I need witnesses, in case I don’t survive the night…

 

Here is a short story most think they can predict. I thought I knew the woman I fell in love with; eventually ended up marrying, but it turned out that love is actually blind… The thought of it makes me sick!

Was I really that blind? Am I still in self-delusion of what I actually witnessed that night? They say that the brain shuts down partially or blocks certain horrific details and images to prevent the full blunt of trauma which leads the mind to collapse. If this was true, then why are my arrested memories now becoming unraveled; why now do they ache to be freed? Maybe this is it. It had caught up with me now; the dam had finally filled to the brim and cannot contain the brewing liquid of shock any longer. I am possibly on the verge of a mental break down.

Look behind me. Shh! Do you see her silhouette back there? Probably pretending to be asleep? Just waiting for me to lay back and get comfortable beside her; close my eyes to which she’d turn into a dream of eternity? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean – death’s dream. Please don’t laugh. I have every right to be afraid.

I cannot sleep. Doctors call it insomnia. I think she knows the real reason, but I cannot be sure. I still haven’t confronted her with my revelation. I still haven’t confessed to another soul what I’d seen… what I caught her doing last summer…

I must tell my story now, before it’s too late. For a dead man tells no tales. Since you are here and decided to stay, I will confess it to you, but I need more witnesses; I’m not sure what else she would do if it’s only you. At least if something happens to me, many will know the truth.

Shh! She just stirred. I’m whispering now. In case there is a pause in this tale of truth, and it is the truth. Don’t go away, but stay tuned into this channel. I’m just hiding, but will update you every step of the way. I don’t want her to catch me speaking with you. So here goes…

Night Terrors!

I know what you did last summer. It was supposed to be a surprised honeymoon. Arrived from work early to pick you up from our newly purchased home; tickets in hand; a romantic getaway to Italy.

Metal slides into the brass doorknob; turning ever so gently. If you were asleep, no need to stir. The plan was to wake you with a soft breath of a kiss on the neck; a whisper, “Baby, let’s go”.

Sounds of rain in the bathroom upstairs, soft moans could be heard in the ceiling heavens as I peered up its ladder wondering who else was here.

The drummer boy is beating away on my heart, morse codes easily deciphered: “Your newly wedded wife is cheating on you John, here we go again.”

My pulse begins to quicken, I can feel the steam of lava beginning to boil within my heart, ready to explode. I wanted to race up the stairs quickly and burst down that frigging door; just to catch you in the act. But, instincts told me to go slow. So I crept like a crawling toad (if ever you saw one).

I peered around the corner, expecting a man to bolt my way, but there was no one. I got even more pissed as I heard muffled screams, hard to make out the words; occupied it seemed you were. The water was still running, that I was sure of, and somewhere in our master bathroom, two people were having a bath. If it wasn’t me, then who the hell was it! Who The Hell, Who!?

Arm outstretched to turn the glistening handle of the barrier between my lion’s roar and you, the helpless doe. The knob afforded me the breach; the access I longed for; the intrusion into whatever secret fantasy you shared with this stranger… my hand could not turn any faster. My instincts told me that I must turn the lever slow. I obeyed…

Slowly, smoothly, it turned, and like a snail indeed it sluggishly opened. Barely squeezing my head through the void to see who was violating my wife and my home. What I saw next immediately caused my body to shiver as if cold, and my knees to buckle. I could not get a grip physically or mentally of that which my eye spied. I wanted to holla; I wanted to scream; I wanted to run around like a mad man ripping my hair out, breaking every single glass window? in this god forsaken home.

God! What am I looking at on this movie screen without a title? I was mixed with anger and fear, so petrified that all my vision allowed me to see was the color red. Had I turned into this angry bull, snorting at his nose, spittle dripping from his open mouth? Maybe this is what it feels like when the mind, body, and soul had absorbed too much and was about to snap like a match stick.

… (to be continued…)

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