I’m held down by an unbearable weight, sinking me into the mattress.
“December Nineteenth, twelve a.m. exactly. You will die by train, and I will laugh as you rot in hell, Lance.”
A shadowy hand claps over my mouth as I try to cry out, my wife, Cassandra, sitting next to me with her eyes rolled back into her head, a sharp eerie grin dominating her previously soft features. It’s devoid of teeth, just inky blackness taking up her entire mouth. She had been the one to speak to me.
It’s the darkest of nights. I didn’t know how to fight, and I was caught in my sleep. Sorry, Cassandra, I didn’t believe you really had the power… I only saw it as dreams you would weave—
I can feel rumbling underneath me, as if I’d been pushed onto live train tracks, and I can feel my head separating from my body as I scream into the hand holding me back, blood gushing onto my sheets and my pillows and Cassie’s face and—
”Down in the street, they’re all singing and shouting…”
I jolt awake to the sound of my wife singing as she folds laundry. Some of the shirts and pants are covering me over the blankets. She doesn’t give two shits, instead taking great care in paying close attention to the laundry instead. I can feel sweat dripping down my face. I must’ve been having a nightmare—
”Staying alive though the city is dead…”
Christ. She’s singing that damn song again. The one about the prophet, the one who predicted the fall of Troy but nobody believed her. My wife was named after this woman, this song, actually, and she never ceases to sing it every Sunday morning while she does the laundry.
It’s infuriating.
Needless to say, our marriage is… suffering. We’ve been together for only six years, and already it’s been like pulling teeth to get her to do what I want—
”Hiding their shame behind hollow laughter, while you are crying alone on your bed…”
“Will you shut the hell up? You’re giving me a headache,” I snap, as she looks up suddenly from the sound of my voice. She looks hurt, her wide blue eyes becoming glassy with tears (something she knows I always fucking hate), but she complies wordlessly.
She transitions to humming the next few bits, which I appreciate immensely. Her unwavering cheeriness always gives me a headache, and I already hate being awake for the day.
This was the third nightmare I’ve had this week, with the same date, same time, same everything. It’s like a premonition, but I’ve chalked it up to the fact that I have a meeting that same day, and it’s been stressing me the hell out. The falling out with Cassandra hasn’t helped, either.
Things haven’t been the same in the house since her father died. Cassandra’s father loved me, and treated me like the son he never had. He lived with us in our final days, Cassie holing up in his room with him for hours on end when she wasn’t working. She would only leave once he’d burst into tears, causing me to eventually resent her once he finally passed. I never knew what she was saying to him.
It definitely wasn’t pretty when he died. The poor guy had somehow escaped his room during the night and fell down the stairs. His neck had been bent at an unnatural angle, his entire body shattered like glass.
We had a closed-casket funeral.
Cassandra didn’t go.
And something inside me just… snapped that night, after I had come home to find her with her sister, Elaine, drunk out of their minds and watching old videos they had taken during their upbringing. I had shouted at them both, calling them monsters, bitches, whores, all the worst things I could even think to call them. But they seemed to roll off Elaine, who left the house without much of a reaction at all.
We got the call later that night that Elaine had been hit by a car on the walk home, completely torn apart. Cassandra had crumpled to the floor, a complete one-eighty turn from how she’d been when her father passed. She wailed. She screamed. She sobbed. I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t let me touch her once, solidifying my hatred for her. She knew that all I could do to let her know I cared was to pull her to me, to feel her small body next to mine. But she didn’t even grant me that, choosing to suffer alone.
We had another closed-casket funeral four days later.
Cassandra didn’t go.
That was Saturday. The nightmares started on Sunday night, then on Monday and Wednesday. Almost every two days. Am I just stressing about my annual meeting tomorrow, where I’ll inevitably get promoted and finally get to impress Vanessa, my gorgeous and unmarried coworker? Maybe she’ll even let me score in the backseat of her Prius…
Yeah. It’s gotta be that. I’ve had a history of nightmares, and they all seem to be accompanied by stressful life events. I remember having one the night before I married Cassie. Hell, I had one the night before I met her. Her and Elaine.
The night before I met the Lovejoy sisters, I dreamt that I was decapitated. A woman with stringy white hair, eyes rolled back, mouth devoid of teeth sat there staring at me in her own little way. This wasn’t some weird dream; it felt… real. She didn’t say anything to me, and when I woke up, I forgot about it until I met Cassandra for the first time. When I remembered that she looked… familiar…
I still don’t know why I married her. We didn’t necessarily like each other when we met, and we were more pushed to pursue a relationship by her parents. Fuck, we still don’t like each other. Sex is a chore (though she’s incredibly attractive), and each time we do it, I watch as she goes off into her own little happy place to try and make it easier. There’s been a dead bedroom in our midst for over a year now.
I always did like her sister more. Elaine. Sweet, beautiful, fiery Elaine. Rebellious, snarky, and smart as a whip, she was the woman of my dreams. And I killed her that night by making her walk out in a drunken stupor.
Cassandra lost a sister. I lost a sister-in-law. But it feels like I lost my heart when she got ran over, too. Because it was my fault. And Cassandra just doesn’t understand the weight I carry every goddamned day from that thought.
By the time I’m dressed and ready for the day, it’s already well past eleven, and Cassandra’s gone and hidden herself under the covers, mumbling that she’s going to take a nap. But I know what that really means; she’s going to wait for me to leave the room so she can cry and feel sorry for herself.
As I seethe silently, drifting into our living room like a man possessed, my phone buzzes as a text from my brother, Ben, comes flying in. Fuck. I forgot he was coming over today. I forgot I even invited him over.
What the hell am I even doing? Trying to play house with a wife who doesn’t love me, waiting for the day I either divorce her sorry ass, or for her to finally leave? God. Pull yourself together, Lance!
There’s a strong, succinct knock on the door. Did he get here already? He lives across town…
As I open the door, it feels like my head’s suddenly been stuffed with cotton balls, as Elaine impossibly stands in front of me in what we buried her in. A white dress hugs her full figure, accentuating her curves as she effortlessly blows an overgrown bit of her bangs out of her eyes.
She doesn’t say anything to me. She only stands there, barefoot, on our porch, and the way she’s looking at me makes me feel… small. Like I’m shrinking under her gaze.
Finally she speaks to me, her voice a deathly rumble as she shakes with rage.
“You did this. You did this to me. Now you’ll pay. Pay for what you’ve stolen from me and Cassandra.”
“Lance? You good?”
My brother’s voice snaps me out of whatever waking nightmare I’d been ensnared in, because when I blink, Elaine is gone, and Ben stands on my doorstep.
“Y-yeah. Come on in, Ben. Sorry, guess I was spacing out a bit.”
“That’s not like you. You sleeping okay?” His question automatically irritates me, and I clench my fists tightly as I almost slam the door behind him. He’s quick to recognize my sharp temper, and rushes to defuse the atmosphere he’s created.
“Fuck off with that bullshit, Ben. Why are you here?”
“Well, we decided a few weeks ago to have an intervention for you. Remember? Me, Cass, and Elaine were all supposed to sit down and talk to you about your… habits—“
“And what habits are those?” I challenge, crossing my arms in front of me. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, and even just the sight of him in front of me irks me to no end. He’s not supposed to be here, not in the place where I fucked up and killed someone…
My perfect older brother, Bentley. Cassie’s always had a… thing for him, and I guess it’s rubbed me the wrong way over the past few years to see them so friendly with each other. For fuck’s sake, she’s supposed to be my goddamned wife.
“I’m thinking of leaving Cassandra.”
The sentence leaves my mouth without any warning at all, but it feels like I’ve become twenty pounds lighter from the very confession.
“Uh… okay, wow. Can I ask why?” Even from here, I can see that in his eyes, a spark of hope’s erupted. It’s definitely faint, but it’s there, and if anything, that puts me on the defensive.
“Loss of feelings, I guess. And… I feel like she blames me for the death of Elaine.”
We both know that’s bullshit. I can feel it. She doesn’t blame me for anything. She never does.
“Oh, come on. She’s just grieving, Lance.”
“She’s annoying the fuck outta me. Acting all holier-than-thou, crying whenever I fucking speak to her, I hate it. I hate all of this, I just want her to be fucking normal.”
That part is true. And we both know that, too.
“You’re not seriously going to divorce her because of her reaction, are you?” Ben’s voice is lower, quieter, as if he wants to shield her innocent ears from our conversation on the other side of the house.
I laugh then, hollow laughter that fills up my chest cavity and escapes me like a breath of stale air. I can hear her sobbing alone in our room, muffled as if she’s hiding under our blankets.
“Why should I not? She wants to act like a child, I’ll treat her like one.”
“She’s fucking grieving, Lance. Would it kill you to show some empathy? She’s not some doll!” Ben snaps, growing red in the face. This is unlike him, he almost never shows emotion about Cassandra if he can help it.
“Yikes. Strike a nerve?” I jeer, looking to hurt because I hurt. He seems to know it, too, because he doesn’t satisfy me with a response, instead biting down on the inside of his cheek.
“I’m going home. Sorry I even came by. Tell Cassie I say hi, and that I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Wh—“ I begin to ask, but he’s already gotten up and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him without another word. What does he mean that he’ll see her tomorrow? They both have work.
“Who came by, Lancie?” I hear Cassandra’s timid voice call as she comes wandering in from the direction of the bedroom. Her eyes are puffy and red, her hair a mess, and she rubs her runny nose like a child who’d just woken up from a nap.
“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it… ugh, whatever. Ben came by, said he’ll catch you tomorrow. Anything I should know about?”
Her eyes darken at the mere mention of my brother, her cheeks flushing with color as if I’d just caught her in a lie. She then looks away from me, at the floor, as if she knows what she’s going to tell me is going to set me off.
“I’m going on a cruise. Now that my father and Elaine are both gone, there’s no reason for me to linger.” Her eyes keep in steady contact with the floor as if she wants it to cave in and swallow her whole.
“Whoa, what?! When the hell are you leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?” I argue, my voice raising unintentionally as she folds into herself a little. She doesn’t seem to let the fear overtake her, and so I grab her tightly by the wrist to make sure she has to look me in the eye. “Answer me, Cassandra. When are you leaving?”
“I’m leaving in the fucking morning. And you won’t have the chance to fucking stop me.”
Her answer shocks me as if I’s just been dumped over the head with ice water. She yanks her wrist out of my wavering grasp as if I were a toddler holding onto her finger for comfort after a bad dream, flipping her hair past her shoulders as she stomps back into our room, slamming the door. I can hear the closet doors sliding open as she fishes for her suitcase, eventually locating it and flinging it out of the hoarder’s den we store it in.
“And! I’m leaving with Ben!” I can hear her scream at me as she tosses her suitcase onto the bed. It’s like she’s throwing a temper tantrum now, because I can hear her pulling the drawers to our dresser open, not even bothering to fold up clothes as she crams them in. The loud rustling she emits says enough.
“Fine! I’ll leave you for Vanessa! See if I give a fuck then, you asshole!” I shout back, the elevator within me dropping rapidly as I become almost giddy with adrenaline. Is this the final nail in the coffin?
“Oh, go fuck yourself! I fucking hate you! I—“
As she yells at me, it feels like I suddenly fall asleep standing up, because soon I’m in that nightmarish hell that seems to keep finding me.
I’m held down by an unbearable weight, sinking me into the mattress. The hand clamps, the smile emerges, the date and time are read out, but this time, it’s like I know exactly how I am decapitated.
Elaine again. She still wears the white, form-hugging dress I saw her wearing earlier, walking through the flat countryside. She holds a strand of hair, my hair, and as it absorbs into her left wrist, she lies down on the train tracks located just outside of town. The train approaches, the tracks rumbling with activity as she’s soon run over, and I can feel the devastating pain of losing my skull and vertebrae, blood spurting from the open wound. And I watch as she gurgles, her body fixing itself within seconds as she sits up like she’d just experienced a night terror, standing and walking away from whence she came. The hair falls from her wrist, coated in her blood.
She’s not… she’s not fucking dead…
By the time I’m shaken awake by the feeling of my body falling backwards, I can’t tell how much time had passed. I whimper as I stagger back, attempting to keep myself righted. That wasn’t a dream. I’m sure of it. It feels more like a premonition than anything…
All is quiet in the house, and as I shamble towards the bedroom door, I can hear Cassandra humming quietly to herself, like she isn’t mad anymore.
I turn the doorknob, blood pounding in my ears like I expect to see Cassie and Elaine both waiting for me like sharks circling their next meal. But it’s just my wife, alone, humming another ABBA tune as she silently folds clothes for her upcoming journey.
“You calmed down now?” She asks, sickly sweet and menacing. It doesn’t sound like a question.
All I can think, all I can even breathe are the words to the song she sings every Sunday.
I’m sorry, Cassandra, I didn’t believe you really had the power. I only saw it as dreams you would weave until the final hour…
My final hour.
She’s sitting across from me on the bed right now, twirling her hair and softly singing her sister’s namesake when her hands aren’t full of clothes she stacks neatly into her suitcase. She looks peaceful, a gentle smile present on her face, but the only thing I can see when I look at her is that malicious grin she’ll wear until I’ll die from Elaine’s otherworldly manipulation. I don’t have much time.
She seems to know it, too, because she looks up to lock eye contact with me as she reaches the chorus, looking relieved and more joyful than ever. I won’t be able to escape her fate. Not if she’s already spelled it out.
”You’re like a goldfish in a bowl… they have your mind, they’ll take your soul…”