Caroline

Caroline

(Mentions of suicide, gore, and body horror)

Caroline had the most beautiful smile. She’d had braces as a kid, which showed through her perfectly straight teeth. It never failed to light me up inside when she flashed me a grin, when she laughed at my stupid jokes, or beamed over her passions. But now that smile is gone. It was wheeled out of the house along with her, lost in the anguish that caused her to take her own life.

She’s only been gone for a month, but the silence she's left behind is suffocating. It’s hard to eat, impossible to sleep. I’m going crazy with how much I miss her, so much so that lately, I swear I've seen her in the corner of my eye. I’ve caught her looking out our window as I descend the stairs. I’ve seen her behind me in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. But she can’t really be here. Caroline is dead.

It started only a week after she was gone. I’d woken up alone and reluctantly gone downstairs when I saw her on the couch, watching her favorite show. She’d turned around and smiled at me, but it wasn’t right. Her smile had too many teeth, and they were yellow and rotted. There were glossy marbles where her eyes should have been. I blinked and she was gone. The TV was off, the pillow she lay on untouched.

I saw her again that night. I’d been awoken by shuffling in the sheets and slowly opened my eyes to find her smiling face inches from mine. With a gasp, I lurched back, falling off the bed. I scrambled to my feet, but she had disappeared again. The sheets were tidy on her side of the bed. Sleep wouldn’t come for the rest of the night. I only looked around my room, expecting to see her standing in the corner or behind the curtain.

She would appear randomly throughout the day, sometimes in plain sight, other times in my peripheral vision. I saw her eating breakfast at the dining table. I saw her watering plants in the garden. I even saw her in my rearview when I left for work. She never did much but smile and then disappear. I don’t understand why she’s here.

I knew about her depression, her daily struggles to get through life, and her desire to leave this world. She’d done what she’d done to escape. So why is she still here when she was supposed to be free?

I need to talk to her.

I’ve set up cameras around the house, in the spots she frequents the most. The kitchen table, the couch, our bed, the shower, the backyard. They will alert me to any motion, and I can speak through them. Any attempts to communicate with her in person have been fruitless. She disappears too quickly and doesn’t come when I call her.

I sit in my car in the garage, watching the cameras from my laptop. All is still, nothing but house sounds and cars driving by. I watch the laptop for hours, late into the night, but nothing changes. I flip between camera feeds and stare at the places we used to talk, laugh, and cry together, now dark and lifeless. In the kitchen, I imagine my wife preparing dinner. The smell wafts through the air, and she sits across from me, smiling a normal, beautiful smile. In the living room, I picture us cuddling on the sofa as we fall asleep in each other’s arms. In the bathroom, I see us surrounded by steam from the hot water as she presses her hands against the glass, and I push into her.

I have to stop. Reliving the memories is like being stabbed. I can daydream about our life together as long as I want, but it’ll never change the fact that she isn’t here to live it with me. She decided she didn’t want to live it with me anymore.

A door slams. The garage door. I freeze, my heart an icicle waiting to drop. I keep my eyes forward, too afraid to look to my left where heavy footsteps tread beside my car. There's tapping on the glass, a soft put, put, put. Slowly, I turn my head.

She’s looking at me through the window. Her smile is too wide, painful-looking, and takes up nearly half her face. Her skin is pale, almost translucent. Rope rash squeezes around her neck like jewelry. She almost looks like an old porcelain doll.

“What are you doing in there… Michael?” She asked, her voice hoarse. I flinch at the sound of my name leaving her mouth. I haven’t heard it in so long.

An uneasy desire wells up inside me as I stare at her through the window. I open the car door, but in the seconds I had looked away, she’s disappeared once again.

“Caroline!” I cry, but I am met with no response. “Caroline! Please come back!”

Tears threaten to escape my eyes, but I squeeze them tight and shake my head. Maybe she’d gone somewhere else in the house. As I’m about to get into the car, cool air runs along the back of my neck. I turn, and there she is.

“Mic…hael,” She croaks. Her mouth doesn’t move with her words. Her hair is thin and brittle, nothing like the thick, black curls she had when she was alive. I swallow.

“What.. Caroline, what are you doing here?” I ask. The words barely escape my throat.

“I… missed… you.” She says. She raises a trembling hand and takes mine. Her decaying skin is wrapped so tightly around each finger, it allows me to feel every little bone in her hand.

“I miss you too…” I say. “But… Why? Why are you here? I thought you-”

“I… regret what I… did.” She wheezes, like speaking is foreign to her. “I want… to live.”

I don’t know what to say to that. The last few weeks Caroline was alive, she wanted nothing of the sort. Her hair became matted because she couldn’t care for herself. Her body wasted away as she didn’t want to eat. She never left the bed and didn’t smile anymore. She was already half dead.

I should never have left her alone in that state.

“I- But… You’re gone, Caroline. You can’t come back.” I say, voice shaky. She squeezes my hand lightly, almost as she used to.

“I know… a way.” She groans.

“What?”

“You… can revive… me.” She slips something into my hand, then pulls away. She begins to fade before my eyes, becoming faint.

“Wait! Don’t go!” I gasp.

“Gather… the materials. I’ll… be waiting.” She says, and with that, she’s gone. I exhale and fall to my knees, feeling as if I’ve lost her all over again. In my hand is a crumpled paper. On it is a list of items in Caroline’s neat handwriting. My fingers run over the letters, picturing her soft hand gripping the pencil and writing the letters she has written millions of times.

With this list, I could bring her back. I could have my Caroline back.

I get into my car and leave the house in search of the items.

I’m unsuccessful, as stores selling the items don’t open until later. So I drive around aimlessly until the sun is higher in the sky. Then, I gather the materials.

Candles, cloth, a bell, a Chalice cup, and an Athame blade. The woman at the Pagan shop said the Chalice was used to give offerings, and an Athame blade is used to direct spiritual energy. I turned the knife over in my hand, its sharp edge glistening in the sun. I gave the woman cash and left quickly. A strange feeling twisted in my chest, but the thought of seeing Caroline again overpowered it. I pull into the driveway and bring the materials inside.

There is no sign of Caroline. Some natural light bleeds in through the curtains, but it is mostly dark. I don’t bother turning the lights on. Instead, I spread the cloth across the floor. I set up the candles and light them. I place the bell and the Chalice in the middle, then go up to the bedroom. On my nightstand sits a picture. It's Caroline, her skin tan and dark curls around her shoulders. Freckles dot her face, and she smiles softly as she leans into me. I’m taking a selfie of us on the beach, our last vacation before things got bad. For a moment, I can only stare at it, lost in the memories of her giggle as I splash her with salty water or us lying sleepily on our beach towels. It's almost like I’m really there, with Caroline by my side. She kisses my cheek, rests her head against my shoulder, and tells me everything’s going to be okay.

Then I’m back in my dark bedroom, knuckles white as I grip the picture. I turn to go down the stairs. Caroline’s picture goes between the bell and the Chalice, and I sit across from them. Now that I have the materials, I just need Caroline.

I call out to her, but there is no response. I call out again, but I am still met with nothing. Closing my eyes, I try to pray to her. I cry out in my mind, “Please, Caroline. Come back to me. I miss you. I need you so bad. I can’t do this without you.”

Again, I am met with nothing. Frustrated tears burn my eyes, but I push them down. I sit there for hours, occasionally calling out to her. Eventually, I curl up next to Caroline’s photo and close my eyes. Sleep comes quickly, and before I know it, I’m awake again.

It is darker now. The candles are nearly out as they’ve eaten through their wax. A figure sits in the darkness in front of me. I gasp.

“Its… me… Caroline.” The shadow says. She moves forward in the darkness. Her smile is somehow larger than before. She practically has no nose, just a mouth and eyes. Her hair looks like yarn sewn into her scalp, thin strands barely reaching her chin. Blue veins bulge from her skin. She stares at me unblinking, so I sit up.

“You’re here,” I say. My throat is dry.

“Yes… You’ve come… to revive me.” She croaks.

“I have,”

We stare at each other for a long moment. She looks nothing like the photo in front of me. Did things like this happen when you died? You turn scary and pale and only come out at night? Would she still be like this if I brought her back?

“To begin… I need… an offering,” she says.

“What would you like?” I ask. Her eyes shine.

“Your blood.” She points to the Athame.

“My… blood?” My hands tremble. The woman at the shop said the knife wasn’t used for cutting.

“Yes…” She turned over my hand with a thin finger and tapped my wrist. “Cut yourself… and bleed… into the vessel.”

I stay in place. She must sense my fear because she tilts her head. She takes my hand.

“Do you… trust me?” She asks.

“...I do.”

“Then please… bring me back… I want… to be with you…” Her voice cracks. “I love you… Michael.”

Tears fall from my eyes before I can stop them.

“I love you too,” I say. I press her cold hand against my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of you. I promise I’ll do it right this time. I promise.”

“Shhh… Shhh.” She whispers. She wipes the tears from my eyes. That uneasy desire slithers under my skin once again. I almost want to run, leave this house, finally accept that she's dead, and move on. But then I look at my wife’s twisted grin, and I can’t possibly leave her like this. I can’t fail her again.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.” With one last squeeze, I pull my hand away.

Caroline holds up the Chalice. I grab the blade and press the fine edge into my skin. My hand shakes, but I force myself still. I slice my wrist open. It stings, and blood surges from my veins. I hold it over the cup, and it drips inside.

Caroline sighs with pleasure. I allow my blood to drip into the cup until there's a pool of liquid at the bottom.

“Perfect,” Caroline coos. She scoops up the Chalice and puts it to her lips. For the first time, her teeth pull apart, and she drinks my blood greedily. She slurps up every drop and swallows loudly. When she finishes, she smiles once again.

However, this time, it isn’t that rotted, wide grin I’ve grown used to. Her mouth was back to normal, and when she smiled, her teeth were white and straight, just like I remembered. Her hair grew thicker before my eyes. Her face regained its color, and her eyes turned blue.

“Caroline,” I say. She blinks.

“Michael…” She says, her voice clear. It's her. It's really her.

I start crying again. I pull her into a hug, knocking over her picture, but I don’t care. I squeeze her tight, worried that if I let go, she’ll disappear again or turn back into that monster. She rests her head against my chest, and we stay like that for a long time. When she begins to pull away, I nearly force her to stay in my embrace, but instead, I let her go and stare at her face. It’s just as beautiful as the day I lost her.

“Is the ritual complete? Are you… really here?” I ask. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Almost,” She says. “Now that… I have consumed your blood, I have… stronger ties with the… mortal realm. All that is needed… now is for you… to ring the bell… three times. Then, I will be… alive.”

She grabs the bell and places it in my hands. It's rather large and makes a heavy dong when rung.

“Close your… eyes,” She says. “I will… tell you when… to ring.”

I nod and close my eyes reluctantly, not wanting to look away from her face. A soft squishing noise comes from nearby, probably from the blood-soaked cloth. My wrist still bleeds.

“One…” Caroline says. I take this as my cue and ring the bell. Dong. There's a long pause. I hold my breath.

“Two…” Dong. I wonder how Caroline came to know of this ritual. Did some other spirit show it to her?

“Three…” Dong. Rot fills my nostrils. It’s cool and moist. Air brushes against my face, and I can’t help but open my eyes.

Before me, Caroline’s mouth is a chasm. Her jaw extends past her collarbones, showing me rows and rows of decaying teeth. Her arms grip the cloth beside her, lanky and awkward and bent the wrong direction. I scream and swing the bell. It smashes into the side of her skull, and she cries, but it doesn’t sound human. She turns away, her dark hair growing long, then short, her skin turning pale, then darkening, her figure feminizing, then turning masculine. I try to scoot away, but I slip on my own blood, and my body slams against the floor.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” I gasp, continuing to scoot away. The thing turns back to me, her deformed face turning upward into a smile. That damn smile.

“Mic…heal!” She growls.

“What the hell are you? What did you do with my wife?” I scream. She laughs. She laughs at me.

“I wanted… you to… have one last… happy memory before you… passed. It… makes the transition… easier.” She says. Her face morphs again, and it is my face. I stare back into my brown eyes and watch her grin with my mouth. I cry and try to stand, but her long arm swings at me and slashes my legs, nearly separating them in two. Crashing to the floor, I use my arms to drag myself away.

Fingers as large as tree branches grasp my shoulder and force me to turn. She holds me down and brings her face closer. Then, she opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into my chest. She tears a large piece of flesh from me. She doesn’t even eat it; she merely tosses it to the side and takes another bite.

I wail and claw at the thing with my face, the thing that had Caroline’s face, but I am too weak. My bones crunch as she rips out my organs. I wonder how I’m not dead. Finally, she sits back and admires her handiwork. Her teeth are a deep red, and chunks of meat are stuck between them. She smiles excitedly.

Bringing her head to my chest, she pushes inside. I groan as my muscles and fat part to make way for her. It’s a tight squeeze. My body squelches, blood pouring from my abdomen. Once she’s gotten her head inside, she squeezes in one arm, then the other. Her arms go in my arms, and her head goes in my head. Next are the legs, filling my own like pants. Finally, she is inside, and she seals me up like a jacket with a zipper.

I lay there. We lay there. I think about Caroline, the real Caroline, and I hope I can join her soon. I hope this suffering will end. But then, the creature in my skin gets up and walks to the stairs. I watch through my eyes as it takes me upstairs and washes me in the shower. I watch it clean up the mess in the living room. I watch it sit on my couch and order pizza for delivery.

And that’s all I can do. I watch, my life no longer my own.