She lay sweating and alert, her ears pricked for the first sounds of something stirring. Her pyjamas clung to her skin and she shifted her weight carefully to ease her discomfort. She had chosen them especially because she was fond of Forties films in which all the heroines stalked about in silk pyjamas and impressed with their glamour she had purchased some polyester satin type ones, dreaming of having similar silky sophistication.

She grimaced bitterly at her foolish thoughts, the pyjamas were too long for her plump limbs and made her look clown like. She flapped around in them as opposed to prowling tigerishly. Very sophisticated.

Rita jumped. Was that a creak across the hall? She pressed herself down hard on the bed, eyes tight shut. No, no, no, she wasn’t ready yet; she hadn’t had time to prepare her mask. That grin, so sincere, so loving, and so fake.

“Rita, Rita.” God, she was awake. Fear fluttered in her breast and she struggled to calm herself. “It’s ok mum, I’ll be there in a second.” Rita scrunched her eyes even tighter slowly trying to compose her face.

She didn’t know when or how it had happened, it had just been so gradual but she remembered exactly when she had looked into her mother’s face and realised her mother had gone and something alien now looked out from behind her eyes. Rita had drawn back in horror unable to control her reaction whilst the murky green eyes had followed her coldly. Rita had backed off all the way to the bedroom door.

“What? What’s wrong our Rita?” her mother had said. And then Rita had heard it too. There was a strange almost metallic barking quality to her voice. “Mum?” She’d spluttered. Rita had felt overwhelmed by the unreal feel of the encounter. The room seemed to be shifting beneath her feet. Rita wanted to cling to the walls to stop herself from falling.

“Rita, stop being so silly, help me up” Mum had whined. Shakily Rita had crept forward. Suddenly everything appeared with a strange clarity. How could this be her mum? Her mum, the mum of the soft hands and the red lipsticked lips, a splash of perfume behind the ears (eau de cologne of course) and that dashing air? In her place lay a wrinkled reptilian creature, the teeth long and hungry. The skin lay in dry crumpled folds and her hair stuck up in crazy clown puffs. Rita sniffed cautiously and noted the strange ripe odour that hung around her.

Rita’s head had reeled with the ghastliness of her discovery, oh how she had wanted to scream at the stranger in her mum’s bed over and over again, ”Where’s my mum, what have you done to her?” But if she had done so then the alien would have known that the deception was uncovered and who knew what would happen then? Better to pretend that she didn’t know and maybe when the alien was bored with this little game it would give her mum back to her.

And this is what Rita had done now for weeks that had dragged into months; she had paid court to the thing that was pretending to be her mother. She had cared for it tenderly, fed it, even tried to chat with it although sometimes she watched breathlessly as the green eyes glittered with dark amusement. Then barely scratching the surface of her fear grew a belief that her mother still dwelt inside the alien trying to break out and it took hold of her. This led to conviction that if Rita betrayed her feelings the alien would kill her mum, her real mum to punish her.

So every time Rita went shopping she was gripped by a new terror that during her trip something awful would happen to her real mum and so she would rush around the shops in a panic afraid that someone would stop her to pass idle chit chat. If someone did detain her, she would dance on the spot, hopping from foot to foot like a small child desperate for the loo. People began to think her rather odd as she flitted off. But when she did return home, she would stand for long breathless moments at he door, her key poised in her hand feeling her heart jumping like a frog in her chest as her mind ran riot. Sometimes she fancied that the old woman would be hiding behind the door ready to jump out in her, screaming “Boo!” in that strange metallic voice. Her hand would tremble as the key slipped into the slot and she’d ease her way into the house hardly bearing to breathe.

On one occasion she had entered to a deathly silence. Rita had crept slowly up the stairs; her hands clutched at the banister. She had pushed the door carefully open and tiptoed in the room and then sneaked forward to the bed. She had looked at mum’s closed eyes and then down at her chest looking for signs of life. Suddenly a clawed hand had shot out and grabbed Rita’s wrist. Her screams had been loud and shrill. The hand had gripped tighter, the nails piercing Rita’s skin. Rita panicked; “Mum get off me” she had screeched. How could something that had looked so weak have been so strong? Rita had wrenched her wrist away and had fled into her own room, slamming the door behind her. Tearfully she’d examined her wrist. It was red and there had been streaks of blood were the nails had cut her. She had put her fists over her mouth and pressed them hard against her lips, feeling her teeth mashing her flesh, stopping the screams from spilling out.

She’d feared that if she started she would never stop. Her head had filled with memories of her mum laughing, hugging her, being her friend, joking and dancing. A kaleidoscope of images had spun in her head. God it had hurt so much. She’d just wanted her mum back so much. Her mum would never have hurt her.

And so there Rita lay, sick and sweating, tears seeping out behind the clenched tight lids. Grieving for what was lost but not totally dead, fearful of seeing that face, so changed and yet a constant reminder of what had been. Motivating herself to get up and go to her mother.

“Rita.” The voice came again, sounding like a nail being dragged down a blackboard. She reluctantly pulled herself upwards. Rita turned towards the mirror, checking to see how good her mask was looking; her eyes gazed back at her round and afraid.

“Rita.” It was getting more insistent now and then suddenly a loud crash replaced the whining. Rita jumped. Goosepimples blossomed on her arms. Oh my god she must have fallen and now she would have to touch her. Rita wiped her hands on her pyjama bottoms as if just the thought of touching her mum had made her hands dirty. Slowly she walked to her mother’s bedroom door and then quietly, stifling her breathing she pressed her ear to it. The door felt unnaturally cold against her ear. Rita couldn’t hear anything at all. There were no creaks, no cries and not even the whisper of her mother’s nightie indicated that there were signs of life behind the door. Her hand felt stiff and uncoordinated as she fumbled with the handle. She stood silent as the door swung slowly open.

Rita tried to take in the scene. The covers on the bed were pulled to one side and the lamp was missing from the cabinet. Her mother she assumed was on the floor. Rita shook as she stepped forward; her mind seemed to be functioning through a thick fog. She continued forward her hand grazing the old silky eiderdown that her mother favoured. It felt rough and greasy against her skin but also oddly real and reassuring. As she rounded the bed she stopped confused. Where was her mother? There was nothing on the floor but the lamp with its shade crushed and the sheets puddled on the floor. Rita ran around to the other side of the bed her pyjamas swishing madly as she moved but her mother wasn’t there either. She stood there trying to slow the breath that was zig zagging jerkily from her chest.

Suddenly she heard it, the rasp of cloth behind her. It was her nightmare; her mother was lurking behind the door. Her head turned slowly round, her eyes rolling like a frightened cow in an abattoir to see…nothing. Her blood pumped into her muscles as she looked upwards. She screamed and stepped back involuntarily hitting her hip on the wooden board at the foot of the bed.

Her mother dangled like some crazy mobile from the ceiling. She crouched on her hands and knees watching Rita with some curiosity. Rita’s uncomprehending eyes registered the fact that her mothers toes were splayed froglike out on the ceiling and her fingers topped with those grimy nails dug into it. The pink nightie dangled dangerously close to Rita’s head. Rita had a compulsion to reach up and pull the nightie. She watched as her hand jerked upwards and then stopping in mid air as she realised that the glittering green eyes were evaluating her actions.

Startling her, her mother smiled revealing her long tobacco stained teeth. “ Rita, Rita,” she hissed, “ I’m so hungry.”

Rita screeched and pulled her hand back abruptly. She felt revolted at the thick purple tongue that emerged from her mother’s mouth and licked the thin lips in anticipation. A strange hot feeling flooded Rita’s head. She leapt forward and grabbed the dangling nightie and pulled with all her strength yelling, “ Get down from there NOW! Stop it mum, stop mucking about!”

Her mother fell to the floor and then scuttled spider like back across the room to hide behind the bed. “I’m hungry” she wailed again. Rita followed her round the bed her legs moving despite Rita’s unspoken desire to get out of the room.

“I’ve had enough of this, I want my mum back, give her back to me now!”

The eyes looked at her cunningly and then dropped down to fixate on Rita’s legs. A thin trail of spittle began to edge down the old woman’s chin. “Feed me and I will tell you.”

Rita moved again, her eyes taking in her mothers punkish hair noting the way the grey hair stuck up in the front haphazardly and yet lay flat at the back from long hours of inactivity. An irrational thought flushed into Rita’s head. All this time she’d been waiting on her hand and foot and mum could move like this! Rita shot towards her mother and as she did so her mother lunged forward and grabbed at Rita’s legs pulling her down in an ungainly heap.

Rita began kicking at her but watched in horror as her mother bent and sunk her teeth into Rita’s leg gnawing hungrily at the skin. The dirty nails busied themselves slicing at her flesh. Rita screamed louder and tried to kick her mother away. As she writhed on the floor the fingers brushed something cold. Her fingers tried to grab it as she realised what it was. She tried to ignore the sharpness of the pain n her legs as she stretched to grasp it. The lamp slid into her hand and she lunged forward and hit her mother over the head with it. Rita screamed again as the force momentarily made her mother bite deeper into her flesh and then her mother fell away from her back onto the floor.

Rita sat sobbing her legs wrapped around her knees protectively watching her mum’s face for signs of life. As she watched the alien expression began to drain from her mothers face and it relaxed into a new one. Rita crawled forward and spitting onto her pyjama sleeve began to wipe the specks of blood smeared around the face. She leaned back on her heels to inspect her mum’s face. Her mum, her mum was back. She wrestled the body into her arms and lay watching the face happily. One finger traced the features as she remembered how beautiful she had been. Holding her mother she slept.

The papers said that she had had a breakdown but she knew the truth. She learnt to avoid peoples pitying expressions and spent many hours in her house scanning her own face waiting for the day when the alien would return and be visible in her eyes. She was going to be ready next time.