First time I remember it happening was in 2022, mid-December in our apartment. My wife was seven months pregnant at the time with our daughter and had begun to struggle sleeping. On certain nights where she couldn’t get comfortable I would sleep on the futon so she could have enough space to roll to either side or flail her arms.
Well, I had just finished making the futon and was shutting off the TV when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was gone so quickly that I wasn’t even certain I had really see anything, but it was almost seemed like a solid shadow in the middle of the kitchen. I just blinked and didn’t think much of it at the time, but the next morning I woke up with a small amount of dried blood around the corners of the fingernails on my right hand. Very little of it, dried and flaking. So little that it almost seemed like I’d tried to wash it away in the evening. I didn’t remember getting up from sleep before morning, and I didn’t have any cuts or scratches on myself. Concerning, sure, but it was so minimal that I assumed at the time I just hadn’t cleaned well enough after making dinner the night before. I’d made grilled chicken and a roasted vegetable mix that included beets, and they stain everything they touch a purple-red. So I blamed the beets and went on with my life.
Nothing unusual happened again for another two months. But only a couple weeks before our daughter was born it happened again. I saw something like a shadow moving on its own in my periphery while out for a smoke. Like before, I assumed my eyes to be playing tricks on me. However, when I woke up the next morning with dried blood under my fingernails? Yeah, then I was genuinely worried something was wrong with me.
I’ve never had the best memory. Plenty of things that would be important to your average joe slip right through my consciousness. I’d never had blackouts or memory loss as far as I was aware though. I decided to call my mother and ask her if I’d ever had sleepwalking episodes when I was a kid, just to put my mind at ease. She told me I’d never had anything of the sort. I don’t know what spurred it on in the moment, but I decided to just tell her honestly about why I was concerned. The too-long silence on the other end of the line gave me more answers than her feigned response of “Oh honey, you’ve got a lot on your shoulders right now, I’m sure you’re just overthinking things.”
The morning after I had called my mom I got up and walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’d woken up with a nasty taste in my mouth, but that can happen when you’re a heavy smoker. Once again it didn’t seem unusual to me. When I went to rinse my mouth out, I spat crimson. I gasped in shock and opened my mouth. My teeth were stained red as marrow.
I called my mother again in a panic, not daring to tell my wife. I didn’t want her to think I was losing it while we had a baby on the way. She had enough to handle herself without needing to worry that her husband was possibly possessed. But when my mother picked up the phone, I very quickly realized something was horribly wrong.
“Ma, I woke up with blood in my mouth, and I don’t think it’s mine. What weren’t you telling me yesterday? Don’t act like you didn’t try to brush it off when I asked. I’m certain some weird shit is up. Just tell me what’s going on with me if you know, please.”
She sighed, and the sound of that alone nearly sent me into a panic attack. She sounded almost… elated. And her voice carried with it a venomous tone I’d never heard. It was like a serpent hidden under her skin hissing through human lips.
“Sweetie, if you were hungry it’s only natural to find something to eat.”
I hung up the phone and turned to vomit into my kitchen sink. Chunks of partially digested meat and skin mixed with bile clogged the drain. Attached to one larger chunk was a gold hoop. It was a septum piercing.
I haven’t talked to my mother since. My wife asked for months why I wouldn’t let Mom visit our daughter, but she knows enough now to understand it’s for the best.
I think the shadows I was seeing were almost like a preemptive phantasm. A ghostlike imprint on reality before I slaughtered someone. If my current count is correct, I’m up to sixteen now. It happens every few weeks, no longer than six weeks so far between… incidents. I even tried cuffing myself to the bed by one hand every night for three weeks, until I woke up one morning with a dislocated thumb and the usual bloodstains.
Today though, I woke up drenched in gore. There was a note from my wife stuck to the closet door that simply read “It’s too much now. I love you but don’t look for us. I don’t know what you’ll do anymore.”
The partially devoured body of a guy who looked to be in his early 20’s was propped up at the kitchen table, his severed left arm still on a cutting board. I’d ripped several bites out of his cheek, took both ears off, and had eaten his right eye. His phantom was standing behind the body, boring a hole through me with empty eye sockets.
I’m sitting at a quiet, isolated, and deep lake near my town right now as I finish writing this. There’s two cinderblocks and rope next to me. My wife was right, it’s too much now. I don’t even want to consider how many people my mother has had for dinner. I’m going to take a nice final swim.
Take my advice, if you wake up with blood under your nails or in your mouth, don’t ask why and try to live on in ignorance. Your nocturnal excisions are between you, the devil, and that body you’re currently digesting.
I hope my wife feeds my daughter well enough before she puts her to bed every night.