The Messenger

Every night he visited me, in the annals of my mind, playing out the same way each time.

There was a heavy stillness, as though sound had no place to land.

I saw a figure, blurred as if covered by a miasma of heat, yet I felt chilled to the marrow.

I began to recognize him as I grew closer, feeling an overwhelming sensation of ancient nostalgia.

Finally, I was very close, and he turned to face me.

I only ever saw the face: a skin-tight hood of featureless flesh.

Slowly, he attempted to open his mouth, stretching the blank skin taut.

The skin split, and a spray of crimson revealed a maw of churning, bloodied viscera.

He dabbed a single white-gloved finger into the pit of blood with the elegance of a pen into an inkwell.

The motions were swift and precise, as it painted a message in bright red upon the wall.

As I read the message, I felt an intense dread grow inside me, until I would scream myself awake.

I never remembered the message, just the figure and that ever-growing fear it instilled.

That is, until last night.

The dream played out as usual, until I saw the figure.

The figure was drenched in dried blood, and its shredded mouth was already wrenched open.

Where there was normally only skin, were two gaping black holes for eyes

It was pointing with a hand, dripping with thick, congealing blood, at the message on the wall.

I finally saw it.

SHE KNOWS

I awoke covered in sweat, screaming. She asked me if I had “that nightmare” again. I simply nodded.

The message shook me to my core, but I knew it was just a dream. I knew she couldn’t know.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check.

After she fell asleep, I carefully crept out to the yard.

The well stood near the back of our property, my eternal reminder of our lost essence.

I pried off the concrete cover, and peered down the dark abyss, and into the depths of my past.

My lies had been crafted in clockwork, each element perfectly aligned to let life tick along as normal.

I couldn’t shine the light down, couldn’t bare to see if those brittle bones still floated in the fetid water.

She had embraced me and cried, that’s how I knew she believed me, that’s how I was sure.

I knew he had to be there, there was no other possibility. She couldn’t have known.

I was always there for her, a constant stalwart. Surely everyone is entitled to at least one mistake?

I finally shone the light down, the beam shaking in my grip. The circle of light approached the bottom.

He was broken, since the day he was born. I dropped him into that well, because I  knew it was right.

I saw the light dance off the shimmering black surface of the water. His bones were gone.

I leaned in closer, desperate to prove that message wrong, considering if they could sink to the bottom.

Suddenly, a force slammed into my back, and sent me tumbling into the tainted black waters.

That’s how I was sure: She knew.