper, surprise on his face. "What for? It's gorgeous out here. I want to see what it's like. A real New England winter."

         "But, Ian, it'll be so cold. And we might get stuck out here." She struggled to put her fears into words, but they only sounded weak in her ears.

         "Maris, I love this place. It's snug and warm, you know that. We've got enough oil to last all winter, and there's plenty of firewood, too. And we've even got a pantry full of food if we do get snowed in." He put down the paper and took her hand, gazing earnestly at her. "I'm enjoying my retirement, Mother. And the office can take care of everything without you for a while. Let's enjoy the winter here. Then I'll get back to work again."

         "But I don't like it here. It's so..." Her voice trailed off as she fumbled for words.

         "What?" His face betrayed his impatience, and she gave up.

         "Never mind. It's just my imagination." She decided she'd gamble on staying. Surely, it was nothing.

*********

         December came, and with it the first stirrings of winter. The air grew chillier each day, and the leaves turned brown and began falling from the trees. They walked through the forest many times, enjoying the countryside, strolling by the edge of the lake. She hated to look at it, but never said anything.

         They spent the nights by the fireside, watching its flames and basking in each other's company. Ian would often get out his guitar and play for a while, singing softly as she listened. Sometimes he'd play for her while she sang. It was all so snug and cozy.

         Then, one morning, the nightmare came again, and she awoke, not screaming this time, but with her heart racing and the taste of metal in her mouth.

*********

         "Ian, we have to go back today," she said when he came to breakfast in his bathrobe, looking confused and bewildered. "It's not safe here."

         "Why? What's wrong?" He watched her, and she told him about the dream. He patted her shoulder as she spoke.

         "It's a vision, Ian. If we stay, something bad's going to happen." She remembered the icy water flowing over her limbs, paralyzing her chest and filling her mouth with the taste of the lake, sucking her under the ice.

         "What could happen? You're not going outside, are you? And the lake's hardly frozen yet. Calm down. It was just a dream." His stern voice steadied her a bit.

         "Besides," he went on, glancing out the window, "it looks like a storm's coming." She looked outside at the gray skies, fast clouding up, with a few flakes of snow beginning to drift down.

         "We'd better stay here. At least until it's over." He saw the distress in her eyes and came over and hugged her tightly. "It'll be fine. Just stay inside."

         "You're right." Her head knew he was. But her heart still quivered inside.

*********

         The winds howled and the windows rattled as the flames of the fire danced, warming them with their heat. She glanced outside every few minutes at the snow blowing hard, ill at ease. Ian turned in early, but she stayed awake by the fire, watching it die and getting up often to look out at the storm, seeing the icicles lining the overhang.

         After a while, the winds slowed and blew more infrequently, and the snow lessened. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the storm was ending. Then she glanced into the kitchen and saw the knife lying there on the counter, forgotten from carving the roast at dinner.

         As if in a trance, she walked over to it and picked it up, its edge gleaming as she turned it in the dim light by the sink. She stared at it, ignoring the raw edge of panic that was scraping at her consciousness.

         She headed for the closet, got on her coat and stepped outside, the snow crunching under her feet as she carefully made her way down the hill toward the lake.

*********

         She stepped onto the ice, which creaked under her weight. Fortunately, the snow had coated it enough to keep her from slipping, and she leaned into the wind and strode out into the darkness, the flakes still falling clinging to her eyelids and stinging her cheeks. The wind cut into her bones, and she shivered, thinking only of what Edwin had said: I knew a girl who tried to walk across the lake.

         She bent forward as the wind whipped her hair full of snow, clutching the knife tightly in her gloved hand, nothing in her mind except his voice echoing.

         'Coss, it was winter, when all this was ice...

         She inched onward, the wind howling in her ears, her cheeks and nose tingling with the cold.

         Helluva thing to do.

         If only she could get to the other side, then she'd be safe. She felt the ice shift uneasily beneath her, but she paid no attention, always moving forward, her eyes half shut. She had to get away, she had to do it....

         Then--was it her imagination?--she heard a familiar voice, faint in the distance. "Maris! Maris, come back here!"

         She stopped and cocked her head, hearing nothing but the wind. Then, as she was about to go on, she heard it again.

         "Maris, what are you doing? It's me, Ian! Come back before you kill yourself! It's not safe!"

         She straightened up, terrified by his words. Before I kill myself... The dream flashed into her mind in all its gruesome detail, and she flung the knife away with a grimace.

         "Ian!" She shouted as loudly as she could into the wind, straining her throat and cupping her hands to her mouth. "Where are you?"

         "This way, Mother! Hurry! The ice is cracking!"

         She staggered toward his voice, the knife forgotten, frightened and desperate to get back to him. The wind let up and the moon peeped out for a moment behind a cloud, and she saw a faint form making its way toward her across the lake.

         She tried to run, but her feet slipped out from under her and she fell, crying out as she hit the ice. It gave a loud creak, but held, and she struggled up on her hands. "I'm here, Ian!" she shouted as loudly as she could.

         "Hold on, Maris! I'm almost there!"

         She made her way up onto her feet and took a few steps forward toward him, seeing him advancing to her, about twenty feet away now. Then she heard a series of sharp cracks, like gunshots, and his cry as he fell downward into the lake with a splash.

         "Ian!" she screamed, breaking into a run, pulling herself to an abrupt stop at the edge of the ice, floating in pieces in a large hole on the lake's surface. There was no sign of him anywhere, only the dark water and the ice.

         "My God, my God..." She screamed a loud cry of agony, realizing the truth. It hadn't been her; all the time, it had been him, and she hadn't known, and now...She froze as she knelt by the edge of the crack, searching the black water's depths over and over in vain for her husband.

*********

NOTE: The inspiration for this story, as well as the lines that Edwin says and Maris repeats in her mind, were borrowed from the song "Walking On Thin Ice", by Yoko Ono, copyright 1981. It was the song that she and John were remixing on December 8, 1980, the night he was shot and killed.

The lyrics can be found here: http://www.songlyrics.com/ono-yoko/walking-on-thin-ice-lyrics/