Dear diary, I fear I am descending into madness, into an abyss where reality and terror intertwine. I am plagued by the unshakeable feeling that my beloved wife, my companion, my confidante, has been swapped out, replaced by something… different. Something sinister, something not of this world or any I can comprehend.
Her behavior, her mannerisms, everything that made her the woman I fell in love with has changed drastically. She now prefers the cold embrace of darkness to the warmth of daylight, always seeking out the dimmest, most secluded corners of our home as if they provide some unknown comfort.
Her eyes, once filled with the depth of human emotion, now reflect the vacant, unfeeling stare of a larva. It’s as though the woman I knew has retreated, replaced by this alien entity that inhabits her form.
She’s forsaken her love for fine cuisine, for the meals we once shared with laughter and conversation. Instead, she’s developed a strange, inexplicable fondness for our woollen clothing. I’ve caught her gnawing at them, her once delicate lips forming a grotesque caricature of a feeding insect, a sight that sends chills down my spine.
Her touch, once soft and comforting, has become unsettlingly coarse. It’s as though her skin is gradually hardening, transforming into a casing of sorts, a shell to protect the creature she’s becoming. Her voice, too, has transformed. It’s lost its melodic cadence, its familiarity, replaced by an unnerving, monotonous drone that echoes through our once peaceful home.
She now spends her time in a state of near hibernation, only stirring when darkness descends, when the world outside is as black as her new existence. There’s a growing alienation between us, an expanding void, as if she’s turning into something that cannot comprehend human sentiment, that doesn’t remember the love we once shared.
My doctors, the ones I turned to in desperation, claim it’s all in my head, that stress and overwork are the culprits. But what do they know of the horrors that lurk within the shadows of our house, that hide in the woman I once knew?
I’ve taken to sleeping in a separate room, my sanctuary from the terror, unable to bear her strange, nocturnal rustlings. My dreams, once a refuge, are now haunted by images of her grotesque metamorphosis, her human form dissolving into a writhing, wriggling mass that seems far removed from the woman I love.
Each passing day only serves to confirm my worst fears, but I find myself paralyzed, unable to act or confront her. I’m a spectator in this horror, a helpless witness to her transformation.
—-
Diary, I stand on the precipice of insanity. The world I knew has crumbled, replaced by this nightmare. Her transformation is now nearly complete, the final horrifying stages playing out before my helpless eyes.
Her body has ballooned, grotesquely distended, almost unrecognizable as the woman I once held in my arms. The bedroom, our shared sanctuary of dreams and love, is now her grotesque cocoon, a prison of her own making.
The air in the room is thick, fetid, a potent mix of decay and rebirth that turns my stomach. The walls are covered with a sticky, silken substance that seems to pulse in time with her labored breathing, a horrifying testament to the creature she’s becoming.
Her guttural hum fills the house as she calls for me, “BR-R-R-R-R-R-RIAaaan!!”. It is a chilling soundtrack to my waking nightmare. Each note sends shivers down my spine, a terrifying reminder of the horror unfolding before me.
I’ve locked the bedroom door, but the barrier feels pitifully inadequate. I fear what might emerge from that vile cocoon.
My once cherished memories of her are being overwritten by this horrific reality. This thing, this moth in the guise of my wife, an insidious imposter.
As I pen this, I can hear the cocoon stirring. I fear the next phase is upon us. I am a man on the brink, teetering between the will to fight and the urge to succumb to the inevitable.
Good-bye dearest diary, I hope someone finds you and you can tell the world of what has transpired in our home.