The old house looms in front of me, the dark wood of the siding standing out starkly against the baby blue sky behind it. It was scary, but in a way that made you want to explore, not run away. I pull my suitcase up onto the sidewalk and took a breath. Behind me the car door slams, a bit harder than necessary. I suppress the feeling of dread, and lock in.
My husband steps onto the sidewalk beside me, his face neutral, his own suitcase at his feet. He sighs, and shakes his head.
"Piece of shit, 'fully furnished' doesn't mean much when the house is about to collapse."
I stay quiet, pretending to think. Agreeing with him could lead to him blowing up at me for not respecting how hard he worked to provide for me, trying to be positive could lead to him yelling at me for disagreeing. I feel his stare as he tries to provoke a response. I stay silent. He snorts, and picks up his suitcase, walking it up to the house. I follow, dragging mine on the wheels behind me.
"Hey! Pick it up, it's not supposed to be drug on the sidewalk, you're fucking it up, pick it up!" He barked.
I stop, and pick up the suitcase. It wasn't too heavy, I didn't have much. His stuff was filling the back of the car, mine all fit into this one case. My clothes, my medicine, keepsakes, and memories all in one grey rectangle the size of my torso. I hug it to me, feeling the lumps in it, and walk up the stairs behind him.
The house is dim and dusty, the furniture covered with blankets, and the lightbulbs giving off a yellow glow, casting long shadows across the halls. The walls were the same dark wood as the exterior, and where the wallpaper hadn't peeled away, images of plants and flowers remained. I run my hand along the top of the wainscoting, feeling the silky dust pile up under my finger. I pull it away and look at it, a clump of black and grey in my hand. I brush it off and let it drift to the floor with other similar clumps.
"Well don't just make a mess, woman. Jesus, pick that up." my husband says, his voice sounding for all the world like he's talking to a child. "Find a trash can, Jesus, you have no respect for anything."
I pick up the dust clump and wordlessly head in a direction, looking for somewhere to dump it. The house seems to creek and moan when I walk through it, the floors and walls flex and shift as I pass. I find my way to the kitchen, and let the little bit of dust float down out of my hand into the trash can. Looking around, I see that the whole room is full of spiderwebs and dead bugs. I find a broom and start cleaning up. If I'm busy, I can't be doing something wrong at least.
I heard the car start again, and take off. I set the broom down and head outside. The luggage was on the sidewalk, and the car was nowhere to be seen. I grab the biggest item first, and start taking them inside.
~~~
Later that evening, I was making good progress on the house. I was getting hungry, but I worked through it, better to have more work done whenever he returns. As I finish folding the last of the furniture blankets, I hear a noise. A subtle noise, like the house shifting, only it was right over my head. I stare up at the plaster ceiling, a big crack running through it and I see something above me. Something in the crack, something shining... I stand up and squint, trying to get a better view, and suddenly, it moves. It slips away from the crack with a creak and I gasp, stepping backwards. The crack is different now, deeper. I shudder, rats, or something else? I don't want to think about it.
I hear the car return and the front door bangs open. My husband is back. No word on where he'd been, no greeting, he just looks around the room and shakes his head.
"God, you're barely done anything, is that all? Did you at least make dinner?"
I feel a lump in my stomach as I shake my head, I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. It would just fuel the flame. I watch as his face twists into an angry mask and I brace myself.
"Why the fuck do I keep you around? You want me to treat you like a real wife and you can't even do one fucking job? Really? Now I have to go and spend the money I earned on overpriced food made by some-"
As he degrades into slurs and insults, I fade out. I nod along, and look down at the floors. I needed to mop next, I suppose. I had already swept, but that only did so much. The door slams and I jolt back. He's gone, and I had work to do.
~~~
We sit at the dining room table, Chinese food sitting in front of us. I pick through my fried vegetables and eat the carrots and baby corn. The broccoli texture made me gag, and I just didn't like the peppers. I mix the items I do like with rice, and eat them slowly, trying to focus on the flavors. I reach for another scoop of rice, but my hand is slapped away.
"Really? More carbs? You're going to get even fatter if you keep shoving stuff in your face like that, you need to think about what you're eating more."
I watch him eat his garlic pork and dumplings, feeling the pit of my stomach not quite full yet as I sat there. I couldn't tell if I was actually fat, I didn't think I was, but it's so hard to tell for sure with my body already not the right shape. When I look in the mirror, all I see are the imperfections, the things my husband doesn't like. The things that make me cry and feel like a monster. I tried to get opinions from other people, strangers at the store, or online boards, but the people at the store look at me like I've lost my head, and the online boards are either full of horny men who don't care what I look like, or full of other people like me, who honestly can't tell what the human body is supposed to look like anymore.
"Are you going to finish those?" my husband asks, jamming his fork into my plate.
I shake my head, scooting back.
"See? I knew you didn't need that extra rice, you're already full." He empties my plate into the box in front of him, eating quickly. I watch him eat, and wonder if he'll ever be fat. He's just a rectangle right now. He has a tummy, but all guys did, really. That doesn't count as fat, at least not as far as I could tell. I hear a creaking noise over my head, and glance up. The ceiling is cracked around the chandelier, and I see a glint through it. My husband stands, pushing his chair back from the table.
"I'm going to go out, there's a game on, and there only one bar in town showing it. Try not to leave the house a wreck, ok?"
I look at him, his bored, dismissive look going through me, and I nod. I'd do my best to make sure as much was clean as possible. He walked out without a word. I think for a split second about asking him to stay, to help, but my mind filled in the gaps by itself. 'No, it's important I make friends here, it's a new town, I'm not giving up friends just because I got married' or 'Cleaning is your job, my job is going to work, don't ask me to do your job, and I won't ask you to do mine' or the most likely, he'd simply explode, and I'd be stuck cowering while he went off on a tirade.
I clear the table and throw the empty food trash away, then I start on the house again. It'd been a long day, but most of the areas we'd be using imminently were dusted and mopped, but I still needed to wipe down the walls. The trim was rough and old, but it wasn't too splintery, I got on my knees and went to work.
~~~
I lay in bed, our bedsheets on it. We'd need a new mattress, but this worked for now. The house was fully silent around me. My husband hadn't come home yet, and it was late. Last call wasn't for another two hours, and if I knew him, he'd be waiting until then. I roll over, and stare at the wall. In between the strips of wallpaper, I could see something shining. I stare at it, and soon, I was asleep.
~~~
I wake up to my alarm going off. It was a vibration under my pillow, so it wouldn't wake my husband when it went off. I sit up slowly, and look over. He was there on top of the covers, on his back, mouth open and still in his clothes. I slip out of bed, and put on my robe and slippers, heading downstairs to make the coffee and eggs for him. As I pull my phone out from under the pillow, I see a small scrap of paper, an envelope, tucked under alongside it. I pull it out and turn it over in my hand, but I don't see anything distinct. I'd look into it further later, I suppose.
Breakfast was a problem; the coffee was made without issue, but the stove was gas, and it sputtered and flickered, and the eggs turned out rubbery and sticky because of the low heat. I salt and pepper them and put some cheese on them to hopefully hide the texture, and cover them to keep them warm. I make myself a small bowl of oatmeal- a chewy and half cooked one, and add almonds to it to disguise the mostly raw oats. I sit at the table, staring into space, enjoying the time I have alone, before-
The kitchen door bangs open and he walks in, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes changed and the smell of heavy deodorant on him, but still obviously un-showered and unshaved. He pours the coffee into a steel cup, and picks up the eggs. He eats in silence for a few minutes before grunting.
"These eggs are shit, you know how I like them, was it on purpose? Are you trying to 'punish' me for getting in late, is that it? I'm not your child, I can do what I want, just make the fucking eggs right. Do it fast, I have to get to work."
I go back over to the stove and try to make the eggs again, stirring and flipping, trying to fluff them as much as I could, but they just wouldn't cook. After a few minutes, he pushes me out of the way and digs around at them, grumbling about how I was going to make him late. He pokes and prods, and stirs, but nothing changes, and he snaps, slinging the pan across the room, scattering runny eggs across the floor and wall as the pan clatters and bangs.
"You broke the stove? Really? I just bought this fucking house, and you're already breaking things?"
He shouts at me, his face red. I try not to shake, but my wide eyes betray me emotions, I'm sure.
"I don't have time for this, get someone to fix it, before I get home."
He swipes his coffee cup off the counter, splashing it on the floor and stomps out, slamming the door behind him. I stand there, shaking, waiting for my heart to calm down as his tires squeal out.
~~~
After the kitchen is clean, I sit down at the kitchen table, my chest hurting and my energy gone. I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone to call an appliance repair company, and my hand hits the envelope. I pull it out and look closely. It's old, very old, but I don't understand how it could have gotten under my pillow, I put the sheets on yesterday and I swear it wasn't there. I slip my finger into the top and open it, pulling out the letter from inside. It's old too, and a bit crinkled, but there's clear writing on it. I say clear, in that the ink is fresh and bold, but the handwriting is anything but. It looks like a five year old wrote it, with the pen clutched in their fist. It looks like the author stabbed the words into the page, like a butcher carving the skin off of an animal. The letters are wide and shaky, they sprawl across the page, and each one has splatter around it, like the pen was slung against the page a bit too hard when writing.
The words themselves are hard to make out, but after a bit of puzzling, I figure out what they say;
My Dearest Lady,
I am grateful to you for working so hard to preserve and maintain my estate, and I assure you that if my ailment did not prevent me from doing so, I would gladly assist you in your endeavors. I hope you enjoy your stay, and you have my assurance that I welcome you with open arms, and shall honor you as a a true noble should.
Yours gratefully,
******
The signature was too scrawled to see fully, or maybe it was in another language? The symbols seemed odd and alien to me, but I ignore it and scan the letter again. Was this to me? Am I "Dearest Lady"? I like that, it gave me a buzz of euphoria. I feel a chill go down my spine all the same though. If it is me, then I'm being watched. I think to the glimmers I'd seen in the walls, and I glance over to the nearest one. Nothing there, no cracks, but I can hear creaking coming from somewhere close by. I stand, and fold the paper up, tucking it into my pocket again. If there is someone watching me, I don't want it to think I'm scared. This is my house, and from what the letter said, it seems to be kind, and I shouldn't let it get to me.
I call the repair company, and let them know it's a rush job. They have to charge extra, but I manage to get the stove fixed, and the hot water heater inspected by the afternoon. I clean most of the other rooms, looking for other letters or personal effects while I do so, but no matter how hard I look, nothing turns up. I clean the bathroom in our bedroom, and I check every inch of the walls and ceiling for cracks. When I don't see any, I take a long, hot shower, letting my mind wander to thoughts of ghosts or homeless people sharing a space with me. For some reason, I don't feel scared. I feel very calm about the whole thing, almost relieved to not be alone in the house with-
To have someone else here, I mean.
I get out of the shower and put on a nice dress, something that will make my husband feel like he "has something worth coming home to" in his words. I head downstairs, and start on dinner, a hash brown casserole, with a salad for myself. The fixed stove is working much better, and dinner cooks quickly. I get everything set up in the dining room, and cover the casserole. He should be home any minute, his office is 30 minutes away from this house, and he gets off at 6, so...
I wait, and wait. It's past 7 now, and I'm getting hungrier and hungrier. I know I can't start without him though, I could hear his angry yells echoing from the past "All I want is to eat dinner with my wife, as a family, is that too much to ask?". I look at my salad. It's getting brown and wilt-y after sitting at room temperature for over an hour. My stomach growls, and I continue to sit.
At 9:30, I get up. I put the casserole in the refrigerator, and put my salad in the trash. It was far too soggy to enjoy now. I unwrap a protein bar and unwrap it quickly, listening for the sound of the car, knowing that as soon as I tried to eat it, he'd pull up and yell at me for eating without having dinner on the table for him. The sound never came, and soon the bar is eaten. I tear the wrapper into strips, and flush them down the toilet, praying the colorful scraps don't come back up later.
I try to read for a while, a book that I bought from a yard sale about a dog who's owner was... some kind of paranormal investigator, but I kept losing track of my place and fading away. After a couple hours of sitting and not doing anything, I decide that my husband wasn't coming home before midnight again tonight, and I change into my night things and get into bed. I stare at the crack in the wall, my eyes meeting the glint on the other side, and I fall asleep thinking about marbles.
~~~
I wake up in the night, the bed shifted to one side. My husband, asleep behind me. He must have gotten in some time ago. My eyes open, and I peer into the darkness. What had woken me up? I look around the room, and see nothing. Then something moves. A branch? A pole? Something crooked and long slides up in front of me from under the bed, and I see it. A hand, but a long, thin hand. The knuckles are each as long as my whole fingers, and the dark grey skin looked stretched tight over the bone, it looked like it would be painful to move the joints. The palm was long too, but the hand itself was no wider than my own. It turns, and I see a letter in its grasp, and it slides it under my pillow. I close my eyes and stay as still as I can, maintaining my breathing as it slips away under the bed. I wasn't supposed to have seen that, I shouldn't have seen it. Every hair on my body was on edge and I feel too scared of moving an inch, lest it notice and realize it had been seen. I lay still, and unmoving until morning, listening to the walls creak around me.
Eventually, my alarm goes off, and I pretend to wake up, slipping out of bed and putting the phone and the letter in my pocket, and going downstairs to make breakfast.
The eggs were right, this morning, but he glared at me anyway, his eyes bleary and foggy and made a remark about how I looked bad, and should take more pride in my appearance. Of course I couldn't tell him I stayed up all night listening to a long thing crawl around inside our new home.
Once he left, I stand, my oatmeal eaten, and I clean the dishes. I think about the letter, I feel it crinkle in my pocket, and I wonder if I was excited or scared to read it. Once everything had been done, I sit down and pull it out. It was the same as before, almost exactly. I open it, and read;
My Beautiful Lady,
I feel that your presence in this house warms the very foundations, and your skills as a cook are quite exceptional. I wish to extend my hand to you in a partnership, I will let you live in my estate, and keep you safe from pests and vermin, and you shall provide me with delightful meals such as the one you prepared last night. I think this arrangement is quite practical, and if you wish to require more from me in the future, I understand. The other individual who has intruded on my home though, I do not much care for him. He reminds me greatly of someone from my past that I would much rather put behind me, and while I shall respect your relationship with him, know that my invitation of sharing my home only extends to him by proxy of yourself.
I thank you once more for your delightful dinner,
******
The scrawled text fit tightly onto the page, and I have to tilt the page a bit to read some of it. Once I was done, I stand, and go the the refrigerator. Sure enough, there's a serving missing of the hash brown casserole. I shiver, thinking of my husband seeing it, thinking I ate without him, and close the door. I wasn't sure what to make of the deal. On one hand I am in the house no matter what, so it makes sense to make the deal. On the other, I don't know if I could provide food without my husband noticing. I could barely provide for myself without him noticing. I need to do it though, I decide. There was no telling what would happen to us otherwise, we could lose our home, or worse. I write a note, politely accepting the offer, and telling it that I would be making dishes in a special, single serving size for it. I had found a set of glassware in the cabinets, and one was just big enough for a single serving, that way my husband wouldn't notice anything missing from larger dishes.
I put the note on the table, and got my cart and coat, and headed out to the local store. It took a while to get there on foot, and the shopping was heavy and drug the whole way back, but I arrived home by the evening. I walk inside through the side door by the kitchen and instantly notice my note was missing. I nod, and begin to prepare dinner. I re-mix the casserole into a new, twice baked casserole, and separate out a portion into the smaller dish. I bake both dishes, pulling the small one out much sooner than the large one so it doesn't burn, and I look around for a place to put it. I settle on a grate in the hallway, I pull out two of the screws, and slip the container inside, making sure the lid was on it. I go back to the kitchen, and pull out the other dish, placing it on the table as I had the night before. I make my salad with the fresh ingredients I had bought, and sit down. Somewhat surprisingly, the door opened at almost exactly 6:30, and my husband walked in. He looked at the dinner, and rolled his eyes.
"I work all day and come home to this? This is the first thing you cook me in our new house? Not a roast or something? This is like something you feed to a toddler."
I make a mental note that once more, one of his favorite dishes is now off limits. He sits anyway, and serves himself a heaping scoop of it, eating quickly. Dinner was quiet, aside from his occasional comments about people at work "not doing their jobs" or "sucking up". I had learned long ago that the names he mentioned from work were almost interchangeable, and he viewed the whole rest of the office as "dumber than you", referring to me, which was one of his strongest insults. I finished my salad at the same time he finished his seconds of the casserole, it took some planning and pushing the food around in my bowl to look like I was eating the whole time to get the timing right, but finishing too soon would make him call me a pig, and too late and I was 'dragging on'. I collected the dishes, and went to wash them up in the kitchen. As I left the room, he called out to me.
"Hey, I want you ready for me when I come home from the bar tonight, it's been almost a week, and we need to break in the house, anyway."
I stopped in the doorway and nodded automatically. "Getting ready" meant shaving head to toe, having on makeup, wearing my 'nice' nightwear, and 'preparing' myself in case he felt adventurous. I tried to look calm and placid as I walked away, so he wouldn't start another argument about me 'not taking care of my responsibilities', but inside I was cringing. It was never a fun experience, especially when he was drunk or just home from the bar. For all the getting ready he expected me to do, he did nothing about himself, and his breath full of vomit or alcohol and his sweat and the way he could barely keep it up, but expected me to work with it anyway was dreadful. It was one of my jobs though, and I had agreed to it when I said "I do".
I wash the dishes slowly, trying not to finish the last one until I heard the front door slam, then I went upstairs and got ready.
He showed back up at around 1 AM, and what happened after that, I do not remember.
~~~
I wake up with my head in my elbow, all of me throbbing in pain. I slip my hand under my pillow to find another note and my buzzing phone, and see that my arm is covered with smeared lipstick and eyeshadow. I get up, and slip into the bathroom. If I was seen like this, it could remind him of the parts of me he didn't like. I'm sure last night he was already reminded of the parts of me he hated himself for liking, I was sore down there, and I assumed he'd gotten... frustrated with me and my inability to give him what he wanted from me. I couldn't remember anything though. I usually couldn't. I don't know why I couldn't, but I was happy for that little mercy at least.
I close the door and turn on the shower, letting the water get hot as I unwrapped last night's note.
My Wonderful Friend,
I hope I did not offend you by calling you "lady" in my prior messages, I simply saw the grace and poise you had, your clothing, and your elegance, and made assumptions, I did not consider that the times may have changed, and clothing may not be an indicator as I once knew.. Last night, I admit I saw more than I believe you would have wished I did, I slipped away once I realized I had overstepped, and I beg your forgiveness. I am concerned for how your companion treated you however; it did not seem to be the tender lovemaking I'm used to. But I have been hidden away for a great time, and the customs may have changed all the same.
In any case, I do wish for your forgiveness, and I wish to know what you would prefer me to refer to you as? I would hate to refer to you in error, as your grace towards me is the bright spot of my dark life.
I hope to hear from you soon,
******
I fold the letter back up and fight off a blush. I would have had to explain my situation to it eventually, I suppose. I put the letter in my robe pocket, and take it off, showering the smeared makeup off my body, and reapplying it to my face much lighter after. I step out of the bathroom to see my husband stirring in bed, and I check to make sure I hadn't left the note in the bathroom. Confirming I still had it, I run down the stairs softly to make breakfast and to think about my response to the thing in the walls.
~~~
I look over my response letter. It was short, and to the point. It let it know that I was, in fact, a lady, I just had been born incorrectly, but that I took medicine for it, and with current medical advancements, one day I could be indistinguishable from any other woman. I told it that I would prefer that it not watch me and my husband do what we had the night before, but that I forgave it. I fold my letter up, and put it in the same vent that I had put the dish last night. I had cleaned the house from top to bottom, and there wasn't much for me to do, so I put on some older clothes and go into the backyard.
It was a mess, and the autumn nip made it difficult to want to get anything done, but there was a lot of work to do anyway. I roll up my sleeves and put on a pair of garden gloves and get to work, pulling out vines around the house, clearing dried weeds, and trying to shape the space into something resembling a yard instead of a jungle.
After I worked for a while I start to get a bit hot despite the chill in the air, and I stand up to pop my back. I look around at the still messy yard and shake my head. I want to hire someone for this, but this time of year, I doubt the yard crews are still operating.
I turn to look back at the house, at least I had gotten the growth off of it, right? My eyes slide across the old wood, seeing the lighter lines where the vines I'd pulled away once hugged it. I pass over the dining room window once, before snapping back. There's a tall, gaunt figure, just inside the window, just beyond the glare of the sun on the glass. I stare at it, trying to get any details, but I can't quite make it out. It looks too stretched out to be human, with a head that looked misshapen and elongated like the rest of it. I take a step forward and it takes a step back, the movement jarring me out of my trance. I slowly crouch to see better, and it whisks backwards, into the shadows of the house out of sight.
I sit in the garden for a while, letting the cold air convince me that I was just cold, and that the chills I felt was just the result of the temperature dropping. After a few moments, I feel much better, and I return to work. It busies my hands and lets my mind lower itself to a nice, friendly buzz. I focus on the work, and before long, I have a big pile of brush, vines, and weeds sitting in a pile in the corner. My phone buzzes, and I look to see what it was.
"Coming home early, bringing a friend, have dinner by 6, don't be downstairs when we get there."
This was nothing new, he'd had friends over while we lived in the apartment, and I'd always be "out" when they showed up, sitting in the bedroom quietly, waiting for the guest to leave so I could wash up. It was understandable, I can imagine being seen with me, having your friends and co-workers know that you married... someone like me, it'd be embarrassing, career ending, even.
I look at the clock on my phone. It's 4:30 now, and I couldn't just heat up leftovers for a guest, and I need a shower... I brush the dirt off. Time to head inside.
Once I was clean again, I start work on making a meal that I know he'll like, one that he'll be proud to share with his guest; grilled steaks. I'd picked up 4 of them at the market, I was going to make steak sandwiches one night and make the steaks for him the other nights, so this worked out. I season and grill them, keeping the heat low, and making sure they stayed juicy. While they cook, I make some mashed potatoes, and put some beans on the stove. A manly meal, I'm sure of it, one that won't get me yelled at. I move two of them to a covered dish about 15 till, and put the biggest one on a plate. I slide it into the vent and close it up, taking the smallest one for myself upstairs to eat in our bedroom.
I eat slowly. I didn't get a lot of protein, it caused muscle growth, and he didn't like that, so he tried to make sure I focused on plants and veggies to keep me looking soft. I hear the door downstairs, and two people talking, him, and... a woman. I cringe, and creep to the door to listen. I don't blame him, of course, even if this was what I thought it was, but it still hurt all the same. I listen for a few minutes at her high pitched laughter and his causal, loud joking tone and I remember dating him, the way he made me feel, the way he talked. Hearing him now was like hearing the him from back then, back again in my house, but not in my life.
I put my dish on the table next to the door, and try not to make too much noise as I cry.
~~~
The next morning, he's absent from bed. I don't think he ever showed up. I take my phone and the daily note out from the pillow, and head downstairs. He's asleep on the couch, face down. There's a sound of snoring, and I slip past into the hall. There's a pair of heels next to the door and I cringe. I hear the sound of the toilet and quickly walk to the kitchen to avoid being seen. I'm not quite there when a lady walks out of the bathroom and turns, seeing me duck in through the doorway. I stand in the kitchen, looking at the floor, willing her to go away. She doesn't hear my thoughts of course, and steps in after me.
"Hello!" She says, in a quiet voice "Are you the chef? That dinner was amazing, do you live here?"
I meet her eyes, and open my mouth, but the words don't come out. She frowns, and looks me up and down. Her eyes land on my ring, and her eyes widen.
"Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry, I had no idea, I... Oh... I should have known he was too good to be true..."
I hide my hand in my pocket as my eyes well up. This was going to be bad...
"Honey, I'm so sorry, I had no idea he was- I'm sorry, I'll go, you won't ever see me again." She steps backwards, and gives me one more sad, guilty look before she quickly stepped away down the hall to the front door. I listened to it close softly, and I sniffle, and dry my eyes. I gotta be ok, he could wake up any minute.
This wasn't the first time he'd done this, but... never under the same roof as me. It hurt worse somehow that way. I start the eggs and coffee, going through the motions and zoning out as I try to remain neutral. I hear him grunting in the other room, the smells having woken him up. He stumbles in and glares at me. He doesn't say anything, and I don't trust myself to speak, so I just start making my oatmeal as he eats his eggs. He drops his dishes in the sink with a clang, and stomps upstairs, presumably to rinse off before work. Once I hear the bedroom door slam, I pull out the letter and read it.
My Lady,
I am terribly sorry to hear of your affliction, and I can assure you I understand fully. I myself have quite the physical affliction that puts my mind and spirit at odds with my body, although no medicine can assist me as it does you. I must thank you for the meat you served last night, it has been quite a long time since I have had the pleasure of eating cooked meat, and you did a wonderful job, cooking it just how it should be, soft and moist. I look forward to partaking in other meals you make, I think you have a talent in the culinary arts.
I must address one thing though, your husband, his actions last night were greatly dishonorable, and I could tell they upset you greatly. My own honor would have me take action against him for this vile act against you, and indeed against the other young lady that he engaged in, but I would like to request your permission, your favor before I enact justice, as I am unsure of how anything I could do to him would effect you.
I hope you remain safe and strong my dear,
******
I feel a cold chill and a bit of excitement at the words on the page. 'take action'. Would it actually do something drastic? Or just scare or hurt him a little? I can't think straight right now, so I take my oatmeal to the sitting room and curl up on the dusty chair, putting the letter on the side table where I can see it, staring at the rows of old outdated law books on the shelves as I ate my breakfast in tiny bites. I am shocked out of my trance by a shout, hard and loud.
"Make sure that kitchen is cleaned before you do anything else, you can't leave dishes out like that."
I curl up tighter and listen for the door closing. I relax, and finish my oatmeal. I would do the dishes, but first... I was feeling rebellious as I ignored them and sat at the kitchen table to write my response letter. I thanked it for the concern, and I let it know that while it hurt, I would be fine, and as long I wasn't in any physical danger, I could get through anything. I asked it what it would like to eat, if there was anything that it missed or wanted to try, then I slip it into the vent. After that, I wash the dishes.
~~~
I lay in bed that night, my mind racing. My husband was nowhere to be seen, again, but I wasn't shocked. I looked forward to the next day's letter, but I was dreading having to go out. I had an appointment with a new doctor tomorrow, and I needed to get bloodwork set up soon. The doctors always acted strange to me. I knew why of course, but it made me feel so alien the way they avoided using my name or referring to me to anyone else while I was in earshot. This doctor might be different though, I could only hope. I lay there trying to sleep, trying to fast forward to the next letter, but I can't seem to calm down. I see the glint in the wall across from me again, and I give a small wave.
The glint doesn't move, but there's a tapping noise from behind the wall. I feel safer, somehow, and I smile as I feel myself relax.
~~~
I wake up and check for my husband, but he isn't there. His sheets are rumpled though, so he must have been at one point. I check under my pillow to find... No note. I try to quell my disappointment. I must have scared it off by waving at it last night. I get out of bed and get ready for my appointment. I'd need to leave right after I made breakfast to get there on time, and I'd need to order a car. I tell the car service to be ready for pickup in 15 minutes, and I head downstairs to make the food. I get everything ready, but there's still no sign of my husband. I peek out the front window as the eggs cook and see his car still in front of the house.
"Expecting someone?"
His voice was toxic and barely contained. I lock up and my head spins, what had I done? What was the source of this anger? I turn around slowly, and see him standing behind me holding... a letter. The one from yesterday, the one I'd left in the sitting room. My heart pounded, what had it said again? Had it called me any pet names or anything? I knew it mentioned the infidelity... That may have been enough.
"After everything I gave you, after everything I put up with, this is what you do? You sneak around and you get letters from strangers? Strangers you told about private parts of our lives?"
His voice was cold and level. I open my mouth to respond, to say anything, and I instantly feel the sting of his palm on my cheek. I stumble back, shaking. He stepped forward, his voice low and painful to hear.
"I practically took you in, no one wanted you, no one would even look at you, and I took you in despite everything. You think this... maniac cares about you? Really? You think anyone would ever care about you?"
My eyes well up, and he slaps me again.
"Don't you fucking cry, don't you FUCKING cry, you're the one who's spitting in my face, you're the one who's ruining her life, you have no right to fucking CRY."
I hug myself and shake. The eggs are burning on the stove, the water for my oats is boiling away. I stare at the floor. I was ruining my life, I shouldn't have responded to the letter, I shouldn't have fed it, I should have burned the letters, I should have-
My phone rings. My husband watches me.
"Answer it. Speakerphone."
I tap the screen, and a voice comes through the other side.
"Hello?... Hello? This is your ride, I'm here, are you ready to go?"
I can't even think about responding so I just stand there staring down. After a few seconds my husband responds for me.
"She's ready. She'll be out in a minute."
I hang up and put my phone back in my pocket. We sit in silence for a moment. He finally breaks the silence.
"Go to your appointment, see if they can up your doses, it's obviously not working well enough if you're acting like this. I'm calling out of work, once you get home, we're going to seriously address your betrayal."
I nod, and rush out the door.
~~~
The appointment went fast. I gave the doctor my information, she entered it into the computer. She made a comment about my levels being 'too high' based on my past tests, but I ignored her, opting to save the argument for after she gave me bloodwork. We set the appointment for two weeks away, I should have enough medicine to last me until then, but it'd be cutting it close. I thank her, and call another car.
When the car pulls up to my house, my breath catches. There are three police cars out front, and a small crowd of people. Had he called the cops on me? Was I about to be committed? I get out of the car and slowly walk to the front door, key in hand. A cop sees me and reaches out, calling out to me.
"Sir- uh, ma'am, you shouldn't go in there, it's an active crime scene, we-"
"I suppose you're the... spouse?"
I nod.
"Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your husband is dead."
He pointed at the mass on the floor. My stomach lurches as I finally recognize it as what used to be a person, mangled past all reason.
"We thought it was a break in, your neighbor called us when she heard a loud banging, then screaming. We responded expecting a gunshot wound."
He pointed to the stove.
"Instead, it looks like he was making eggs and couldn't work the stove. This is a gas explosion if I've ever seen one. It's a miracle the house is still standing. We had to put out the fire ourselves, not really our job, but it was pretty small all things considered."
I stare at what used to be my husband. The world felt so far away. I couldn't imagine a future anymore and I couldn't tell what I was feeling, what I should be feeling.
"Anyway, listen, I'm sorry for your loss, but you really need to leave, the ambulance will be here to pick up the body soon, and- hey, HEY!"
His voice slipped into nothingness as I fell, fainting away from the world in a peaceful escape.
~~~
I wake up in my bed, on top of the covers. One of the cops or maybe an EMT must have brought me up. I turn my head, and I hear a crinkle under the pillow. I slide the letter out, and turn on the light.
My condolences, My Love
I am so sorry that my letters led to you being hurt and injured. I feel more like a monster than I feel most days, and I could not allow my transgression to go un-repaired. Anyone who would strike their beloved is more a monster than even I. I understand that my actions were a bit extreme, but I needed it to look like an accident. I believe the ruse worked, and as you were away at the time, you should be cleared of suspicion quite rapidly.
I do not believe this is the correct time to discuss my preferred foods as you mentioned in your last note, but I thank you for your concern. I understand that my actions may have put you in something of a financial hardship and for that I am deeply sorry, but know that I will do whatever is in my power to ensure you are well taken care of.
I hope the death of your 'beloved' isn't too off-putting for you, as I truly do care for you deeply, and I want nothing more than to get to know you more. With him gone, I hate to be so forward, but I think we can become quite fast as companions, and I will be sure to provide companionship in a way he could not.
Again, please forgive my actions,
******
I stare at the letter. I had known it was most likely the killer. The stove had just been repaired and my husband wouldn't have left the gas on, but seeing it admit what it did on paper, a confession note... I should be scared, I should be fearing for my own life. I'm sharing a house with a thing that took my husband's life over a couple slaps, and it wanted to start a relationship with me? I should be crying and running out onto the streets.
I'm not, though. I feel lighter, more comfortable in my own skin. I feel like a sword had been hanging over my head and it was gone now. I try to make myself sad, to make myself feel fear for the future, but I couldn't find a reason to mourn. I feel hollow in a good way, and like I could fly to the sky.
I think about the thing in the walls. It was noble, honorable, caring. It protected me, it respected my identity, it loved my cooking, it was so well spoken... It called me 'my love'. I think back to how the letters started and the way it spoke to me. Had it been it courting me? I liked the idea... I liked the idea of being courted. I liked the idea of having a special unique experience all to myself. I felt my heart flutter thinking of the long thin arms wrapped around my body, twisting in new ways, holding me close. I think I'd like that too...
I wasn't worried about money, my husband had some saved up; that was mine now, and his company offered life insurance, so that would help me until I got a job. I don't think I'd mind working again, I think it'll be nice to get back into the world. For now though, I needed food, food that I wanted, food that I didn't have to hide or feel ashamed about. I ordered a large pizza on my phone, right from the bed, with all the toppings and with extra cheese. I was going to be myself tonight, and I hoped I could coax my new lover out of the walls to join me...