I can only remember bits and pieces. Although it’s probably for the best, I need to for her sake. I remember going for a nap around 6pm. The sun was starting to set and after a grueling chore list, I could feel a migraine starting to grow.
I threw on some more comfortable clothes, drew the curtains and hopped into bed.
Sarah was going to be home later, but she said she would grab food on the way home, so I didn’t feel inclined to wait up.
Almost an hour had past lying in bed, but I found myself tossing and turning. My migraine worsened and to make matters worse, I began to feel cold chills and aches throughout my body.
No position felt comfortable and the silent darkness was only a brief respite from the throbbing sensation in my temple. Eventually everything started to feel like a fever dream. I started to speak to myself in hopes to take my mind off of my head.
After a moment, I could hear a faint voice responding back. I was so delirious, it hadn’t even fazed me. I continued my conversation with this kind, soft spoken stranger in the darkness.
To this day, I don’t remember what we had even spoken about.
It wasn’t until much later, I began to feel myself drift.
I woke up some time later in a panic. My head still pounding and my body now sweating profusely. I reached over to the other side of the bed, but Sarah was still out. I turned over to check my phone. ‘11:21’ the clock read. If she isn’t here already, she should be very soon.
As I pressed the screen lock button to shut off the backlight, something was there at the foot of my bed.
Adrenaline ran through me as my feet kicked away from the edge of the bed. My heart raced as I backed myself against the headboard, scared for my life, unsure if I was dreaming.
A moment passed and nothing happened.
I stayed very still as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, terrified of what I may find.
Grasping my phone, I began to see the silhouette of someone’s head poking up from the foot of my bed. It’s neck, elongated and protruding towards me.
I flipped my phone back on to reveal nothing. It had disappeared.
Just then, I heard the front door open quietly. Sarah finally made it in. I’ve never been so relieved in my life. I begin catching my breath as my adrenaline wears off and my migraine comes back with full force.
The relief of having her home gave me comfort enough to relax again as I turned over and waited for her to come in.
It felt like hours had passed, waiting for her to finally come in.
Listening to her attempt to quietly match through the house from room to room began to pull at my patience. I could hear her in the kitchen, rustling through the silverware drawer. At this point, had my migraine not held me back, I would have just gotten up to see her.
Eventually, I turn over and outstretch my arm. At that moment, my arm meets flesh, cold and clammy.
I panic and scream as I pull my arm back.
“What’s the matter?” Whispers Sarah from the darkness.
I take a minute as I catch my breath and realize the noises from the kitchen have ceased.
“Well, are you gonna answer me?” Sarah says with impatience.
I begin to make out her figure in the darkness. She’s facing away from me, but I can smell her shampoo as I wrap my arm around her once again. I embrace her tightly as she holds onto me and gives a warm sigh of comfort.
I begin to tell her about my day, but she quickly cuts me off.
“Babe, I have a massive migraine. That’s why I messaged and said I would be home at 8. Let’s continue this tomorrow”
“Wait, what do you mean 8?”
No response from Sarah as I tried to shake her. Surely she couldn’t have fallen asleep already. I grab her shoulder, and it’s cold to the touch. I begin panicking once again as I try turning her over, but it’s hard to move her. Just then, a faint voice at the end of the bed as I turn Sarah over to find her face missing. Carved clean off.
I scream for my life and run from the room. I sprint to the front door as I begin tearing at the deadbolt, footsteps approaching behind me, a soft spoken voice with sinister intent.
Finally, I grab the handle, throw the door back as I feel cold, sharp needles against the back of my neck as I race out, never looking back.
It’s the last thing I remember, the night I lost my wife.