Here’s a brand new, short fiction for the last post of 2025. Seasons greetings to all Anecdotage followers, old and new and to visitors. A Happy New Year to all!

The Pullen sisters were nocturnal. When she’d first heard this, trying to decode the adult conversation in the post office while she waited in the queue with her mum, Jessie hadn’t understood ‘nocturnal’. Over time though, after having overheard more gossip amongst the adults and the older children in her school playground, she realised it meant they only emerged at night, rather than in the daytime, like hedgehogs and owls.

There had been plenty of occasions when she’d tried to look out and spot them. Her bedroom window faced out across the lane with a direct view of the Pullens’ dilapidated cottage, weeds growing out of their thatched roof and here and there, a hint of plastic bag poking out. This, Jessie’s dad had explained, was because their roof leaked. She had asked why they didn’t get it repaired and received a lecture on how lucky some people were compared to others.

Jessie attempted to stay awake after bedtime, in order to creep across to the window and watch for the sisters but so far, had failed to stay awake long enough. What did they do at night? Did they eat meals? Read? Tend their garden? Surely not- in the darkness? She tried asking her older brothers about the Pullens but they didn’t seem interested, batting her away as usual, like an annoying fly.

In December, Jessie succumbed to the flu virus that had been running riot around her school. She came home feeling hot, with a scratchy throat. In their house, illness meant bed, with no compromises; no lolling on the sofa in pyjamas and dressing gown watching television. If you were ill you went to bed and stayed there until you were better. You had to suffer drinking things like hot milk with sugar or Bovril in a cup, neither of which Jessie could stomach or wanted at all when she was feeling so sick. There was also a hot water bottle to endure, which she slid under the bed once her mother had left the room. She was hot enough without it.

On the third night of the flu, Jessie woke from a fitful, feverish sleep. Her skin felt clammy, her pyjamas damp with sweat and her head ached. She swung her legs out of bed and crossed to the window, where a cold, blue light shone in a line between the curtains. She sat on the ottoman and pulled one of the curtains aside. There was a clear sky dominated by a nearly full moon giving enough light for an almost daytime view over the lane and the Pullens’ cottage.

Jessie closed her eyes for a minute and shivered. The damp pyjamas were getting cold, too, now, sticking to her goose-bumpy skin. But when she she looked out again, she caught a movement off to the side, where the sisters had a tall, wooden, arched gate leading to their garden. The gate was opening. Jessie held her breath. Two, shadowy figures were emerging and walking out to the lane. In the half light, the figures looked identical. Were they twins? There were identical twins in Jessie’s class at school.

The view of the two women became clearer as they got to the lane, strolling arm-in-arm, heads turning to each other as if chatting. They were portly, middle-aged, older than her parents. Whenever she’d heard gossip about the women it had sounded as if they were sad, unhappy people who’d been damaged by life and were now hiding away from village society but here they appeared cheerful, enjoying their outing and each other’s company.

They walked on, drew out of sight. Jessie sighed and yawned. She dropped the curtain and padded back to bed, shedding her damp pyjamas on the way. She clambered back in and snuggled down. As she drifted off, images of nocturnal creatures filtered into her dreams.

She didn’t wake until her mother came in next morning, whisking back the curtains to allow bright sunlight in. She felt Jessie’s forehead and asked how she felt. Jessie frowned.

‘I had strange dreams’

Her mother smiled. ‘Your temperature is down. You’ve got some colour. I think you can get up for a while today.’

Jess got out and pulled on her dressing gown then padded to the bathroom. She puzzled while cleaning her teeth. Had she dreamt the Pullens? Or had she seen ghosts in the night? They’d been chatting and smiling as they walked in the darkness. They hadn’t looked at all damaged or sad.

Realising she was ravenous with hunger, she went down to the kitchen to have breakfast. Afterwards, she sat at her desk and drew a picture, using her pastel colours; two ladies walking under a bright, yellowish moon and smiling at each other. She folded the picture, found an envelope to slide it into, then stored it under her pillow.

A few days later, she was able to return to school, but on her way home, trailing behind her mother and her friend, she dashed down the Pullens’ path and posted the picture through their letter box. She’d seen them happy, the sisters, and she wanted them to know.

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com