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It began with an Autumn breeze. That's what I'll tell people when I recall this story. It'll perfectly capture how brave I am. 'It began with an Autumn breeze that transformed our home into a haunted mansion.' Yes, that was such a clever beginning. I'm such a clever person.
I stood on the edge of the front yard, clutching the red wine I borrowed from my sister. A gust of chilly midnight air caused my coat to flap open, and I struggled to close it while balancing the bottle in the crook of my arm. The moon hid behind thick clouds, and I could hardly see my feet. Yet here I was, back from my valiant quest to fetch wine and surprise my husband in the dead of the night. This would unquestionably make up for our fight, even though it was entirely his fault. I'm flawless. I'm also gracious, which is lucky for him.
"Alright here we go," I said to myself. Talking to myself was very therapeutic since I always had a lot of interesting things to say. People should talk aloud more often. It might make them as quick-witted as me. People should be more like me.
I started up the driveway but was abruptly interrupted by a faint, eerie whisper carried in the wind. "Wait..." the voice trembled, "Cuh...c-come here..."
I followed the sound of the voice and saw a ghostly figure hovering a few feet above the wet pavement. Its clothing was burned and torn, and its face was so scarred and disfigured that I could not tell which crater its eyes were supposed to sit in.
A hallucination... I turned around to look at the house. I could return to enjoying the rest of my evening if I just brushed off this bossy figment of my imagination. No way was I going to let another wandering illusion ruin my night.
I attempted to step forward again, but this time, the ghostly figure swiftly moved from the road and appeared right in front of me. Up close, its face was even more jarring. Slices of its lips were peeling, and I could see teeth hanging out of its mouth by stringy red roots. I held the bottle tightly to my chest, suspicious that it might steal it. What had this neighborhood come to? "What do you want?" I asked.
The figure extended its hand and gently touched my face. I felt queasy as its charred, sticky fingers brushed along my cheek. "Pretty…" the shape gurgled. This was one of the many fitting adjectives to describe me.
I wanted to pull away but forced myself to stay put, not wanting to provoke the ghost into mugging me. Then, it uttered something that sent a shiver down my spine.
"K-kill…you,"
"What?" I stepped back and glanced at the front door as I briefly considered making a quick escape. Would it really kill me over a bottle of cheap wine? This thing was a criminal and an alcoholic.
The creature tracked my gaze and gradually turned its aged neck toward the house. I could hear the creaking of its bones. "K-kill... you," its finger pointed at the door, resembling a bare branch quivering in the wind. "Kill... you."
My husband? Was it saying my husband was going to kill me? "No." I defiantly shook my head. "You silly thing. He loves me. He would never hurt me." I stepped around the delusional ghost and shooed it away like an unwanted stray. "You have the wrong house. Try the neighbors across the street. They're some real wackos." Whew, what a relief. I thought I might be in real danger. It turns out even ghosts could make mistakes. I twisted the doorknob only to find it locked. Luckily, I knew my husband's habits and where he kept the spare key.
The ghost grew more persistent, floating even closer to me. "K-kill-"
"Goodbyeee," I sang cheerfully as I darted into the house and slammed the door behind me. What a silly ghost. What a silly notion. My husband killing me? Why, he absolutely adored me.
I entered the dimly lit kitchen and clumsily searched for the light switch. I was trying to remember exactly where it was since I was still getting used to the house. After a moment, I quietly set the bottle of wine on the counter to again appreciate how lucky my husband was to have me. My sister worried I might return here when I left, and I comforted her with the best lies. No one believed we could work on our marriage, but I knew we could, and no one knows better than me.
As I trailed my fingers along the counter, I noticed he had left his phone between the knife holder and oven mitts. I stashed it in a drawer to resist the temptation to snoop. The last time I did, it made me very grumpy. It was why we fought in the first place.
I didn't want to wake my husband just yet. Instead, I aimed to surprise him with a little treat. So I grabbed a pot and set it on the stove, filled it halfway with oil and cranked up the heat. Fried rice fritters were on the menu, his absolute favorites. I overheard him talking on the phone to his mother about how he missed her 'famous rice fritters.' They won't be so famous when he tries mine.
I shrugged off my coat and casually tossed it over the back of a chair. I heard some shuffling upstairs and then I spotted my husband's silhouette slowly descending. My heart did a little dance. Even after all this time, he still had that effect on me.
"Honey..." I called out. His head snapped towards me, and he froze in his tracks.
"What are you doing back here?" His voice was cold, each word like a dagger to my heart. How could he still speak to me that way? I should be the one who was angry. Yet here I was, hat in hand, willing to forgive everything even without a simple "I'm sorry."
I took a step forward, and he instinctively took one back. "Don't raise your voice at me," I warned. "I came back to forgive you, and this is how you treat me?"
"Forgive me?" He looked incredulous. "Are you serious?"
I recalled the messages I saw on his phone this morning. He was texting some tramp, pouring out his love for her while belittling me as 'crazy.' I hated it when people called me that. Almost as much as I hated seeing him treat another woman how he should have been treating me. I loved him so much. I'd done so much for him and yet his eyes wandered.
"So that's it?" I asked, my voice shaking with anger. "After everything we've been through, you're just going to throw me away like that?"
He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. But I didn't lose my mind. I didn't. I know I didn't. He lost his mind, not me. He lost it. I'm not lost. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.
"Please get out..." Although he used the word "please," there was no kindness in his tone. "Or I will call the police."
"The police?" I burst into laughter. The sound became increasingly hysterical until it hurt my sides. "With what phone?" I finally shouted. "Did you really think I'd let you have it after I saw you two talking this morning?"
His face turned pale as he frantically scanned the room, searching for where he'd left his phone. He was so selfish. Even now, he could only think about himself and his other woman.
"What about me?" I questioned, letting my thoughts spill out into the room. My voice seized his attention and a genuine concern flickered in his eyes. "Who's thinking about me?" My voice cracked and my vision blurred with the tears welling up. "I've tried so hard to make this work. I've dealt with all your affairs and swallowed every insult." I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, and my chest tightened with anger. "I've suffered and suffered and suffered!" I screamed, pounding my fist on the counter. "It's never enough! I'm never enough!"
"Okay..." His voice softened as he cautiously approached me, hands raised as if I were a frightened deer. "I understand, um, sweetie." It sounded like the word tasted bitter on his tongue, but he tried to swallow it anyway. "Calm down, okay."
"Don't tell me to calm down," I sobbed. "I hate when people say that."
"You're right," he admitted, closing the distance between us. I moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of our love fill the air. I wished he could be this kind to me all the time. I loved him so much. I longed to fall into his arms and melt against his chest. Just holding him wasn't enough; I wanted to taste him, to breathe in his scent like it was my lifeline. I craved to be enveloped in his skin until I suffocated. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispered. I knew he meant it. We were made for each other.
I nestled my head against his chest and for a moment time froze. I was put on this earth to be with him. He was my everything. Was this the moment that he saw it, too? Suddenly, as I let out a relieved sigh, he shoved me against the cabinets. I cried out as my tailbone struck the handle and leaned over in agony. He seized this opportunity to dart past me, making a beeline for the knife stand beside the sink. What was he doing? My eyes were locked on him as he drew out a large knife and pointed it in my direction. I couldn't believe it. Why was he doing this to me? Did he really despise me that much?
"Honey?" I choked out. He tricked me. He was a monster. How could anyone in their right mind pretend to adore their wife only to treat them this way? He was the crazy one, not me. His knuckles clutched the handle so tightly that they turned white and I could see the desperation in his eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" I pleaded, trying to inch closer. He also took a step forward, gripping the knife more firmly. "Honey..." My voice quivered. I could fix this. I could fix him. Didn't he know how clever I was?
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "You need to get out of my house right now before I hurt you."
My thoughts spiraled into chaos. His house? Oh, so this was his house now? He wanted to throw me out and be with that tramp, didn't he? He was so evil. So silly and confused! We were made for each other! He wouldn't leave me. He couldn't leave me!
"You're not going to hurt me…" I cautioned, anxiously trying to reason with him. "You love me too much." He shook his head in frantic denial, terror filling his eyes. Was he scared of me? Why? All I wanted was to love him.
"I don't love you…I don't even know you." he stated, and there was a hint of truth in his words, a truth that almost convinced me. But I knew deep down that he still loved me. He would always love me.
"You wouldn't hurt me," I repeated, growing more confident as I drew closer. Of course he knew me. I had been watching him for so long. Even when he yelled at me to go away I had always forgiven him and returned. "We were made for each other." He was just stressed. That was it. Work was getting to him, and he needed me to remind him how he felt about me. I could do that. I would always do that for him.
And as if the universe could hear my prayers, his cell phone rang from inside the drawer. When he turned his head towards the sound, I seized the wine bottle and smashed it over his head. Glass shattered and he collapsed into a pile of shards and red wine. The knife skidded across the kitchen floor. Even in this state, he still weakly attempted to reach for it. I loved that about him. He was so determined and strong-willed. His eyes crossed, and his head bobbed up and down. "H-help..." he cried feebly.
"Oh, Honey..." I comforted, leaning over him and gently touching the cut on his brow. He winced, and I could see him struggling to get back up. "It's okay, baby, I'm here." He was so disoriented, so lost. He needed me right now. "I'm not going anywhere." I stepped over him, fetched a plate from the dishwasher, and then slammed it on his head.
He was so handsome the day I first saw him. Standing in my favorite bookstore, he was engrossed in reading the back of a computer science book. He wore a long red coat, a sleek black turtleneck, and dark blue jeans. I was immediately captivated by him. As he strolled past each bookshelf I followed silently, peering at him through the shelves like a lovesick schoolgirl. It wasn't one of my proudest moments but how could I resist? There was nothing else in the world but him. Occasionally, I caught a whiff of his scent, and it sent shivers down my spine. That's when I knew that we were destined to be together.
Then, my heart shattered when I saw him approach a woman. She was undeniably beautiful, but not as beautiful as me. I could tell he didn't truly love her because his smiles for her seemed so forced. When they brushed past me, I felt it deep in my soul that he longed to touch me. His coat grazed against my arm and we both felt the electrifying surge of love between us. The woman clung to him and called him her sweetheart, but I knew that wasn't true. He was mine. Something was wrong with her. She had some twisted idea in her head that this man, who was meant for me, somehow belonged to her. My beloved was trapped, and I knew I had to save him.
I couldn't remember moving him to the bedroom after our fight, but he was there beside me. His body's imprint was comforting as I flipped over in bed. The room was a bit foggy, but I could still see every outline of his beautiful face. He captivated me so much that it took me a minute to realize the fire alarms were blaring. I felt something thick and sticky on my back and noticed we were lying in a pool of blood. "I think I left the stove on," I said nonchalantly. We could sort all of this out. I never believed he actually meant to hurt me earlier; he was just scared. His love for me was just so intense that he didn't know how to handle it. That woman following him around had messed with his head. He started to believe they were together, but that couldn't be right. He belonged to me.
I gazed at my husband's face with adoration. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, and his tongue had been cut out. I couldn't hear him breathe but maybe he was playing a game. He liked it when I worried about him. "Oh, honey," I whispered, drawing closer and wrapping my arms around his cold, stiff body. "I love you." The roar of the flames from downstairs grew louder like an angry beast. As they reached the bedroom and swallowed the bed, I held my husband close as the fire consumed us.
The roaring finally stopped and then I opened my eyes. I found myself standing in the middle of the street. I glanced at my hands and saw that they were burnt and rigid. What had brought me out here? Where was my husband?
Then a voice reached my ears, my own voice.
"Alright here we go," I observed the other version of myself standing in front of my house, clutching a bottle of wine. I was talking to myself. Talking to myself was very therapeutic since I always had a lot of interesting things to say.
I watched her silently. Did she know that our husband was inside, terrified and confused? Did she know he loved her so much that he might try to hurt her? I hushed her with a whisper.
"Wait..." My lungs ached as I spoke, my voice nearly carried away by the wind. "Cuh...c-come here..."
I stood on the edge of the front yard, clutching the red wine I borrowed from my sister. A gust of chilly midnight air caused my coat to flap open, and I struggled to close it while balancing the bottle in the crook of my arm. The moon hid behind thick clouds, and I could hardly see my feet. Yet here I was, back from my valiant quest to fetch wine and surprise my husband in the dead of the night. This would unquestionably make up for our fight, even though it was entirely his fault. I'm flawless. I'm also gracious, which is lucky for him.
"Alright here we go," I said to myself. Talking to myself was very therapeutic since I always had a lot of interesting things to say. People should talk aloud more often. It might make them as quick-witted as me. People should be more like me.
I started up the driveway but was abruptly interrupted by a faint, eerie whisper carried in the wind. "Wait..." the voice trembled, "Cuh...c-come here..."
I followed the sound of the voice and saw a ghostly figure hovering a few feet above the wet pavement. Its clothing was burned and torn, and its face was so scarred and disfigured that I could not tell which crater its eyes were supposed to sit in.
A hallucination... I turned around to look at the house. I could return to enjoying the rest of my evening if I just brushed off this bossy figment of my imagination. No way was I going to let another wandering illusion ruin my night.
I attempted to step forward again, but this time, the ghostly figure swiftly moved from the road and appeared right in front of me. Up close, its face was even more jarring. Slices of its lips were peeling, and I could see teeth hanging out of its mouth by stringy red roots. I held the bottle tightly to my chest, suspicious that it might steal it. What had this neighborhood come to? "What do you want?" I asked.
The figure extended its hand and gently touched my face. I felt queasy as its charred, sticky fingers brushed along my cheek. "Pretty…" the shape gurgled. This was one of the many fitting adjectives to describe me.
I wanted to pull away but forced myself to stay put, not wanting to provoke the ghost into mugging me. Then, it uttered something that sent a shiver down my spine.
"K-kill…you,"
"What?" I stepped back and glanced at the front door as I briefly considered making a quick escape. Would it really kill me over a bottle of cheap wine? This thing was a criminal and an alcoholic.
The creature tracked my gaze and gradually turned its aged neck toward the house. I could hear the creaking of its bones. "K-kill... you," its finger pointed at the door, resembling a bare branch quivering in the wind. "Kill... you."
My husband? Was it saying my husband was going to kill me? "No." I defiantly shook my head. "You silly thing. He loves me. He would never hurt me." I stepped around the delusional ghost and shooed it away like an unwanted stray. "You have the wrong house. Try the neighbors across the street. They're some real wackos." Whew, what a relief. I thought I might be in real danger. It turns out even ghosts could make mistakes. I twisted the doorknob only to find it locked. Luckily, I knew my husband's habits and where he kept the spare key.
The ghost grew more persistent, floating even closer to me. "K-kill-"
"Goodbyeee," I sang cheerfully as I darted into the house and slammed the door behind me. What a silly ghost. What a silly notion. My husband killing me? Why, he absolutely adored me.
I entered the dimly lit kitchen and clumsily searched for the light switch. I was trying to remember exactly where it was since I was still getting used to the house. After a moment, I quietly set the bottle of wine on the counter to again appreciate how lucky my husband was to have me. My sister worried I might return here when I left, and I comforted her with the best lies. No one believed we could work on our marriage, but I knew we could, and no one knows better than me.
As I trailed my fingers along the counter, I noticed he had left his phone between the knife holder and oven mitts. I stashed it in a drawer to resist the temptation to snoop. The last time I did, it made me very grumpy. It was why we fought in the first place.
I didn't want to wake my husband just yet. Instead, I aimed to surprise him with a little treat. So I grabbed a pot and set it on the stove, filled it halfway with oil and cranked up the heat. Fried rice fritters were on the menu, his absolute favorites. I overheard him talking on the phone to his mother about how he missed her 'famous rice fritters.' They won't be so famous when he tries mine.
I shrugged off my coat and casually tossed it over the back of a chair. I heard some shuffling upstairs and then I spotted my husband's silhouette slowly descending. My heart did a little dance. Even after all this time, he still had that effect on me.
"Honey..." I called out. His head snapped towards me, and he froze in his tracks.
"What are you doing back here?" His voice was cold, each word like a dagger to my heart. How could he still speak to me that way? I should be the one who was angry. Yet here I was, hat in hand, willing to forgive everything even without a simple "I'm sorry."
I took a step forward, and he instinctively took one back. "Don't raise your voice at me," I warned. "I came back to forgive you, and this is how you treat me?"
"Forgive me?" He looked incredulous. "Are you serious?"
I recalled the messages I saw on his phone this morning. He was texting some tramp, pouring out his love for her while belittling me as 'crazy.' I hated it when people called me that. Almost as much as I hated seeing him treat another woman how he should have been treating me. I loved him so much. I'd done so much for him and yet his eyes wandered.
"So that's it?" I asked, my voice shaking with anger. "After everything we've been through, you're just going to throw me away like that?"
He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. But I didn't lose my mind. I didn't. I know I didn't. He lost his mind, not me. He lost it. I'm not lost. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.
"Please get out..." Although he used the word "please," there was no kindness in his tone. "Or I will call the police."
"The police?" I burst into laughter. The sound became increasingly hysterical until it hurt my sides. "With what phone?" I finally shouted. "Did you really think I'd let you have it after I saw you two talking this morning?"
His face turned pale as he frantically scanned the room, searching for where he'd left his phone. He was so selfish. Even now, he could only think about himself and his other woman.
"What about me?" I questioned, letting my thoughts spill out into the room. My voice seized his attention and a genuine concern flickered in his eyes. "Who's thinking about me?" My voice cracked and my vision blurred with the tears welling up. "I've tried so hard to make this work. I've dealt with all your affairs and swallowed every insult." I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, and my chest tightened with anger. "I've suffered and suffered and suffered!" I screamed, pounding my fist on the counter. "It's never enough! I'm never enough!"
"Okay..." His voice softened as he cautiously approached me, hands raised as if I were a frightened deer. "I understand, um, sweetie." It sounded like the word tasted bitter on his tongue, but he tried to swallow it anyway. "Calm down, okay."
"Don't tell me to calm down," I sobbed. "I hate when people say that."
"You're right," he admitted, closing the distance between us. I moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of our love fill the air. I wished he could be this kind to me all the time. I loved him so much. I longed to fall into his arms and melt against his chest. Just holding him wasn't enough; I wanted to taste him, to breathe in his scent like it was my lifeline. I craved to be enveloped in his skin until I suffocated. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispered. I knew he meant it. We were made for each other.
I nestled my head against his chest and for a moment time froze. I was put on this earth to be with him. He was my everything. Was this the moment that he saw it, too? Suddenly, as I let out a relieved sigh, he shoved me against the cabinets. I cried out as my tailbone struck the handle and leaned over in agony. He seized this opportunity to dart past me, making a beeline for the knife stand beside the sink. What was he doing? My eyes were locked on him as he drew out a large knife and pointed it in my direction. I couldn't believe it. Why was he doing this to me? Did he really despise me that much?
"Honey?" I choked out. He tricked me. He was a monster. How could anyone in their right mind pretend to adore their wife only to treat them this way? He was the crazy one, not me. His knuckles clutched the handle so tightly that they turned white and I could see the desperation in his eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" I pleaded, trying to inch closer. He also took a step forward, gripping the knife more firmly. "Honey..." My voice quivered. I could fix this. I could fix him. Didn't he know how clever I was?
"Don't call me that," he snapped. "You need to get out of my house right now before I hurt you."
My thoughts spiraled into chaos. His house? Oh, so this was his house now? He wanted to throw me out and be with that tramp, didn't he? He was so evil. So silly and confused! We were made for each other! He wouldn't leave me. He couldn't leave me!
"You're not going to hurt me…" I cautioned, anxiously trying to reason with him. "You love me too much." He shook his head in frantic denial, terror filling his eyes. Was he scared of me? Why? All I wanted was to love him.
"I don't love you…I don't even know you." he stated, and there was a hint of truth in his words, a truth that almost convinced me. But I knew deep down that he still loved me. He would always love me.
"You wouldn't hurt me," I repeated, growing more confident as I drew closer. Of course he knew me. I had been watching him for so long. Even when he yelled at me to go away I had always forgiven him and returned. "We were made for each other." He was just stressed. That was it. Work was getting to him, and he needed me to remind him how he felt about me. I could do that. I would always do that for him.
And as if the universe could hear my prayers, his cell phone rang from inside the drawer. When he turned his head towards the sound, I seized the wine bottle and smashed it over his head. Glass shattered and he collapsed into a pile of shards and red wine. The knife skidded across the kitchen floor. Even in this state, he still weakly attempted to reach for it. I loved that about him. He was so determined and strong-willed. His eyes crossed, and his head bobbed up and down. "H-help..." he cried feebly.
"Oh, Honey..." I comforted, leaning over him and gently touching the cut on his brow. He winced, and I could see him struggling to get back up. "It's okay, baby, I'm here." He was so disoriented, so lost. He needed me right now. "I'm not going anywhere." I stepped over him, fetched a plate from the dishwasher, and then slammed it on his head.
He was so handsome the day I first saw him. Standing in my favorite bookstore, he was engrossed in reading the back of a computer science book. He wore a long red coat, a sleek black turtleneck, and dark blue jeans. I was immediately captivated by him. As he strolled past each bookshelf I followed silently, peering at him through the shelves like a lovesick schoolgirl. It wasn't one of my proudest moments but how could I resist? There was nothing else in the world but him. Occasionally, I caught a whiff of his scent, and it sent shivers down my spine. That's when I knew that we were destined to be together.
Then, my heart shattered when I saw him approach a woman. She was undeniably beautiful, but not as beautiful as me. I could tell he didn't truly love her because his smiles for her seemed so forced. When they brushed past me, I felt it deep in my soul that he longed to touch me. His coat grazed against my arm and we both felt the electrifying surge of love between us. The woman clung to him and called him her sweetheart, but I knew that wasn't true. He was mine. Something was wrong with her. She had some twisted idea in her head that this man, who was meant for me, somehow belonged to her. My beloved was trapped, and I knew I had to save him.
I couldn't remember moving him to the bedroom after our fight, but he was there beside me. His body's imprint was comforting as I flipped over in bed. The room was a bit foggy, but I could still see every outline of his beautiful face. He captivated me so much that it took me a minute to realize the fire alarms were blaring. I felt something thick and sticky on my back and noticed we were lying in a pool of blood. "I think I left the stove on," I said nonchalantly. We could sort all of this out. I never believed he actually meant to hurt me earlier; he was just scared. His love for me was just so intense that he didn't know how to handle it. That woman following him around had messed with his head. He started to believe they were together, but that couldn't be right. He belonged to me.
I gazed at my husband's face with adoration. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, and his tongue had been cut out. I couldn't hear him breathe but maybe he was playing a game. He liked it when I worried about him. "Oh, honey," I whispered, drawing closer and wrapping my arms around his cold, stiff body. "I love you." The roar of the flames from downstairs grew louder like an angry beast. As they reached the bedroom and swallowed the bed, I held my husband close as the fire consumed us.
The roaring finally stopped and then I opened my eyes. I found myself standing in the middle of the street. I glanced at my hands and saw that they were burnt and rigid. What had brought me out here? Where was my husband?
Then a voice reached my ears, my own voice.
"Alright here we go," I observed the other version of myself standing in front of my house, clutching a bottle of wine. I was talking to myself. Talking to myself was very therapeutic since I always had a lot of interesting things to say.
I watched her silently. Did she know that our husband was inside, terrified and confused? Did she know he loved her so much that he might try to hurt her? I hushed her with a whisper.
"Wait..." My lungs ached as I spoke, my voice nearly carried away by the wind. "Cuh...c-come here..."
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