Hell is a Wife Scorned

(Contains gore and violence)

The lightning flashed through the windows, mimicking the flickers of the small flames inside the many pumpkin faces that lined the granite counter. It seemed to match a rhythm all its own, a song I could never understand. I hummed a tune, hoping to follow along with the lightning and candles all around me. Thunderclaps followed the bright light, cutting through the darkened house. Creaks and groans from the wind and the house fell into the song of the fire, lightning and thunder. Whispers of their spirits flittered by my ears, immersing me in their symphony, as I continued to decorate for Halloween. 

Somehow the decorations seemed to fall to me, as they do every year. It was me. Always me. All the time. The trash. The dishes. The laundry. Always me. Always me. Always. Me. 

The thunk of the knife sinking into the flesh and the squish of its guts being made into mush interrupted the song around me. I stared down at my handiwork, at the juices leaking from the jagged cut triangles on the face before me and the gorey smile that still held insides that poured from the spiked teeth that curved up into its cheeks. I held a macabre smile of my own, finally feeling proud of something I had done after years of nothing. I tasted the bloody wine that sat in a clear glass next to me, admiring the silence that graced my household. 

Blue and red lights reflecting against the white walls of the kitchen, covering up the lightning strikes that never seemed to end. I shuffled around the mess I had made on the counters, readying for any unexpected guests that might come through the door. 

Minutes later, a hard rapping sounded that followed the shrill ring of the doorbell being pushed in the foyer. I wiped my hands on the pumpkin apron I had laced around my middle and went to receive whoever had just arrived. 

The wind blew into the house like a ghost returning home as I opened the door to two uniformed officers. Rain pounded on them despite the ledge that provided absolutely no cover in this storm. One cleared his throat, while the other’s solemn face had my breath catching in my throat and my heart beginning to beat too roughly in my chest. 

“Good evening ma’am, sorry for the late hour, but we came by to ask some questions about your husband?” The one that had cleared his throat had spoken first, his voice soft against the roaring rain overhead. 

“My husband?” I stayed by the door, a hand placed over my heart as if it might leap from my chest and I’ll have to catch it to make sure it doesn’t run away. 

“Yes, ma’am, your husband. Mind if we come inside? This rain is not good for anyone to stand in for too long.” The one with the depressing face tried for a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. Like this was his first time breaking bad news to someone. 

“Yes, yes, come in, please. Call me, Mrs. George, please.” I stepped away from the door, but led them no further from the foyer. They shook their hats out, water splattering against the wood and ornate rugs draped around the room. I could feel my body starting to shake, not ready to hear the news they were bound to say. 

“Thank you, Mrs. George. It’s been a long day.” A small laugh escaped Sad Face, the light from the chandelier above, revealing more of themselves. One younger, one older. One naive, one experienced. One immature, one knowledgeable. 

“About your husband, Mr. George. We only have a few questions…His boss reported that he was not at work today.” Quiet Voice rasped from his smoker’s voice, the words struggling to break free. “We are here to ask if he was with you this morning when he left for work?” 

My heart finally escaped my chest and dropped down into my stomach. My hand rose to my mouth on instinct. There was no way. No possible way. 

“Yes, of course he was with me this morning. We said our goodbyes around 8:30, at the time he always leaves for work.” I looked rapidly between the two officers, hoping for a better answer than what I was ultimately expecting. 

“None of his coworkers reported seeing him going in today.” Sad Face seemed to close in on me, his eyes becoming more wary than depressing, scrutinizing me as if he had already decided I was more than just a victim. My own eyes clouded, tears threatened to rip free from me. This couldn’t be happening. 

“...There are other places that he could be.” I scrunched my eyes shut and curled my arms around myself, slowly revealing the secrets of my husband. 

“We checked those already, ma’am.” Soft Voice held a different stare. Pity. He knew what he saw. A potential widow. 

“Then I have no idea where he could be.” I let loose the tears, covering my face as best I could from the two officers. They didn’t need to see me breakdown. I sobbed into my hands and felt my legs begin to give out. Why did this have to happen to me? Always to me? 

“We’re sorry, Mrs. George. We know this is hard for you.” Sad Face took a full step forward and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, patting it like I was a toddler in the middle of a tantrum. 

“We will continue to look for him, but is there anywhere else, besides his usual haunts, that he would be found in?” Soft Voice whipped a pen and paper, ready to write any useful information down, ready to help a wife in need. 

“He liked to go into the city by himself, sometimes. I have no idea why.” I sniffled through my sobs. 

“Thank you for this ma’am, this was very helpful. We will keep you updated on any developments in your husband’s case. We are sure to find him.” Soft Voice settled his hat back on his head and tipped it my way, in the old fashioned way men did in the movies. When they were handling those damsels in distress. 

I nodded, as if words were no longer within my mind, and saw the officers out, closing the door from the outside world once again. Sweet silence filled the void left by the officers and my heart returned to its original pace. 

I wiped my tears against the back of my hand as I walked back into the kitchen, my carving supplies still scattered across the counter. Juices dripped off the sides, creating a plopping sound that echoed throughout the quiet house. I placed my work back in front of me and finished carving out the hauntingly happy face, returning to the song of the sounds around me. 

Humming to myself, I stepped away from my masterpiece and lined it up with the rest of the pumpkins across the counter. I sighed at my finished Halloween decorations. Black bats from the ceilings, ghosts in the walls, and a line of orange pumpkins with one pale in the middle. One that had run red instead of orange. One whose guts had been messier than the others. One with cut triangles where eyes used to be and ragged gums where teeth used to be. 

My husband had said to use what’s around the house. So I did.