She’d just been so stressed from work. She’s in retail, and because of the holidays, the higher-ups had her on deck 6 days a week, 12 hours a day.
She complained to me daily about her aching feet and tired brain, and from the moment she uttered her first distress call, the idea hatched in my head.
How great would it be, right? The perfect gift.
I didn’t want to just throw out some generic 20 dollar gift card for some foot-soaking in warm water; I wanted to make sure she got a fully exclusive experience.
I scoured the internet for a bit. For the first 30 minutes or so, all I could find were cheap, sketchy-looking parlors that I felt my girlfriend had no business with.
After some time, however, I found it.
“Sûren Tide,” the banner read.
Beneath the logo and company photos, they had plastered a long-winded narrative in crisp white lettering over a seductively black backdrop.
“It is our belief that all stress and aches are brought on by darkness held within the soul and mind of a previously pure vessel. We here at Sûren Tide uphold our beliefs to the highest degree, and can assure that you will leave our location with a newfound sense of life and liberty. Our professional team of employees will see to it that not only do you leave happy, you leave satisfied.”
My eyes left the last word, and the only thing I could think was, “Wow…I really hope this isn’t some kind of ‘happy ending’ thing.”
With that thought in mind, I perused the website a bit more. Everything looked to be professional. No signs of criminal activity whatsoever.
What did seem criminal to me, however, was the fact that for the full, premium package, my pockets would become about 450 dollars lighter.
But, hey, in my silly little ‘boyfriend mind,’ as she once called it: expensive = best.
I called the number linked on the website, and a stern-spoken female voice picked up.
“Sûren Tide, where we de-stress best, how can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah, hi. I was just calling about your guys’ premium package?”
There was a pause on the other end while the woman typed on her keyboard.
“Ah, yes. Donavin, I presume? I see you visited our site recently. Did you have questions about pricing? Would you like to book an appointment?”
“Yes, I would, and—wait, did you say Donavin?”
I was genuinely taken aback by this. It was so casual, so blandly stated. It nearly slipped by me for a moment.
“Yes, sir. As I said, we noticed you visited our website earlier. We try our best to attract new customers here.”
“Right…so you just—”
The woman cut me off. Elegantly, though. Almost as if she knew what I had to say wasn’t important enough for her time.
“Did you have a specific time and day in mind for your appointment?”
“Yes, actually. This appointment is for my girlfriend. Let me just check what days she has available.”
I quickly checked my girlfriend’s work calendar, scanning for any off-days.
As if she saw what I was doing, the woman spoke again.
“Oh, I will inform you: we are open on Christmas Day.”
Perfect.
“Really?? That’s perfect. Let’s do, uhhh, how about 7 PM Christmas Day, then?”
I could hear her click-clacking away at her keyboard again.
“Alrighttt, 7 PM Christmas it is, then.”
My girlfriend suddenly burst through my bedroom door, sobbing about her day at work.
Out of sheer instinct, I hung up the phone and hurried to comfort her.
She was on the brink. I could tell that her days in retail were numbered.
“I hate it there. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it,” she pouted as she fought to remove her heels.
Pulling her close for a hug and petting her head, all I could think to say was, “I know, honey. You don’t have to stay much longer. I promise we’ll find you a new job.”
“Promise?” she replied, eyes wet with tears.
“Yes, dear. I promise.”
I felt a light in my heart glow warmer as my beautiful girl pulled me in tighter, burying her face in my chest.
She was going to love her gift. Better than that, she NEEDED her gift.
We spent the rest of that night cuddled up in bed, watching her favorite show and indulging in some extra-buttered popcorn.
We had only gotten through maybe half an episode of Mindhunter before she began to snore quietly in my lap.
My poor girl was beyond exhausted, and I could tell that she was sleeping hard by the way her body twitched slightly as her breathing grew deeper and deeper.
I gave it about 5 or 10 minutes before I decided to move and let her sleep while I got some work done.
Sitting down at my computer, the first thing I noticed was the email.
A digital receipt from the spa.
I found this odd because I had never given them any of my banking information.
Checking my account, I found that I was down 481 dollars and 50 cents.
This irritated me slightly. Yes, I had every intention of buying the package; however, nothing was fully agreed upon.
I re-dialed the number, and instead of the stern voice of the woman from earlier, I was greeted by the harsh sound of the dial tone.
I had been scammed. Or so I thought.
I went back to bed with my girlfriend after trying the number three more times, resulting in the same outcome each time.
Sleep took a while, but eventually reached my seething, overthinking brain.
I must’ve been sleeping like a boulder, because when I awoke the next morning, my girlfriend was gone, with a note on her pillow that read, “Got called into work, see you soon,” punctuated with a heart and a smiley face.
Normally, this would have cleared things up immediately. However, Christmas was my favorite holiday, and I knew what day it was.
Her store was closed, and there was no way she would’ve gone in on Christmas anyway.
I felt panic settle in my chest as I launched out of bed and sprinted for the living room.
Once there, I found it completely untouched, despite the numerous gifts under our tree.
This was a shocking and horrifying realization for me once I learned that our front door had been kicked in, leaving the door handle hanging from its socket.
My heart beat out of my chest as I dialed 911 as fast as my thumbs would allow.
Despite the fact that my door had clearly been broken and now my girlfriend was gone, the police told me that there was nothing they could do. My girlfriend and I were both adults, and it would take at least 24–48 hours before any kind of search party could be considered.
I hadn’t even begun to think about Sǔren Tide being responsible until I received a notification on my phone.
An automated reminder that simply read, “Don’t forget: Spa Appointment. 12/25/25 7:00 P.M. EST.”
Those…mother…fuckers.
With the urgency of a heart surgeon, I returned to my computer, ready to take photos of every inch of their company website to forward to the police.
Imagine my dismay when I was forced into the tragic reality that the link was now dead, and all that I could find was a grey 404 page and an ‘error’ sign.
Those next 24 hours were like the universe’s cruel idea of a joke. The silence. The decorated home that should’ve been filled with cheer and joy but was instead filled with gloom and dread.
And yeah, obviously I tried explaining my situation to the police again. They don’t believe the young, I suppose. Told me she probably just got tired of me and went out for ‘fresh air.’ Told me to ‘try and enjoy the holidays.’ Threw salt directly into my wounds.
By December 26th, I was going on 18 hours without sleep. The police had hesitantly become involved in the case, and my house was being ransacked for evidence by a team of officers. They didn’t seem like they wanted to help. They seemed like they wanted to get revenge on me for interrupting their festivities.
They had opened every single Christmas gift. Rummaged through every drawer and cabinet. I could swear on a bible that one of them even took some of my snacks, as well as a soda from my fridge.
I was too tired to argue against them. Instead, I handed over my laptop and gave them permission to go through my history and emails. I bid them goodbye and sarcastically thanked them for all of their help.
Once the last officer was out my door, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and collapsed face-first into a pillow, crying gently and slipping into slumber.
I was awoken abruptly by the sound of pounding coming from my front door.
I rolled out of bed groggily and wiped the sleep from my eyes as I slowly walked towards the sound.
As I approached, the knocking ceased suddenly, and I heard footsteps rushing off my front porch.
Checking the peephole, all I could see was a solid black van with donut tires and tinted windows burn rubber down my driveway.
Opening my door, my fury and grief transformed into pure, unbridled sorrow as my eyes fell upon what they couldn’t see from the peephole.
In a wheelchair sat before me, dressed in a white robe with a towel still wrapped around her hair, my beautiful girlfriend.
She didn’t look hurt per se.
She looked…empty.
Her eyes were glazed and glassy, and her mouth hung open as if she didn’t have the capacity to close it.
Her skin had never looked more beautiful. Blackheads, blemishes—every imperfection had been removed.
When I say every imperfection, please believe those words. Even her birthmark had completely disappeared. The one that used to kiss her collar and cradle her neck. “God’s proof of authenticity,” we used to call it.
In fact, the only distinguishable mark I could find on her body was a bandage, slightly stained with blood, that covered her forehead.
I fought back tears as I reached down to stroke her face. Her eyes slowly rolled towards me before her gaze shifted back into space.
I called out her name once, twice, three times before she turned her head back in my direction.
By this point, I was screaming her name, begging her to respond to me, to which she replied with scattered grunts and heavy breathing.
I began shaking her wheelchair, sobbing as I pleaded for her to come back.
Her eyes remained distant and hollow; however, as I shook the chair, something that I hadn’t noticed previously fell out of her robe.
A laminated card, with the ‘ST’ logo plastered boldly across the top.
I bent down to retrieve the card, my heart and mind shattering with each passing moment, and what I read finally pushed me over the edge.
“Session Complete. Thank you for choosing Sǔren Tide, and Happy Holidays from our family to yours.”
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