The Cold Wind

The sound of the wind was deafening. It came up the stairs cold and strong and unending

“Shell?” Monica whispered into the darkened room at the top of the landing.

There was no response from her big sister.

“Shell?” she said again, this time much more a plea. “I'm coming in, okay?”

Again there was no response. After a second or two, Monica came inside and closed the door gently behind herself. It was late, well past bed-time.

Inside the room it was very quiet, and she made her way through the darkness to the bed where she climbed with effort up into the covers which she pulled to her neck.

Monica lay for a moment in the cold bed listening to the faint sounds of angry voices from downstairs. Her parents were yelling in quick bursts of anger, only to be silent for long time, and then yelling at each other again.

Monica stretched a leg across the bed and sat up, frightened now. “Shelly!” she called.

“What?” came a muffled voice.

“What are you doing down there?” Monica asked.

No answer came back. Monica remained sitting up right, her heart beating faster and faster as she stared into the darkness at the floor in the corner. Slowly, her night-vision came and she saw the blanket vaguely then, a body crumpled beneath.

“Shelly?” she said to the floor.

“I'm not here,” said Shelly. “I'm riding an Arabian stallion along a beach...”

“Can I come?”

“Fine,” said Shelly, sounding like it wasn't really fine at all.

Monica climbed down from the bed and made her way over to the corner where she snuggled in under the blanket of her big sister and found the warmth, and was then with her, behind her, holding tight as they both rode along the hot white sand.

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