We got married last September. The weather had still been decently warm, and the falling leaves made for great wedding pictures. My wife Christie had always been the shy and timid type, preferring to stay in over going out, and I loved her for it. I wasn’t much of a partygoer myself, aside from the occasional night out with the guys.
I’d been the first in my circle of friends to get married and was often subjected to jokes about the opportunities I was supposedly missing. I laughed them off for the most part, chalking their humor up to their lack of experience and possibly even jealousy. However, being only twenty-five, I couldn’t help feeling slightly envious of their carefree ways.
I came home from the bar one night to find Christie fast asleep in our bed. I remember thinking it quite peculiar, as it was only about nine o’clock. I’d had a couple of beers, which was how I justified tripping over the magazine rack in the hallway. It tipped over with a clatter.
“Henry?” my wife muttered in her sleep, “Is that you?”
I assured her it was, as she pulled the covers to her chin and drifted off again. In spite of myself, I felt a pang of disappointment. I hadn’t been expecting anything, of course, but I couldn’t help thinking back to the hubbub of the bar, where most of my friends had scored dates for the night. Don’t get me wrong - I wasn’t jealous. Christie and I were the perfect match. I just wished our relationship had the same liveliness as it did when we first met.
As you may have already guessed, that was the evening when, driven by boredom, as well as a splash of alcohol, I decided to play what I deemed to be a small and harmless prank on my wife.
It was very simple, but I knew it would be effective. All I did was place an empty condom wrapper on the bathroom sink. I thought it was hilarious at the time and couldn’t wait to see her reaction. Unfortunately, as is common for alcohol-infused decisions, I came to regret my prank the following morning.
I woke up to Christie shaking my arm.
“What’s this?” she held the wrapper up to my crusty eyes.
“Mmm,” I said, smacking my lips and attempting to turn onto my side.
“Henry,” she demanded, hitting me with her fist.
I cracked my eyes open to see what the fuss was about.
“It’s a condom wrapper,” I said defiantly.
Christie looked wounded.
“I can see that, but what is it doing on our bathroom counter?”
I sighed, exasperated. The prank no longer seemed very funny to me and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. What was she doing up so early anyway?
“I forgot to throw it away,” I mumbled, pulling the covers over my face.
She didn’t say anything and when the silence grew too uncomfortable to bear, I stuck my nose out to look at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto the bed. I couldn’t keep my facade up any longer.
“Calm down, Christie, it was just a prank,” I said, taking the wrapper from her and sitting her down on the bed, “Please, don’t cry.”
I wanted her to get back into bed to cuddle and make up, but she got up and stormed out of the room. I knew the prank hadn’t been funny, but I certainly hadn’t anticipated this reaction. I wasn’t too worked up about it though; Christie wasn’t one to hold a grudge and I figured the matter would blow over by lunch time.
Except it didn’t. Christie wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. It was a Saturday, and we normally went shopping together, but that day she went alone. She wouldn’t even join me for our weekly movie marathon and went to bed early without saying a word.
“Christie,” I said, following her into the bedroom, “I’m sorry, it was just a stupid prank. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
She looked at me indignantly.
“It’s alright, Henry, I understand.”
I wasn’t sure that she did. We had never had an argument like this before and I was beginning to worry about what I’d have to do to atone for my foolish mistake.
When I woke up the following morning, I found Christie’s side of the bed empty. The distant clatter of dishes and smell of coffee suggested she was making breakfast. I had no idea what kind of mood she was in, so I felt wary as I entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I said, lightly tapping her on the shoulder, “That smells good.”
She smiled at me, and for a second it seemed like she had forgotten all about the prank.
“This is for you,” she said, placing a cup of coffee on the table in front of me, “The omelette will be done in a minute.”
I beamed at her. After yesterday’s falling-out I was just happy to have my wife back. I sat down and took a sip of coffee. It took a second for my brain to register what had happened. I spat the mouthful back into the cup, grimacing and coughing up what I’d already swallowed.
“What the-?” I snapped, wiping my salty lips with the back of my hand.
I could see Christie pressing her lips together and I knew she was trying to suppress a laugh.
“It’s alright,” she said, smirking, “It’s just a prank.”
Despite the foul taste in my mouth, I chuckled. I couldn’t blame her for trying to get back at me. After all, the prank I had played on her was far more vicious and I was pleased she had forgiven me.
“Good one,” I grinned.
What was supposed to be a one-off, turned into a daily habit. Every day I’d be subjected to a new prank; a new hobby taken up by Christie. At first, her pranks were relatively run-of-the-mill and innocent; she signed me up for several obscure email newsletters, dipped my fingers into warm water while I was sleeping, and put cream cheese in my stick deodorant. I always laughed them off, not wanting to undermine her efforts, and I didn’t really mind either way, relishing in the newfound excitement it had brought to our relationship.
Soon enough, however, the mild inconveniences were replaced by borderline sinister stunts. She put laxatives in my food, scalded my feet with boiling water and hid a dead mouse in one of my lunchbox compartments.
“You need to stop,” I told her one night after I’d discovered she’d put stinging nettles in my underwear, “It’s not funny anymore.”
“It’s only a bit of fun,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“It’s not fun,” I objected, “And I’ve had enough.”
The following morning, however, I realized my objections hadn’t had any effect. As soon as I got out of bed, I stepped onto one of Christie’s hair styling appliances. It was plugged in and turned up to about a million degrees. I fell to my knees, banging my head on the wall in the process. The skin on the sole of my foot was sweltering and the smell of my own burning flesh was making me want to retch. Despite having several meetings planned for the day, I had no choice but to call in sick. Needless to say, I was furious and planned on giving Christie a piece of my mind when she came home from work.
That afternoon, one of my closest friends, Kevin, came over to watch the game. Initially, I had suggested going to a bar, but he’d insisted. He’d asked me why I was suddenly so rigid about having him over, and I told him it was for fear of my wife lurking around the corner at any given moment. He was shocked to hear about our falling-out, as Christie and I had always been on such good terms.
“Why don’t you prank her back?” he suggested, “Show her that you’re not totally helpless.”
I thought about it for a minute. I knew fighting fire with fire was rarely the best solution but talking hadn’t helped and it didn’t seem as though she was planning to stop any time soon. Perhaps giving her a taste of her own medicine would help her come to her senses.
“But what could I do?” I asked, gesturing at my swollen foot, “I’m not exactly in the best shape.”
“Well,” Kevin rubbed his nose thoughtfully, “You could…”
“Don’t forget she is my wife,” I interjected, “I don’t want to stoop to her level.”
Kevin thought for a minute and then his face lit up.
“Oh! How about we pull a doppelgänger prank?”
“What’s that?”
“Well, I’ll sit on the couch and pretend to be you and once she comes home and starts talking to me, you’ll call her from the other room!”
He seemed delighted with his own idea.
“That’s sure to freak her out!”
Granted, Kevin and I did look somewhat alike. At least from the back, that is. We had the same haircut and a similar body type. I wasn’t sure if a prank like this would stop Christie from pursuing me further or the opposite - encourage her to continue, but it was worth a shot.
I rummaged through my closet and found some clothes for Kevin to wear. I gave him a hoodie just in case Christie was too familiar with the back of my head. As it drew closer to five, I left Kevin in front of the TV in the living room and hid behind our bedroom door to wait for my wife.
Our room was at the end of a long corridor, making it easy to see the front door if I peeked around the corner. Too late I’d realized I had left my phone in the kitchen. I considered running to get it, but Christie was due home any minute and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
I’m not sure how long I stood there. I didn’t have any means of checking the time, so minutes dragged on while I waited for the sound of footsteps on the stairwell.
I froze as I heard the key sliding into the lock. There hadn’t been any indication whatsoever that anyone was behind the door. She seemed to be taking her time, twisting the key in the lock slowly and diligently. The anticipation was sending shivers down my spine. It sounded like she was trying to break into the apartment. Was the lock broken? Why was it taking her so long to unlock the door?
And then it hit me. She was trying to be quiet.
The hallway was silent. It seemed like minutes had ticked by without so much as a single sound. Why wasn’t she opening the door?
I peeked around the corner and my heart dropped. The front door was ajar, and my wife was already standing in the hall. She was facing away from me, carefully pulling the door shut. I wondered if Kevin could hear her from the living room.
I watched her as she placed her things down gingerly on the floor and then straightened up. For a minute, she stood motionless, her eyes shut, and lips pursed. She looked like she was taking deep breaths. Then, she slowly got down on all-fours, like a spider waiting to pounce. What was she doing? Was she trying to sneak up on me?
If she was planning her own ‘prank’, our plan wouldn’t work, I thought. At least Kevin would surely believe me after this.
Christie had begun crawling across the floor towards the living room. She moved slowly and awkwardly, almost like an animated character. In any other circumstances, I would have found the sight comical, but back then, I was terrified. I watched until Christie disappeared out of sight and braced myself for a loud “BOO!”.
But it didn’t come. I waited. I waited for a gasp, a cry - anything. But the apartment was silent. I could have sworn at least three minutes had passed after Christie had turned the corner. A chill crawled up my spine. Where was she? What was she doing?
The TV was still blaring, and I wondered if I had simply missed it. I didn’t want to leave the safety of my hiding place, but I had to go check in on my friend. I took a deep breath and tiptoed down the corridor, my pulse picking up and making me lightheaded. Why on earth was I getting so riled up? It was only my wife for God’s sake.
I reached the living room just as the home team scored and peeked through the crack in the door. Kevin was still sitting on the couch, facing the TV. So where was Christie? I scanned the room, but there was no sign of her. Had she gone to the kitchen?
My stomach lurched at the thought. Without so much as a glance, I hurtled into the living room and slammed the door shut behind me. I wasn’t going to risk being scared to death if she had.
“It didn’t work man, she’s in the kitchen,” I stammered, holding the living room door shut with the weight of my body, half expecting my wife to come barging in, “Help me hold the door!”
The figure in the hoodie shifted, revealing a strand of golden hair.
“Sure, honey, I’ll come help.”
And that’s when I noticed the blood.