We moved in together after graduation, and for the first few years, everything felt normal.
We’d have our date nights. We’d have our intimacy. But, of course, as is the case with every marriage, arguments were inevitable.
They never escalated, though. That was never our problem. The problem started when, after five years of living together, I started catching her sneaking out at night.
She’d always wait until I was asleep. I know because, after a few times of me waking up in the middle of the night in an empty bed, red flags started popping up.
At first, I didn’t want to assume. She was a smoker. Maybe she was just having a cigarette. Maybe she was just in the bathroom. She was hungry and in need of a midnight snack. Anything to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
Unfortunately, those hopes were shattered when I started hearing the front door open before she came crawling back into bed.
Sometimes she’d be gone for up to an hour. No cigarette smell in her hair or on her clothes. In fact, it seemed like she would change into a new outfit every time she came back to bed.
The only clue I had… were her feet.
She was utterly ruining our sheets every time she did this. You can wash away mud a few times, but after a while, it’s gonna stain.
Of course, I’d ask her about this, oftentimes while angrily throwing our comforter in the washing machine, and every time, her answer was the same.
“I don’t remember.”
It was laughable at first. I thought she was playing a joke on me. When I saw she was serious, I began to get concerned.
“Sweetie… it’s a little hard for me to believe you don’t remember being barefoot in the mud before coming home. Just tell me.”
That’s when the tears would start.
“I am telling you. I. Do. Not. Know.”
As time went on, her late-night endeavors began to take longer. It got to the point where I was intentionally pretending to be asleep in order just to time her.
2 hours.
3 hours.
Sometimes 4.
Something else that I noticed was that every time she came back, her skin would be noticeably softer. Pimples would have seemingly disappeared. Eye bags would clear up overnight.
I knew I had to follow her after this one night in particular.
She had a little mishap in the kitchen that day and sliced her hand open. I remember being certain that she’d need stitches, but she insisted on just bandaging it up herself.
The day went on as usual. 12:30 in the morning rolled around. I felt her get out of bed. I heard her footsteps leading toward the front door. The door opened and shut. She returned two hours later. Muddy feet. New outfit. Softer skin.
The next morning, her hand was healed.
She tried to gaslight me into believing that the cut hadn’t even happened. Somehow, I was the one not making any sense. I was at my boiling point. That’s when I made my decision.
She didn’t sneak out that night, nor the night after. It was actually a week later when I could finally follow through with my plan.
It was late. Maybe 2 AM. I felt the bed shift. I heard the springs pop. The sound of her footsteps scurrying toward the front door let me know that it was time.
I tried to move as quickly and as silently as possible. By the time I reached the front door, she was already at the edge of the forest.
She was running unnaturally fast into the woods. Like she had taken the route 100 times before. I could barely keep up, especially while trying to remain hidden.
We must’ve run for at least a mile or two, deeper and deeper into the forest, before she began to slow down.
To a jog.
Then a speed walk.
Then to a regular walking speed.
She glanced around, scanning her surroundings. I hid as best I could. There were a few moments where I swore she could see me, but I guess I was wrong.
She kept walking. I kept following.
I started noticing some of her clothes scattered around the soggy forest floor. Tank tops. Pajama pants. Bras. Panties.
She began adding onto the scattered clothing with each step. Removing her top and bra. Stripping out of her pants and underwear.
Finally… we reached the stopping point, and for the first time this night… something other than my wife grabbed my full attention.
It looked like… snake skin but… human. Like discarded exoskeletons, and there were dozens of them.
Some dangled from branches. Some were partially buried by leaves. Most of them just littered the ground.
I stifled a gasp and returned my attention to my wife.
She was making this clicking sound with her throat. Her head was pointed toward the sky, and she kept cocking it back and forth like a rooster.
The movement got more and more jagged.
Her knees started bouncing. Her body looked like it was convulsing, but she didn’t seem to be in pain.
With each bounce… her skin loosened more and more.
Flakes the size of pinecones began falling from her body. The sound, my God, the sound. It was exactly like the sound that Velcro makes. I wanted to vomit, but I couldn’t. Not now. She just… kept going.
Kept convulsing, kept bouncing until her skin fell to the ground in one big empty husk.
She cracked her joints like this whole process was nothing more than a workout to her. She raised her hands high above her head, stretching her body before letting out a relieved, “ahhhh,” and rolling her neck.
My weight shifted. A stick snapped beneath my foot. My wife’s head snapped in my direction, and my heart stopped.
She began approaching. Her glare intensifying with each step.
When she saw me, her face fell. She looked like she was the one who had just seen a monster.
Our eyes locked. My lips quivered. I didn’t know what to expect.
She stared at me for a long while, analyzing me before she finally spoke.
“Okay… look… Can we please just talk about this when we get home?”
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