There is something in my house I used to think the worst…
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There is something in my house
I used to think the worst thing about my wife, Sarah, was how quiet she was.
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She had this creepy habit of standing in the doorway of our bedroom at night, just watching me sleep. I’d wake up at 3:00 AM, feel someone staring at me, and open my eyes to see her shadow in the dark. When I asked her what she was doing, she would just smile and whisper, "Just make sure you’re still here."
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Lately, things have gotten much worse.
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Sarah stopped eating dinner with me. She would just sit across the table, her hands folded, watching me chew every single bite. The food started tasting weird. Bitter. Like chemicals. Whenever I coughed, her eyes would get wide, locked onto my neck.
"Is something wrong, honey?" she’d ask. Her voice sounded totally fake. Like a robot trying to sound nice.
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Then I started waking up with deep bruises on my wrists. When I showed them to her, she started crying and pulled up her sleeves. She had the exact same bruises.
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"Someone is breaking into the house while we sleep, Mark," she sobbed, holding me close. "I try to fight them off. I tried to protect you."
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I wanted to believe her. But the next night, I pretended to be asleep. I kept my eyes squeezed almost shut. I watched her get out of bed, walk over to my side, and stare at me for ten whole minutes. Then, slowly, she wrapped her own hands around her own neck. She squeezed until her face turned red, leaving deep marks on her skin.
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She was framing me. She was setting a trap.
I realized she was putting something in my food. She was walking around the house at night, hiding the kitchen knives. She was making it look like I was abusing her, so that when she finally killed me, everyone would think it was self-defense. My wife was a monster.
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Last night, I couldn't take the fear anymore. My stomach hurt so bad from dinner. I heard her downstairs, whispering to herself in the dark kitchen. I thought, It’s either her or me.
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I grabbed a heavy metal flashlight from my nightstand. I walked down the stairs as quietly as I could. I saw her back turned to me by the open fridge. She was muttering something.
I didn't give her a chance to turn around. I ran forward and hit her on the back of the head with the flashlight.
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She dropped straight to the floor. She didn't move.
I stood over her, breathing hard, crying. It was finally over. I was safe.
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But then, my stomach hit a wave of pure pain. I fell to my knees, throwing up a thick, black fluid onto the floor. I needed to call 911. I needed to tell them she poisoned me.
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I pulled out my phone, but the light from the screen hit the kitchen table. There was a notebook open, with Sarah’s handwriting on it. I leaned over and read it.
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Mom, I'm so scared. Mark is getting worse. Ever since his car accident, his brain is failing. The doctor said it's a terrible sickness and he is losing his mind. He doesn't remember who he is. At night, he walks around with knives and chokes me in his sleep. When he wakes up, he forgets he did it and cries.\*
Now he thinks I'm trying to hurt him. I found out he's been putting rat poison in my food. I've been spitting it out into napkins, but I'm afraid he's going to eat it himself by mistake. I can't leave him, Mom. I love him. I'm just trying to keep him safe from himself
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My phone fell from my hand and broke.
My mind went completely blank. The accident. The doctor visits. The bitter taste—I was the one who cooked dinner tonight. I did this to myself. Sarah was innocent. She was trying to save me from my own broken brain.
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Suddenly, the kitchen light clicked on.
I gasped and looked up. Sarah was still unconscious on the floor. She couldn't have turned the light on.
I looked over at the wall switch.
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​
Standing there was a man. He was incredibly skinny, his skin looked grey and dead, and he was wearing the exact same clothes as me. He looked like a rotten, twisted copy of myself. He gave me a massive, creepy smile that went from ear to ear.
"Good job, Mark," the man whispered. His voice sounded like dry paper rubbing together. "She was starting to notice me. Now... who should we blame for this?
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​
As my vision started to go black and I fell to the floor, the real horror hit me. Sarah wasn't the monster. And I wasn't just sick. I had been letting the thing from the doorway into our house every single night.
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But as my eyes began to close, something even worse happened.
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​
The front door clicked open.
Footsteps walked into the hallway. Heavy, tired, familiar footsteps.
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​
"Sarah? Mark?" a voice called out from the dark. "I'm finally home from the hospital. The traffic was awful."
It was my voice.
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​
The skinny, grey man by the light switch stopped smiling. His eyes went wide with genuine panic. He looked down at me, then looked toward the hallway, and then he looked back at me with a terrifying realization on his face.
He whispered, "There's three of us."
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#entertainment
source
I used to think the worst thing about my wife, Sarah, was how quiet she was.
​
​
She had this creepy habit of standing in the doorway of our bedroom at night, just watching me sleep. I’d wake up at 3:00 AM, feel someone staring at me, and open my eyes to see her shadow in the dark. When I asked her what she was doing, she would just smile and whisper, "Just make sure you’re still here."
​
​
Lately, things have gotten much worse.
​
​
Sarah stopped eating dinner with me. She would just sit across the table, her hands folded, watching me chew every single bite. The food started tasting weird. Bitter. Like chemicals. Whenever I coughed, her eyes would get wide, locked onto my neck.
"Is something wrong, honey?" she’d ask. Her voice sounded totally fake. Like a robot trying to sound nice.
​
​
Then I started waking up with deep bruises on my wrists. When I showed them to her, she started crying and pulled up her sleeves. She had the exact same bruises.
​
​
"Someone is breaking into the house while we sleep, Mark," she sobbed, holding me close. "I try to fight them off. I tried to protect you."
​
​
I wanted to believe her. But the next night, I pretended to be asleep. I kept my eyes squeezed almost shut. I watched her get out of bed, walk over to my side, and stare at me for ten whole minutes. Then, slowly, she wrapped her own hands around her own neck. She squeezed until her face turned red, leaving deep marks on her skin.
​
​
She was framing me. She was setting a trap.
I realized she was putting something in my food. She was walking around the house at night, hiding the kitchen knives. She was making it look like I was abusing her, so that when she finally killed me, everyone would think it was self-defense. My wife was a monster.
​
​
Last night, I couldn't take the fear anymore. My stomach hurt so bad from dinner. I heard her downstairs, whispering to herself in the dark kitchen. I thought, It’s either her or me.
​
​
I grabbed a heavy metal flashlight from my nightstand. I walked down the stairs as quietly as I could. I saw her back turned to me by the open fridge. She was muttering something.
I didn't give her a chance to turn around. I ran forward and hit her on the back of the head with the flashlight.
​
​
She dropped straight to the floor. She didn't move.
I stood over her, breathing hard, crying. It was finally over. I was safe.
​
​
But then, my stomach hit a wave of pure pain. I fell to my knees, throwing up a thick, black fluid onto the floor. I needed to call 911. I needed to tell them she poisoned me.
​
​
I pulled out my phone, but the light from the screen hit the kitchen table. There was a notebook open, with Sarah’s handwriting on it. I leaned over and read it.
​
​
Mom, I'm so scared. Mark is getting worse. Ever since his car accident, his brain is failing. The doctor said it's a terrible sickness and he is losing his mind. He doesn't remember who he is. At night, he walks around with knives and chokes me in his sleep. When he wakes up, he forgets he did it and cries.\*
Now he thinks I'm trying to hurt him. I found out he's been putting rat poison in my food. I've been spitting it out into napkins, but I'm afraid he's going to eat it himself by mistake. I can't leave him, Mom. I love him. I'm just trying to keep him safe from himself
​
My phone fell from my hand and broke.
My mind went completely blank. The accident. The doctor visits. The bitter taste—I was the one who cooked dinner tonight. I did this to myself. Sarah was innocent. She was trying to save me from my own broken brain.
​
​
Suddenly, the kitchen light clicked on.
I gasped and looked up. Sarah was still unconscious on the floor. She couldn't have turned the light on.
I looked over at the wall switch.
​
​
Standing there was a man. He was incredibly skinny, his skin looked grey and dead, and he was wearing the exact same clothes as me. He looked like a rotten, twisted copy of myself. He gave me a massive, creepy smile that went from ear to ear.
"Good job, Mark," the man whispered. His voice sounded like dry paper rubbing together. "She was starting to notice me. Now... who should we blame for this?
​
​
As my vision started to go black and I fell to the floor, the real horror hit me. Sarah wasn't the monster. And I wasn't just sick. I had been letting the thing from the doorway into our house every single night.
​
​
But as my eyes began to close, something even worse happened.
​
​
The front door clicked open.
Footsteps walked into the hallway. Heavy, tired, familiar footsteps.
​
​
"Sarah? Mark?" a voice called out from the dark. "I'm finally home from the hospital. The traffic was awful."
It was my voice.
​
​
The skinny, grey man by the light switch stopped smiling. His eyes went wide with genuine panic. He looked down at me, then looked toward the hallway, and then he looked back at me with a terrifying realization on his face.
He whispered, "There's three of us."
​
#entertainment
source
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