What's Wrong with my Wife?

It’s midnight in Mexico and I can’t be sure, but I think my wife just tried to kill me. We’ve been married only three days and I haven’t figured out her quirks yet. Still, I am very much afraid of my wife. Her name is Abigail. It was very recently that I realized her name is terrifying and I hate it.

We met in school while I was studying painting and she was finishing medical school. Abigail specialized in neurology and my work consisted of paintings of old people eating various pastas. She pioneered a new procedure for removing brain tumors and made a lot of money, so my paintings hang around the house, and now I consider myself a househusband. My wife thinks I’m pretty good. She often tells me that she’s “never seen anything like it.” 

But, her compliments are kind of hollow when I think of her eyes, turned red and hovering above my head when I wake up. 

I’m standing on the balcony, staring into the bed to watch her sleep. Her breathing is regular, steady with an occasional hitch through a snore. The wind from the ocean is cold so she pulls the covers up a little bit and rolls over, her back to the window. I see her hand on her arm and keep seeing talons where her fingernails are, the ones she tried to kill me with.

I nod off a little on the balcony, my chin settling into my chest. I’m dreaming now, but it’s  different because it’s a nap at night. It’s also a nightmare, which is also different. There is fog moving listlessly across a marsh, sounds of cicadas almost masking the noise of violently splashing water from somewhere in the distance. The moon lights up the fog directly in front of me and I’m able to wade my way towards the splashing.

Then, I see my wife. Kind of my wife, not really. Her head is shaved and she has claws again. She holds the carcass of a mutilated fish and has blood from her chin down into her shirt. I watch her rip the head off with her teeth and swallow it whole before throwing the rest on the swamp floor with a wet thud. It’s kind of funny; my wife hates fish. 

It takes her a minute to notice me, but when she does, she growls and runs at me like an animal. Whenever we used to jog in the mornings, she would whine and get chest pains and have to stop. Now, I see her top half moving directly at me with a full head of steam, but the fog blocks her legs. Even if it weren’t, I’m not sure her legs are moving at all.

Then, a woman in a black cloak appears. She is pretty, like someone in a Bible Video from church with olive skin and dark eyebrows. I spend too much time looking at her and forget that my monstrous wife is trying to eat me. I see the mystery woman’s hands appear from long sleeves and make a fist. This makes my wife, or whatever monster this is, freeze and tighten. The woman in black begins to speak in tongues and the image of my wife dissolves into fog and begins to swirl at my feet.

“Are you alright, child?” I hear the woman say.

I’m making out the angles on her face, the soft brown eyes that almost match the color of her lips and I wake up. Abigail’s face is inches from mine, her canines protruding from the sides of her mouth as she smiles.

“I asked if you were alright,” she says.

“I am now,” I say.

Her eyes open a little too wide, wider than I remember. I can see where they bend back into her head. She breathes heavily into my face and I cough.

“It’s cold. I got up to shut the window. Come to bed,” she says, but she doesn’t go to bed. She stands directly in front of me, motionless. 

The ocean crashes beneath us and I can’t help but think she’s about to push me over the edge of the balcony, despite her request for me to go to bed. Is she threatening to kill me now without even speaking? I can feel the shove in my chest, the way my body would crunch against the sand. But, sand is soft. I start thinking I could survive a fall into sand because it’s probably a gentle landing when Abigail grabs my arm.

The grip she has is tight, painful. Her nails, talons or whatever the hell, are digging into my arm so I yank it away and walk quickly by her to the bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say and cover myself up.

Abigail slides the door shut and, with her eyes fixed on mine, moves back into bed next to me. She rubs my arms and hugs me into the little spoon. Funny enough, I like being little spoon. But, not right now. No one likes to be spooned on their deathbed.

I didn’t sleep at all last night. Abigail’s hand moved all over my back as she slept and I kept imagining her tearing the skin off my back. Now, though, I’m just about to take a shower. It might help to clear my head a little. But, shower thoughts are the most potent ones. Maybe I’ll just be more scared in the shower. Dammit, now I’m scared to get in.

After careful consideration, I decide I’ll shower courageously. When I get in, I leave the curtain cracked open a bit, just in case, but I left the door open so I don’t seem suspicious. I’m walking a fine line here.

Footsteps are all I hear with my shampoo in and I freeze, foam still coating my hands. I can’t protect myself with shampoo hands, though, so I rinse them off in the water while my ears are trained outside. Gentle footsteps across tile that match my pulse. Until my pulse speeds as I see the shape of my wife through the curtain.

“How’d you sleep, babe?” she asks.

“Fine.” My voice cracks. Does she know I’m scared?

“That’s good,” she says 

I see her remove her top. Then, she slithers out of her bottoms and I see her moving around to check out her naked form in the mirror. I’m tracing the outline of her with my eyes, thinking how hot she is and how it almost makes up for the claws on her hand.

Oh, damn I was right. I need to get this shampoo out now.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not very suspiciously.

“Straightening my hair. I wanna go to the casino today,” she says.

Her claws are definitely not a straightener. I see her dance in the mirror, sway her hips and raise her claws. She slashes at air, then rubs them gently across her chest above her breasts. Little erotic for some, but not me.

I turn off the shower and quickly throw open the curtain. Abigail is smiling like nothing happened. Her hands are regular again, too. No more claws. Did I see it wrong?

Abigail pulls me into a kiss and I put my hands in hers to make sure she doesn’t kill me while we are kissing. It’s a good kiss, her lips are just cold. Almost frozen, even.

“We can eat breakfast and then go down, alright? I’ll carry the money in my fanny pack and we can just stick together the whole time,” she says.

“Okay,” I say.

“Is something wrong? You’re shaking.”

“No, you’re shaking,” I say and pull away. Good save.

“Ready in fifteen?”

“Yep. Just gonna shave first,” I say.

“You don’t need to shave. You barely get peach fuzz, my little baby,” Abigail says and she attacks me with kisses. I feel her canines more than her lips and I’m still shaking. I can’t help but think it would hurt an awful lot to be killed by my wife’s teeth.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” she says.

“You didn’t straighten your hair,” I say.

“Changed my mind.” A wry smile, like she knows I know. But, do I know?

It’s hard not to stare at her leaving, though, long naked legs up into her tight backside. If she wasn’t so beautiful, she would’ve scared me away already.

The casino is crowded with people and that comforts me. The smoke that soaked into the carpets smells the strongest, above the alcohol at the bar and the chlorine from the pool outside. The bar is empty since it’s so early, but I’m on my honeymoon. Hell yeah, I’m getting day-drunk.

“I’m gonna get drinks. I’ll meet you at the slots,” I say and I kiss Abigail on the cheek before I remember that I think she’s a demon.

She just says, “Okay. Love you.”

I nod instead of returning the sentiment. Her hand grips mine for a long time. It starts to hurt, like a deep burn. I wince and she drops it and walks towards the money changing station to get change. I look at my hand and see inflammation, all red where her hand squeezed mine. I don’t like that she’s hot anymore.

I go to the bar and notice only one other person sitting there, a woman with dark hair just a few seats away. I show my “all-inclusive” wristband and get a Long Island Iced Tea for me and a scotch, neat, for her. I glance over to smile at the woman next to me and I pause.

I gasp when I realize it’s the dark woman from my dream, who saved me from my wife. Same dark brow, same pretty lips. She’s beautiful, too, but in a horrifying way. I don’t smile, but she does, even adding a nod before I take my drinks and run away.

“Thank you, baby,” Abigail says when I hand her the scotch.

She sips a little, then sets it down on the slot machine. On the first spin, some of the symbols match and she announces she’s won thirty dollars. Abigail’s always been lucky, always beats me in games, sports or otherwise. It would be embarrassing if she didn’t already wear the pants, but I don’t mind so much anymore. Besides, that thirty dollars is thirty dollars shared. Unless, of course, she kills me.

Abigail shouts for joy then spins again. And wins again.

Who the hell is that girl at the bar?

“Wow, you’re a natural,” I say.

“It’s just luck, babe. You wanna try?” she asks.

I nod and she offers the chair, but I go around behind her to the lever. I pull it once, exactly like she did, and wait patiently. I look over at the bar while I wait and the girl is facing me now. 

The symbols on the machine spin and spin and I see them turn into knives, into blood spatter, into devils. When they all stop, it says I’ve lost, but I’m not looking anymore. 

I look down at my wife who’s laughing like a maniac.

“Damn. I’m gonna get another drink,” I say, but I really just want to talk to that girl. And escape this.

“Alright,” Abigail says, not even noticing that my drink is still full.

I jog back to the bar where the dark haired girl is waiting for me.

“Misty,” she says when I sit down.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s my name. Misty. You were about to ask for it?”

“Okay, yeah, but I know you.” I’m trying to figure out how to make sense of it all, but it’s definitely her. The dream was far too vivid for me to just forget her.

“You do?” Misty says, sexy smile now crossing her face.

“I dreamed about you.” Now is not the time for subtlety.

“This is a terrible way to hook up with girls, man.”

“No, I’m married,” I say, almost bitterly. I peer over my shoulder at my wife, then lean into Misty to whisper, “I dreamed about you last night. My wife turned into a monster and you destroyed her.”

Misty  nodded. I was surprised at her non-reaction, so I continued, “Before that, she was hanging over me with red eyes in the middle of the night. She had long claws on her hands and she was about to tear out my jugular. Then, in the shower today, she had claws again and then I think she tried to bite me.”

“Is she a demon?” Misty asked, slightly more interested.

“I don’t know. I just know she’s scary and wants to kill me and you stopped her in my dream,” I say.

The bartender sets a water down in front of me and stares at both me and Misty. We stare back. After a minute, he nods and moves on, like this wasn’t interesting enough to stick around.

“That’s because I’m an expert in the occult,” Misty says, taking a quick shot of tequila. Or water. It’s hard to tell the difference. Who does shots of water, though?

“How does one...do that?” I ask. I’m hesitant to receive an answer because I know it’s shady, but anything to get this monkey off my back. Demon off my back, excuse me.

“Well, I’m a lesbian,” Misty says with a shrug.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Are only gay people allowed to know that stuff?”

“No, it’s just...a long complicated thing. I’ll tell you another time. I’m a member of the Night’s Knights. I’ll just help you kill her myself.”

“That’s a stupid name,” I say.

“Leave it alone,” she says, eying the bartender as he passes without a care in the world.

“I don’t want her dead. Unless she can’t be changed into a regular human. Like if my whole relationship has been a scam to just take my soul to hell or something. Then, you can kill her,” I say.

I’m not even sure I want that, though. We’ve spent so much time together at the lake holding hands or watching TV on the couch or just kissing in our cars. Abigail has a sweet voice, a tender touch and I really do love her. That’s why I married her.

I guess that was all before she tried to kill me. Man, it sucks to love a demon.

“Well, I can sort it out either way,” Misty says.

I breathe a sigh of relief and set my keycard down on the bar. I slide it to her and say, “Hide up in room 450 and we will be up a little later. You do what you have to do.”

Misty nods, takes the card and disappears. Not like vanishes, no, she actually stands up and walks away.

My plan is set. It’ll all be better once Misty helps me out like she did in my dream. Maybe I’ll even be able to love my regular wife again. Or the demon one, just without the demon anymore. For now, I have to go play craps with her, demon and all.

We play various games for close to two more hours before we both give up. The drinks have started to go to our heads and we’ve decided to hit every single time the Blackjack dealer asks. When we lose about a hundred dollars, out of the five thousand Abigail won, we decide to head up to the bedroom.

She says, “I’m ready to lay down,” but I know that’s code for sex. Or to lay down in a grave. Man, my mind is all over the place.

I’m also quietly preparing myself for Misty’s seance or ceremony or whatever she’s about to do. I keep seeing the battle from my dream and it terrifies me, but I’m slowly realizing that it could become reality. What am I supposed to do if that happens? I feel like I have manly obligations to fight against my wife, to keep her from killing everyone. But, I’m terrified of holding her hand through the lobby. I even shake as she kisses me in the elevator, forces me into a little dip and her claws dig into my back as she holds me up.

My heart is pounding when we arrive at the door. Abigail doesn’t even notice my card is gone because she’s always the one to open the door. She does and my heart threatens to leave my chest.

A cold darkness grasps us from inside the room. Abigail tries to turn on the light, but nothing happens. The door shuts loudly behind us and I’m now stuck in the dark with a demon and a Night Knight. 

I’m definitely gonna die.

A chill in the air gives me goosebumps and I feel my wife’s iron grip in my forearm. Then, a small flame in midair appears ahead of us. As it rises, I see Misty’s face with her lips pursed and markings around her eyes. She begins an incantation and I jump into the bathroom, lock the door behind me. I don’t want to watch this.

I hear shuffling outside, a whisper and a whoosh. I can imagine the scene; violent swipes of the claw and a witch heaving fire at a demon. Or my wife, whatever we are going to call her. 

Then, the bathroom door opens. I really can’t believe I forgot to lock it.

I hide between the toilet and the wall, cowering in the dark, but I see fire first. Misty must’ve survived whatever happened. But, there wasn’t that much noise. Was it that easy?

The door opens all the way and I see Abigail, claws and all, teeth bared and ready to charge. She makes a low growl and Misty puts a hand on her chest, holding her back.

I get it now. They’re in it together.

“Does lesbianism run that deep?” I ask.

I really wish those weren’t my last words.