“Wake up honey,” I hear my dead wife call from the door, as she had done a thousand times to combat my chronic oversleeping. “5 more minutes” I say almost instinctively. I’m dreaming, What a wonderful dream, in comparison to the night terrors I have been having of that horrible night, last summer. “Absolutely not, I did not bust my ass making breakfast for you too let it go cold” she says approaching the foot of the bed” I don’t dare open my eyes doing so will surely bring a wonderful, sad dream to an abrupt end.
The time I had with my wife, though short lived, was an unimaginably happy time, considering the circumstances. Things were hard but it was worth it all. Her treatment was experimental so despite my 6 figure job we had racked up a debt that was well over 5 digits, the little one’s school fund had been eaten up, with more bills yet to be paid. This did not matter to me, she was my light, the reason I worked so hard, well her and our son. When I wasn’t working, we filled up our days with new adventure with the little one, and nights with romantic dinners, which obviously wasn’t helping things financially. She worried about money more than I did, always making sure with me before every purchase I made for her. And I lied, boy did I lie, “my bonus last year was massive, don’t you remember” had gotten me all the way to June 25th.
I used the wrong credit card, it declined, one of the several i had maxed. “Why are you using credit? ‘’ she said confused, followed by “and why is it maxed” she now says enraged. No more lies left, backed into a corner I came clean. “Seventeen Hundred? Are you fucking kidding me?” she chewed my ear out as I paid with the last credit card not maxed and we walked out to the car. When we got in, she started to rationalize “Well, now we have to use the near entirety of Jonathan’s school fund, but when I’m gone you will have plenty of time to save for that right?” I couldn’t look at her. She didn’t say a word for the rest of the night. In the morning I get up for work and she is still in bed facing the wall as she had the whole night. Try to think of something to say, a reassurance or an apology at least. Nothing comes to me and I head to work. My work is poor, I can’t focus on anything else. But by the end of the day I’ve thought of what to say. The perfect thing to make her hold out hope. When I get home, Jonathan is watching his shows in the living room. The kitchen is empty. I can’t blame her. She probably spent the day in our room loathing me, but I know just what to say. I climb the stairs, and open the door to our room. I see the stool first, the one she painted herself, knocked over. Then the discolored feet of my hanging wife.
“Come on sleepy head” her voice angelic as always, soft but distinct. Then I hear it, the sound of rope stretching from the weight of a human body. I wake up, eyes still shut. Relieved. I can start my day shaken up a little. Better than those horrible terrors though I suppose. “Wake up honey” I hear again, this time her voice is labored. Fuck its not over. Of course it’s a night terror. This time I didn’t respond. “Ignoring me are we?” she says still labored. I open my eyes in hopes it will end this. I caught a glimpse of her hanging silhouette. It works, I’m awake finally. I roll onto my back to see my wife hanging directly above, skin discolored, face distorted and bloated. But her eyes. Her eyes looked down on me with a hatred I have never witnessed. Her eyes looking down, still living within her decomposing body. I close my eyes. “Wake Up” this time distorted. I open my eyes and she is no longer there. I sit up and look around the room. Is it over? Please god let it be over. “Wake Up” directly in my ear. I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating. My wife walks into the room rope and stool in hand. She places the stool on the floor. I tried to look away but I couldn’t. She gets up on it and ties the rope to the ceiling fan. I tried to Close my eyes but couldn’t. She puts the rope around her head and my vision starts to fade. She kicks the stools, last thing I see is her discolored feet as it fades to black. I wake up my wife on top of me, hands on my throat. Same look of pure hatred. Eyes alive. Her face starts to decompose. Eyes alive. Her face shrivels, pieces starting to hang off. Eyes alive. The partially skeletal body of my wife continues to strangle me. Eyes alive. I lose consciousness.
“Wake up honey,” I hear my wife’s voice, but I don’t dare open my eyes.