Estimated reading time — 13 minutes

It was the sound of sobs, soft…muffled, miserable and tinged with a sort of echoing hollowness, that woke me. It was furitive, almost guilty misery..but with the strange quality of the sound, and the location, suggested it was coming from my shower. I growned, trying to roll over in bed..not a wise thing, considering how little room there was there, but I had been drawn up from sleep, and wakefulness hadn’t arrived for me yet. However, the nagging, insistant sound was what refused to let me sleep. The sorrowful, almost shameful sound of tears and shuddering breath.

“Its my wife.” I told myself, half awake, neck stiff, throat tight. “Dunno…what …”

I groaned. I forced myself up…almost falling out of the bed, planting both feet after a false start, and rose…pulling himself up, by the small dresser beside the bed…and lurched towards the bathroom. The small hallway, after the small bedroom, seemed confining. Early in the morning, my sense of proportion ,size, and distance, must of been off. It felt yawning. Lengthy, when I knew my sad little home wasn’t more than a generous couple of strides, to clear. The Bathroom door was open. No light, escaping from it…I guess I should of invested in a nightlight or something, but for some reason it seemed stupid, since I kind of liv-

A fresh ,choked sound, stopped my thoughts. I peered in, feeling almost as if I were tresspassing, on this private moment. The shadows inside seemed to huddle around themselves, lending the unremarkable offerings of the tiled floor room…little more than a glorified closet, really..a sort of cavernous feel. I saw her, then. In the shower, the curtain almost drawn.

Bare. Small. Miserable. Long, lank hair hanging over her, with her body curled up on itself, seated, but fetal. Knees squeezed against her chest, as if this were the last line of defense against the world outside. “Hey.” I ventured. Almost turning on the light, but.. I could see dimly, despite the lack of light. I think our modern day lives, are only deceptively dark…every damn thing sheds some minute amount of light. My razor charging next to the sink, lent the barest suggestion of a green hue glow, from the indicator built into it. I could see enough to see eyes, peek up, through hair and from behind the fortification she’d made of herself.

“Everything….allright?” I asked.

I wasn’t sure why, i felt…out of place. As if I were tresspassing, on her. It was my house, after all. She… “no.” she sighed. Almost whimpered. A choked off cry audible, the click of a throat,dried from tears, heard. ” I’m…I know its nothing. I didn’t want to…to bother you”

I slid down, inside the bathroom, letting gravity and the wall guide my descent…until we were both more or less level. Inside, and outside, the tub. Me, facing her.” Listen. ” I said. “I know , you haven’t been..comfortable, talking about it. “

I grunted..my damn neck was still sore. Barely able to move it. Felt constricted, too, and i tried to keep that rasp from my voice as I tried to console this woman, my wife.

“…I could , you know…”

I began “I could tell someone, let them hear it from me. They can assume I’m the one telling it, and so you wouldn’t have to..you know. Feel…I dunno. Judged?” She gave a bitter little laugh at that, which might of be reassuring, but I almost thought she’d forced it, past another sob.

“So, then everyone will think we’re -both- crazy?” She asked.

She looked directly at me. Eye to eye. That was an improvement, at least. Seeing her downcast eyes had been eating into me… I knew how she’d felt. We’d been going through..whatever this was, for over a week, now. If you’d asked me exactly when, I couldn’t of told you, before. But seeing her, the reality of her, seemed to somehow bring everything else into focus. It was definitely a week ago. I’d woken up, alone, in my bed. Felt something sort of…out there. Almost like you’d feel, if you were blind, being close to a fire, but not heat. I guess…gravity? A sense of proximity? I don’t know.

A prescence.

I think that first night, when I’d talked to her after, my wife said it was probably a night…terror? Paralysis?…to be honest, even now, I can’t really remember what she’d said. I do remember she’d not taken it too seriously, at first. Because as the nights continued, she’d wake me up.

She felt something, heard something, she said. Had me get out of bed, investigate. Said she’d felt something , like someone was staring. Looming, over us. While we slept. I took it seriously…there were nights when I’d wake, feeling as if someone had slid a fingertip across my throat, or down my chest..a coy, intimate touch. But thick, and unpleasant, like a dead snake might feel. I’d thought it was my wife, one night..but she’d taken to the living room. The small couch, facing a small TV. The living room felt more secure, I guess. Or maybe I’d been moving in my sleep. I know there’s not alot of room, on the bed after all.

If it had just been noises, and weird “senses” of things, I don’t think either of us would of been so spooked.

But…there was something going on. With both of us. In the morning, I’d look…older. Thinner. Haunted. I didn’t tell my wife, but when I’d woken up in the middle of the night, once…stumbled into this very bathroom. The urge to piss had been strong enough to make me brave, but even with the light off, the stream of piss had looked too dark. I hadn’t dared turned the light on, to confirm if it’d been red. Sometimes I’ve coughed, too. Speckles, of crimson. I’ve been too cold, too tired, to go to work. I’ve had my wife, call me in sick. She’s managed her own affairs quietly.

Probably while I was sleeping. She’s like that…thats why its not surprising, to find her in here.

In the dark. Hiding, while she cried.

“Maybe…” I’d ventured.

I wasn’t sure how she’d react to this. “Maybe I should just see a doctor? It could just be…I dunno..fungal? Viral? something.” She laughed…genuinely bitter, laughter.

“Really? You don’t believe that. I don’t believe that.”

Its true. We didn’t. The first couple days had been strange…a little spooky. But it was when the nights seemed longer, that it really started. I’d slip half-awake, into the early morning…and for a second, maybe more, see something. Large. Dark. Almost amorphous, clinging to me. Grasping me with a mock loving eagerness. I tried to scream the first time, even though I couldn’t see anything really. Just more dark, in a dark space. Suggestions, of shadows.

She’d shaken me, and it…the shape, had just kind of slipped away. But it didn’t stay away. Sometimes, when I’m trying to sleep, feeling like rest might help me…I dunno, recover? Center myself? Stablize…it seemed to almost emerge.

As if it’d been patiently standing by..marking my current state of drowse, and preparing to take up its strange sentinel atop me. On me. Choking, squeezing…feeding, off me. Neither me, nor my wife, would admit it. But I think we both knew thats what was happening. Something, for some reason, was visiting us. In our miserable little place, where no one gave a shit, and chosen to begin with me.

Delicate, savoring touches…then caressess..then grip. Then teeth. I’ve never felt it bite me. Or tear into me. No wounds, that I’ve noticed. It seems to…drain me. Somehow. And so I find her, in here. Helpless, frustrated. Unable to stay with me, I guess. Just, crying at the unfairness of it. I want to comfort her. To reach over..join her, or pull her out to join me. But there’s something …dangerous, in that. I’m not sure. Everything is instinct, lately.

As I’m being dragged down in dreams, sucked off of like a helpless, broken thing, parasites feasting on me. And she can’t do anything. I’m glad she’s here. I love her for being here, though I can’t say really why seeing her suffer, might be a comfort. Miserable. I feel ashamed of myself. I feel weak.

She’s about to say something, but then we both startle, jump. A sound, pounding at the door. Harsh. Demanding. Insistent.

I look at her. She looks at me.

“…..no.” she moans. An actual sound, almost a keening, out of her…shrinking back. Eyeing the door, as if she could see it through the walls, and see through the other side of it. See what was coming. “No, no….” more tears. I force myself up. Its a burden. I feel so heavy these days. My neck…

There’s someone’s voice. Tense. Loud. But the words don’t make it through. Either because of the thickness of the door, or the fog, in my head. I don’t know. I’m trying, I really am, to pull myself together..

I worry, dimly, about whoevers on the other side of the door breaking in, if I didn’t catch it in time. My wife just stares at me. She doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t say a word. It all communicates a desperate command; Don’t.

She’s paniced, in terror, I can see that. But I ‘ve got to. I’m out of the bathroom. Struggling. Breathing is hard, as if I’m managing through wet cloth, stuffed in my throat. I try to call over, let them know I’m on the way, to stop trying to break the damn door down. The pounding is harder. I’m almost there…

I can’t see my wife.

She’s out of sight now. I can’t hear her. She’s… the door splintered. Again. Someone was kicking it in. Maybe a few someones. I stumbled back, needing to grip the wall. I tried to wheeze out something. I don’t remember what. I was shocked, when the light blazed through, as the locknearly gave way.

Jesus, the hallway..it was radiating light. Like it was on fire. Like the sun, was outside, trying to burn it’s way through. Shafts of it stabbed through, into the dark of my apartment, and I recoiled.

The door at last gave in…multiple men. A woman, or two. All dressed similar, all wearing expressions of grim purpose. Unifor-

“Christ sake, the smell!” one of the officers breathed, gun drawn. Aimed into what was the dark of the apartment. Not towards me. Not yet. The light was so bright…it hurt my eyes to look at it. I’d sunk back down, to the ground. My body too heavy for my legs, the ground too inviting.

Gravity with it’s comforting embrace. The dark…

“Mr Warren?” The officer called. Yelled, really. Damn, did they have to be so loud? “MR Warren, are you in here? This is the Police. We’re- “

They stopped. “Jesus …” the cop breathed out. I almost laughed. They certainly loved their savior, my wife might of said. I think. Did she say stuff like that?

The officers had their little by-the-book breaking and entering..guns ready. Aiming around corners. I ‘d have laughed, but I felt …so tired. My wife didn’t make a sound,from the other room. The light…did strange things to the room. I didn’t like to look at it, even from the dark.

But when I did, I could see things. Imprints. Rust, brown, crimson. Marks, like hands. Forearm. Maybe even a cheek. Like the walls were some discount shroud of Tourin, or whatever…stamped imprints of a person. Almost –

“We need some units here. We’ve got another one. ” The lady officer was on her walkie…was that what they were called? I’d have to ask my wife. I think i could see my landlord, with a police officer beside them. Speaking frantically, saying something about almost a month, of silence.

No response.

Couldn’t get through.

My wife had told me he’d been that sort. Told me he was just looking for a reason to kick us out. Miserable old fuck. I sighed…more like a rasped wheeze…son of a bitch was probably going to make me pay for the door, I tried to joke to myself. But the humor lacked any sort of warmth. The flashlight beam burned. It was sudden, when I felt it envelope me, like a searing flame. I was just…to tired, to bring my arms up. My eyes winced shut.

“Holy shit, I GOT ‘EM” the cop called over to his partners. Hands, grabbed me. Something, pulled me. Dragged me up and off the ground. I couldn’t resist them although they were pulling me from the comforting dark and into a world of hot, relentless light, sound, and …they were right, the smell. It was horrible.

Puke, and copper, bile and shit…I choked. Felt my gorge rise, but even that was too weak. “Easy buddy…easy” the cop said….pulling me over. Why were they doing that? The other officers were heading into my apartment. Guns drawn.

“No…” i tried. I didn’t want them to… Gunshots. Angry, snarling, hateful thunderclaps in the dark. Three of them, I remember. I almost managed to cry out, thinking they’d seen my wife. They shot my wife. They shot her. They…

“Repeat, shots fired, shots- ” one of the officers near me was on the radio.

“There was -something- in there!” the one officer was shouting at the other. The sounds of the shots kept my ears ringing. But the two cops who’d come in, guns drawn, were arguing.

“Holy shit buddy, someone worked you over…” the officer, who’d begun seeing to me…I dunno, “attending” me?..first aid, I think…they were talking to me. I tried to speak up. Call for my wife.

“Easy man…relax. ” the cop assured me, with than frantic sort of optimism you get, in situations where they’re trying to convince themselves more than you.

“Hey, Santos!” the officer from the bathroom called. “You’re gunna wanna see this. This is some fucked up voodoo kind of shit” The officer who had hung back..not the one mothering me…approached, weapon down but ready. “What is it?”

“The Bathroom. In the tub.”

I felt myself chill over. My heart stopped. “What about it?” Santos asked. “it’s got blood, all in it. Claw marks. Fingers, whatever, scratches. Like the other ones” The tub? Blood? Had they shot my wife? They had. They’d shot her, while she was helpless. I felt rage and misery and pain and a strange, unhealthy lurching sort of pull, as all of this hit me, too much. Too much.

“You think this guy did it ?” the cop asked the other one, nodding towards me. “Maybe some kinda manic nut, bleeding out , while breaking his fingers or something ? Like ,self-harm,that kinna shit?”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot” was the reply. “Look at him. The guys been worked over , like the others.”

“You’re the one who shot at shadows.” was the reply.

“My…” I’d managed. Before I was silenced.

“Sweep the place.” Santos…apparently, the one in charge, ordered. “Make sure there’s no other victims. Or the perp.”

And so they did. What could I do? I couldn’t even stay awake, during all of it, at that point. It’s all an uncertain, fuzzy blurr. Mainly dark. And Red. Sirens. The cold. Closed, tight space. A dizzy sort of sensation. I felt…gradually, relaxed. Slipped into a dream. I think. I could feel my wife, sleeping beside me, but I couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t seem to move. It was a bit later, when I really first became aware, of being aware. It was dim…but not dark.

I could see myself, tucked in. White sheets. Not my place. I had a comforter there, but not much else. This bed was a little bigger than mine. Hospital bed, I think. Bars, on the sides. I had a sting in my hand…I could move my eyes, more than my neck. Saw the IV. Sighed. Tried to go back to sleep. Did. Woke up again.

Someone in the room. Didn’t care. Went back to sleep. When I heard someone calling me, I fought it…but the voice was careful. femminine. I think i only woke up, hoping it would be my wife. Someone who knew. Some one who could make sense, of all of this. I let my eyes open..the light didn’t hurt as much. I spoke, but it felt like my tongue had been left in sand, dried out and cracked.

“Whu…?” was the best I could manage then.

“….good. You’re awake. Mr Warren.” the voice said. I could see a dim sort of outline,with all that light. Blurry. But I let my eyes close.

Muttered something, I think it came out as “gway.” Conversation.

“Alot of help he’s going to be. Look at him.” one voice said.

“He’s alive though.” the woman. The one I thought had sounded like my wife. “That’s something.”

“Bullshit he is. He weighs maybe ninety pounds, weird gashes all over ’em…”

“Talons.”

“…what?”

“It looks like fingers, but they dug into him. We’re thinking some kind of fetish claw, or makeshift weapon used. But most of these have healed, its been …” she was interupted.

“Look, we get it. Guy misses work. Guy decides to drop out of life. Probably a druggie or a drunk. But his rent’s paid. He’s alone, in that shitty apartment. No one checks on him. But you’re telling me he didn’t make a sound, or raise an eyebrow, with all this ?”

I just wanted to sleep. But they kept talking.

“Alot like the others.” a third voice interjected.

“Fine. Something these losers have in common. Maybe it’s a facebook group for freaks or a tik-tok thing, I dunno.”

I wish they’d go away. Leave me alone. Where’s my wife….

“I think someone’s targetting these guys.” the woman stated, matter of factly. Why did they have to have there stupid conversation in here?

“The way the wounds are, it almost looks like he was being stroked, or caressed…” someone said. I was losing track of the voices. They were just an unimportant blurr.

“Nothing wrong with getting your kicks with some kinky shit. But the landlord noticed the smell, and saw stains. Hadn’t seen the guy in nearly a month. paniced. “

“No relatives?”

“Nah. I think he might have friends, somewhere…most guys like someone to bitch with, at a bar…but our guy here’s a bit of a lone-wolf. Boss says he shows up, does his job, doesn’t cause trouble.”

“Any body in the picture? Girlfriend, boyfriend, anything?”

I just wanted to sleep…”Nah. Kind of the type to jerk off quietly somewhere else..”

“Detective..” a stern voice, but the detective wasn’t concerned with being heard, he just wanted to talk. “So maybe some freak picked up on his incel energy, or something, Making a ritual game or whatever, out of the tryst”

The detective managed to make the dripping sarcasm burn like acid with each drop. I couldn’t even keep track about what they were talking about.

“Is that why your boy unloaded three rounds, in the bathtub?” the female voice asked, dryly. “Considering what this weirdo’s up to, I wouldn’t mind sleeping easier at night, knowing they were on a slab, instead of on the loose…” the detective muttered.

I’d had enough. I almost forced myself into oblivion. I didn’t want to listen.I just wanted to sleep.

And see my wife. ……she came for me, later that night. She curled up, on that bed wrapped around me. She’d been crying..I could hear it in the husky tone of her voice. Those sobs, of hers. Almost like choked laughter.

“Are you…?” I’d managed, upon waking. Upon feeling, her. I couldn’t understand it. She was here, with me. I felt like here was someplace…a hospital, most likely..and she..

“Shhh…it’s ok.” she soothed me. I liked that. She was cool, and comforting…it was dark, again.

“…I don’t have to pretend.” she said. Almost apologetic, in the tone of her voice. Fingers, grazing over her. I wasn’t sure how I felt them through the sheets. Over my skin. Bare. “…it was a pretty time.” she cooed, in my ear.

“I like to feel it all. Sympathy. Need. Shame. Adoration…its …you need it. To keep coherent.” She spoke, but I only heard the tones. It was a relief, to hear her. Another of her hands, over my leg…. I think her tongue, wet…small…agile, muscle, rolled up my cheek…I could feel the rush of blood, the pounding of my heart.

It was..a bit much. I almost spoke..almost made a sound.

Another of her hands, over my chest…one under my leg,now…all of them. She had …so many. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them. Running over me. Knowing the contours, the sinew. The muscle. The old wounds, where those fingers had broken skin, slipped in, stretched, torn, worn me..

“I think I liked you best .” She murmured. My heart was beating…too hard. Pounding. It felt like machinery with a belt slipped. Erratic. Her fingers flexed under my flesh. Nails bit. I moaned….my body shook. Convulsed. “I’ll miss you.” she told me. And kissed me.

And my heart stopped.

Mr Warren was found. In the morning. Anemic. Cold. Rictus grin, etched on too-lean features. The police found no immediate cause of death. His funeral was a humble affair at best. The city had to provide alot of the leg work for burial and other accomodations. Mr Warren had no known relatives. Lived alone. These things generally happened. It was easier, in some ways. No grieving spouse to be put upon, to have to take up the burden of responsibility at least.

Almost a pity.

Credit: Surrealish Peter Eye