It was clear for weeks that she was going to die. We had only reached our mid 60’s but her health complications had piled up. And just like that, the meaning from my last 40 years of life was gone. All the growth, all the love – everything. Gone. I was completely defeated.
I couldn’t bury her, it was too painful. I had her cremated instead, so that she could stay with me in my home, even if just as a pile of ashes in an urn. My days became a grey blur of going to work, coming home, staring at the urn for hours, and then repeating the same process the next day. I’d never had anyone else but her. She was everything to me. I understand that many of you have heard this kind of story of grief relayed over and over, but you never truly understand how real it is until it hits you.
Our house is situated in a suburban area that’s leaning on rural. Our – my – bedroom is on the second floor and has two windows that look out onto a pretty little forest which begins just slightly beyond the house, so that its closest trees’ branches nearly touch the windows. I always liked sitting in front of the windows and watching the outside. It’s serene and would let me think clearer.
But after her death I didn’t even throw a glance out of the window for two weeks. And I think this in part helped my mental state deteriorate even further. Every day I felt I was plunging further and further into a deep abyss. Depression began to turn further and further into insanity and blind aggression. My co-workers could barely manage to deal with me. I would take breaks to go into the bathroom and just silently scream inside my head while banging my head against the stall. The food at home went rotten but I had so little strength to go out that I ate it anyways, sometimes uncooked. I began to skip work, doing nothing but lying on the floor or screaming and hitting myself or staring at the urn.
One day I hit my limit. I broke. I crawled up to the urn, weeping, begging for my wife to come back. My tears fell on the ashes inside, leaving dark spots. I begged her to kiss me one more time, to love me, to hug me. I stroked the ashes with my finger as if they were her cheek. Then in some fit of unconscious rage, desperation, and perhaps even arousal, I picked up the urn and turned it straight upside down, emptying its contents into my mouth. I begged her to love me in a squealing, broken voice as I swallowed her. Then the disgust from what I’d just done hit me and I vomited on the floor, still sobbing. I yelled at myself to get a hold of myself and ran upstairs to my bedroom, hoping that I could calm down by looking out the window.
When I got to the window I fell silent out of confusion. And then I screamed.
A man was holding onto the branch in front of my window with his arms and legs, hanging upside down like a monkey. He was middle-aged, completely naked, bald, and had a very hairy body. His eyes were unnaturally wide and were staring straight at me. He was thrusting his lips out in an O shape, but when I screamed they slowly turned into a huge, toothy grin. Then he started to slowly climb down the branch towards my window. I didn’t wait to see what would happen. I made sure the window was shut and then pulled the curtain over it. A few seconds after doing so, I heard a loud knocking on the window.
This was the first time I saw the person that I began to call the monkey man.
The knocking went on for a few more minutes before abruptly stopping. This day was too much for me. My brain shut down and I passed out on top of my bed.
I woke up around midnight. It was cold. I looked up and saw that the other window in my room was open. I passed out again.
I then woke up around 4 in the morning and got up. The window was still open. I was scared, but I went downstairs to make sure everything was in order.
I wish I hadn’t.
I found the monkey man crouched down on the floor. He was licking up my vomit. When he realised I was there his head snapped unimaginably quickly into my direction, his eyes immediately making contact with mine. His mouth formed that same awful grin, and then started producing awful squealing noises, somewhat reminiscent of the cries of real monkeys but way, way too human. In fact, looking back it was how human he was that was so frightening, not the opposite.
As I looked at him I could feel my throat lump up. My mouth was dry and I suddenly became aware of the strong mixed aftertaste inside it of human ashes, vomit, and a night without brushing my teeth.
The monkey man scooped up some of my vomit off the floor with his hand and extended it in my direction while crawling closer, all with the same awful grin on his face. I screamed and ran for the front door. He didn’t follow me but rather started mimicking my scream over and over. The screams became louder and as I ran outside they started lowering in pitch and getting hoarser, a sound not unlike that of a howler monkey. I vomited from fear, but not much came out other than stomach acids, worsening the unbearable taste in my mouth even more.
My phone was still in the house. I had no way of calling the police. Instead I started sprinting to the house nearest to mine, which was across a small field. But I hadn’t eaten in a whole day and was in no shape for sprinting. My vision went fuzzy and I passed out again.
I woke up inside my house. I felt very weak but managed to check every room, and realised the monkey man wasn’t inside. So I went to my bedroom, shut both windows, locked my door, and fell on my bed weeping.
The next couple days were rough. I didn’t see the monkey man but every now and then I would hear his howls coming from the trees. I didn’t go outside, and relied on the mostly expired food in my pantry to stop myself from starving. It took a toll on my stomach and I spent a lot of time in the bathroom. I didn’t understand why I was still here or what I was doing. There was no point to all this. I daydreamed of suicide.
I finally decided to end it. I was trying to figure out how to tie a noose in my bedroom, when suddenly a loud knocking against the window made me jump. I knew it was the monkey man, but I was so resigned at this point that I just went to the window and opened it to see what he wanted. He was on all fours on top of the branch. When I opened the window his eyes lit up and he grinned and crawled up to me.
“What do you want?” I whimpered.
His grin got wider but his eyes had something that looked almost like empathy in them. He put his face up to mine and started licking my cheek.
It may sound strange but, to be honest, it was almost comforting. I closed my eyes and just stood there, waiting for him to finish. I could taste my wife in my mouth.
“I find you interesting,” he finally said. His voice was completely human. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
“Is she really gone forever?” I asked.
His grin had turned into a small smile, his lips together.
“Yes.”
I lowered my head and nodded dejectedly.
“What’s the point of all this?”
He shrugged. I closed my eyes as tears formed. I felt his tongue against my eyes, licking the tears off. Then he stopped. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I never saw him again.