I Can’t Take This Anymore
I thought nothing of it when my wife first suggested taking in her sister. We’d only been married two years and I was still in that dutiful, quick to acquiesce phase. Marionette had been in a pretty nasty car accident and lost almost all mobility. She could move her right foot and most of her left arm beneath her elbow except her thumb.
Of course her thumb had to be fucked up. It made her forearm a useless battering ram to slam against her wheelchair tray when she needed to be fed. Inserting the tube wasn’t so bad unless she wanted to get cute about it. The thought of cleaning her body and I don’t just mean in the bath was the kind of thing that’d sack my appetite no matter how much overtime I clocked. All this wouldn’t have brought me to where it did if it wasn’t for that slack jaw. You ever see what a severed head looks like with the eyes turned up and mouth slung wide open? Imagine waking up to that at the foot of your bed.
My in laws were too old to help out but every month or so my wife would drive across county to see them. That’s the time shot into my skull like a bullet. Could see myself doing it…over and over. Almost crashed the car on the way to Terra Lake when I looked in the backseat to her wearing a mask of frozen panic and anger. Just wait, you fucking eyesore.
The cops looked into me for a while but had zilch. My wife never suspected a thing and I was more than happy to console her every night. Freedom finally.
It’s just lately things have been…not right. I’ll be taking a shower and see movement through the curtain only to rip them open to find nothing. I’ll hear frantic banging on the front door in my dreams only to be met with dead silence once I shoot up in bed.
I wouldn’t think twice about any of it if not for the squeaking. Slow, methodic creaks of steel. I vehemently accused my wife of lying when she said she couldn’t hear it as it was happening. There’s something wrong with the boiler downstairs, too. Someone’s been fucking with it. Only one way to find out.