12 Jan What Comes Between

My wife Abby and I have a nightly routine at our house that begins around 8:30 or so, starting with putting our son Hunter to bed.

We take turns lying him down and reading him a story. He’s just turned seven, but it’s still difficult for him to sleep by himself, so one of us will lie with him until he falls asleep, and then once we hear those soft little snores, we sneak out for some alone time with each other.

In our bedroom, we watch a TV for a while, eat a few snacks, and chill, unwinding until we are ready for bed. Sometimes, Abby has a harder time going to sleep, so she will pick a nature documentary or something soothing while I read a book.

Then, just before it’s time to sleep, she will ask me to make sure the doors are locked, and that the window in our bathroom is closed.

I start with the back door, jiggling it and confirming it’s secure, then move to the front and do the same. In the bathroom I check the window, turning off all the lights as I go.

Our room is last, and our dog Truffles sleeps under the bed, so I tell her to get to her house, and she usually obeys without so much as a bark.

Last but not least is the closet, which is right in front of our bed on the right side of the room. It’s a large walk-in, with two sliding doors at its entrance, and I always slide it open, peek inside, and confirm that it’s clear before climbing into bed.

I give Abby a quick kiss, and we fall asleep together.

* * * * * *

It’s been this way ever since the incident. The scars don’t fade because we remember everything so vividly.

Five months ago, right after we moved in, we someone broke into our place.

We weren’t home at the time, but when we got back and saw the door wide open, Abby had a panic attack.

I called the police, and we waited outside in our car while two officers came by to ensure the house was clear.

After they left, Abby and I were told to check and see if anything had been stolen.

The house looked the same, but it felt so unsettling to realize that an intruder had been there only moments before. I couldn’t think straight, and the room felt like it was spinning. Everything that was once safe now felt violated. I looked for anything out of place and completed a cursory inventory of our valuables.

But there was nothing I could really identify, and I got the feeling that since there were no obvious suspects or leads, and no obvious signs of theft or any damage to speak of, the police were gradually growing impatient.

They showed me how to file a report in case I did notice anything amiss, and then left Abby and me there to pick up the pieces of our shattered sense of security. No one even offered to do a thorough walk-through of the property, seemingly convinced we had simply left our door ajar, and nothing more.

I went back inside and tried to remain calm, put Hunter to bed, and headed to our room to relax. Truffles was near the closet, wagging his tail, curious as ever.

Abby was the one who opened the closet door–and then screamed at the top of her lungs.

I snapped to attention and saw a man standing in our closet, holding a gun to my wife’s head.

Truffles began to bark, and the man immediately kicked him away, forcing me to grab the dog. I did my best to maintain my composure as the situation intensified.

He was maybe in his late twenties, with dark smudges under his eyes. The angry expression on his face told me not to make any sudden moves. I held my hands up defensively as he slowly got out of the closet, keeping Abby close to him as a hostage.

Truffles continued barking as his eyes darted, and the intruder snapped and shouted at the dog to shut up.

Then he turned toward me, asking if the cops were gone.

I was doing my best not to panic. It wasn’t working.

“Yes!” I cried. “Yes, they’re gone! Please, just take whatever you want and leave!”

I saw terror flashing across Abby’s face as she remained paralyzed, and the intruder carefully guided her toward the front of our home. All I could think about was making sure she was safe.

Then, from behind me, I heard a soft whine.

Hunter.

He had gotten out of bed, having heard the commotion.

His eyes widened with fright, looking toward the man holding his mother at gunpoint.

I have no earthly idea whether his young mind understood the implications or not, but I kept him shielded behind me as I focused on the gunman.

The man threatened and warned us, pointing his weapon at Hunter, before suddenly breaking for the door and dashing outside.

Abby collapsed, shaking, into my arms. Hunter was confused and crying.

We hardly slept that night, huddled together in our king-size, but we managed to get a few minutes of shut-eye.

In the morning, we were still shaken up, and I couldn’t help but replay the scene over and over again in my mind.

We had been so close to death, and it was the most frightening feeling in the world.

Ever since then, I’ve performed the aforementioned nightly ritual, conducting a safety check of the house before we go to bed.

Sleep hasn’t been peaceful, however. It’s more accurate to say we surrender daily to exhaustion.

I’ve wanted to buy a state-of-the-art home security system, a handgun, or a large guard dog, but unfortunately, none of those were options. Our landlord wouldn’t allow us to keep any dog over 20 pounds inside. Besides, we already had Truffles, and I didn’t want to rehome him. The home security system were out of our budget, and Abby was too frightened of our son finding a weapon if we did buy one. I felt powerless in my own home, when it should have been my stronghold.

With no other choice, we tried to resume a normal life and put the incident behind us–but that’s easier said than done.  All of us have scars–and nightmares.

I’ve been trying to keep it together for the two of them, trying to show that I can be strong.

And then, one night, it got worse.

I had just let Truffles out to do her business when Abby reminded me to check the doors. It’s become something of an obsession for her, justifiably so, given what happened. So even when I check two or three times, I always do it once more if she needs that reassurance.

Our room was last on the list to check, and just like always, I moved to the closet door and slid it to the side.

That was when I saw some… thing, squirming and moving in the shadows. I jumped back in surprise, causing Abby to yelp.

She backed up against the nearby wall and asked me what was wrong.

I knew she couldn’t see it from where she was, and I was at a loss for words, so I slowly backed away toward the dresser and grabbed my smartphone.

Turning on the flashlight, I illuminated the walk-in closet to get a better look at the thing. It was about the size of a bowling ball, covered in strange green goopy spores. It reminded me of bacteria viewed under a microscope, but breathing, and plastered to our closet wall.

“Abby, you have to see this!” I told my wife.

She refused, and remained motionless, insisting I take a picture instead. Nervously, I made my approach and did as she asked, then passed my phone to her.

My wife looked at it and at first seemed confused, and then angry, asking if this was my idea of a joke.

“What?” I said, equally as perplexed.

She became hostile, tossing the phone on the bed and declaring there was nothing in the photo.

I closed the closet door and scooped the phone up, confused as to why I could see the spore-like thing but she couldn’t.

“It’s right there!” I insisted. “It’s like some kind of living mold or something.”

She told me she didn’t see anything.

“Get up and go to the closet, and see for yourself!” I told her.

She was convinced this was some stupid prank and that I was trying to jump-scare her.

“I’m right here,” I said, trying to reassure her as I yanked her arm. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Abby reluctantly agreed, scooting toward the door and sliding it open.

But as before, she swore she didn’t see anything. At first I thought it was because it was dark.

I turned on my phone’s flashlight once again. But this time, when the light flickered in the corner, the strange green ball of gunk was gone.

Had the thing moved? It hadn’t seemed mobile earlier.

“It was right there, I swear,” I told her, pointing at the spot where I’d seen the spore.

She climbed back into bed, and I slid the closet door closed, shaking my head in disbelief. Abby was upset and told me she wasn’t in the mood for antics.

I lay in bed, apologizing to Abby until she dozed off, and then stared at the closet door until I heard her snoring. Then I got up and moved to the closet again, opening it one more time, to see if I was seeing things.

When I switched on the light, the gunk had returned. It seemed larger now, and it was dripping some strange acidic ooze onto the closet floor below.

I held my nose as I realized that it also smelled rotten, then glanced back at Abby. Why couldn’t she see it–or smell it, for that matter? What was this thing?

I snapped a few more photos and slid the door closed. Then, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a dining room chair. Placing it against the closet made me feel a little safer.

For a long while sleep evaded me again, until at last my eyes grew too heavy to watch the closet door, and I passed out, exhausted.

* * * * * *

In the morning, Abby pestered me about the chair as she moved to open the closet.

She complained again as she slid the door to the left. Then she screamed.

I jumped and grabbed her, popping my head into the closet, but I didn’t see a thing.

“What did you see?” I asked her.

Between sobs, she told me she didn’t know what she saw, claiming it had to be a hallucination.

I didn’t tell her that I was sure that whatever she had seen was real.

I would need to wait and figure this out alone and be the strong one for us.

I didn’t want her to have another episode. One of us had to remain sane. This was my burden and mine alone.

The next night, I waited until Abby was asleep and decided to check the closet. There had been nothing there during my routine check, but I had sensed a presence of some kind.

This thing, I rationalized, must be able to hide itself from us whenever it needs to. Could it sense our emotions, or our thoughts? Was it feeding off our distress? Whatever the case was, I needed answers.

I quietly climbed out of bed and slid the door open again, unsurprised to find the bulbous mass of toxic goop vibrating there in the closet. It had gotten even bigger. I tried to recall how small it had been when I first saw it, and estimated it was now at least three times the size of its earlier mass.

What was making it grow? And what was its purpose, its intentions? It was dangerous; I was certain of that. Yet, against my better judgment, I wanted to reach out and touch it, and learn more about it and why it was here.

I slowly raised my hand and moved it toward the glowing bacterial lifeform. I felt a warm, irritating heat beneath my outstretched palm.

That’s when I did it–I touched the thing. And immediately regretted it.

Instantly, my skin prickled with pain, and I shrieked. Instinctively, I slammed the door shut, crushing my fingers in the process.

Abby jolted from the bed as I recoiled in pain and shock. I looked down at the area of my hand that had made contact with the thing, and screamed even louder.

My skin appeared singed and had begun sloughing off, exposing the muscle below.

As I rushed to the bathroom, hands shaking, Abby got out of bed, flicked on the light, and tried to figure out what was the matter.

“Get me a bag of ice! Hurry!” I begged as pain radiated up my arm. Every nerve in my body began to go numb as I doused my hand with cold water in an effort to stop the reaction.

Abby again asked me what was wrong as she grabbed my arm and pulled it out from under the faucet.

She stared at my palm, and I did, too, shocked and confused–to find that there was no longer any damage there. Still, I could feel the residual effects of touching the substance. My hand continued to tremble, and Abby gave me a baffled look.

She told me that she couldn’t see anything wrong with my arm.

Behind her, I heard Hunter whining, and I fumbled to find words, pointing toward the closet.

As she scooped Hunter up and shushed him, rocking him slowly, she asked if I was having a psychotic break or losing my mind.

“I know what I saw, Abby!” I cried, trying to understand what had just happened. “It was right there! It nearly destroyed my hand!”

My words scared our son, and he became worried there was an attacker in our house again. Moments later, his whines became fits of tears.

Even Truffles was up, wagging anxiously and looking at me with bewilderment.

My wife comforted the dog as she squeezed Hunter a little tighter. I’ll never forget her tone–kind to our son, but cruel to me.

“It’s fine, sweetie,” she reassured Hunter. “Daddy is just being silly. There’s nothing there. You’re safe.”

She gave me the evil eye. Hunter asked if we could sleep in the bed with him.

She nodded and took him to his room, glaring at me.

Then she slammed his bedroom door in my face.

I glanced at the closet in our own room, now seemingly empty, and then at Truffles. The dog seemed worried about me, too.

I climbed into bed, still trembling from the pain, staring at the closet.

I could not see the organism. But I felt it, and I swore I heard it breathing, ever so quietly, beneath the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

Maybe I was losing my mind, I thought. Or perhaps this strange life form had come to tear us all apart.

* * * * * *

The next day, right after she put Hunter down for a nap, Abby announced that we needed to talk.

Most of the day, we hadn’t spoken about the incident. It had been festering between us, and I could tell that she was upset by my behavior.

“I know you don’t believe me,” I told her, “but I know there is something there, and it’s hurting us. I’m not sure why.”

Abby gave me a look that made me feel six inches tall.

She told me that she felt our relationship was falling apart and that it wasn’t going to work if I didn’t start trying harder to stay sane.

“I’m trying to protect you!” I shot back. She responded with the most scathing comeback, asking me what I would even know about protecting her and our son.

That felt like a knife to the chest, and I realized what she really felt.

“This isn’t about what you think I’ve been seeing,” I told her. “It’s about what happened that night.”

She told me she didn’t want to talk about that night, but I knew that was truly what was bothering her.

“You blame me, don’t you?!” I shouted at her. “Because I couldn’t do anything to save you! Is that why you keep looking at me like I’m… like I’m subhuman?!”

She told me the truth, that she felt I had been a coward that night.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But instead of continuing the conversation, I reminded her it was time for her to get to work.

It was clear the animosity we felt toward one another wasn’t going to be resolved easily.

When she left, I went to the closet and pulled the door open. Once again, there was nothing there for me to be scared of.

I focused on the images of that night that clouded my brain.

Perhaps it would help if I confronted the feelings I had allowed to fester since the incident, I realized. Maybe Abby was right–the only toxic creatures around here were me and my shattered mind.

I couldn’t be strong like I needed to be.

I went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, took a few pills to help me sleep, and laid down to rest alongside Hunter, telling myself I would make things right the next day.

But reality shattered again for me less than half an hour later.

I woke in a cold sweat, Hunter’s wails filling the air. Immediately, I knew what was wrong, and I ran toward our room. I had left the closet door open. Hunter, curious as any toddler, had wandered inside and approached the strange organism.

As I used my phone to shine a light on him, I saw that half of his arm was stuck inside the green mass, and my poor son was screaming his head off, trying to get it back.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Daddy is here. Don’t move,” I said, trying my best to sound like the confident parent that he needed.

My first instinct was to call Abby, but then I second-guessed myself. She had already called me insane for even believing this thing existed. And I had nearly believed her. Now, I was paying the price by seeing my little boy suffer and cry.

The thing had adopted a strange form. Rather than just being misshapen and bulbous, the contours and strange markings on its surface vaguely resembled facial features.

Altogether, I counted at least four growing masses sprouting from its body. All the while, it dripped more acid on the floor as it latched onto Hunter. I could tell it wasn’t going to let him go easily.

“I have to get something to cut you out!” I told him. “Don’t move, okay?” Hunter whimpered and nodded as I rushed to the kitchen. I heard Truffles trot behind me, barking softly and wagging her tail.

“Not now, girl. Hunter needs our help,” I told the little dog as I grabbed a sharp knife and some pliers. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it would get the job done.

Running back to the closet, I squeezed myself into the area alongside Hunter and embraced him.

“Listen, this might hurt a little bit, but I am going to get that thing off of you, okay, bud?” I reassured him.

He couldn’t do much else besides shake in pain.

I felt so sorry for him, stuck there being consumed by the thing like a piece of meat. I had to help him in any way I could.

Pushing as close to the toxic bacteria as I could, I pressed the pliers right against his skin, and Hunter began to cry again.

“I know! I know it hurts,” I told him as I got the knife and started to prod at the organism, trying to determine how easily it could be cut.

With each incision I made, ooze poured onto Hunter’s arm, digging into his flesh and potentially infecting him, burning his skin much like mine. But I was making progress.

I continued to cut, ignoring his pleas as I jabbed at the organism, angry that it was harming him so much. Outside the closet, I heard Truffles bark louder and louder, and I wondered if the little dog could now see the alien lifeform, too.

After five excruciating minutes of Hunter’s tears and cries, his hand finally came free.

He wobbled out of the closet and collapsed onto the floor, sobbing pitifully as I jabbed the knife into the thing one more time.

I had no idea if I could cause the strange organism any pain or not, but it felt good to try.

I cradled Hunter near to me as I slid the glass door halfway closed and looked at his hand.

Bits of the goop–that I supposed was the creature’s blood–were bubbling against his torn skin, most of which had already been eaten away. I shuddered and pulled out my phone. I needed to call 911. I didn’t give a damn if Abby thought this was insane.

Holding Hunter next to me, I moved out of the bedroom and waited for the phone operator to answer.

When they picked up, I gave them my address and told them my son had burned his hand on the stove. It seemed like the best explanation. The hospital would surely give him a full exam when we got there.

They arrived within five minutes, and I hurried Hunter to the back, where paramedics immediately began to check him out.

“Can I ride with you?” I asked them. They nodded, and I finally texted Abby as we rode toward the nearest ER.

Hunter was in so much shock that he had stopped crying. I took over for him, trying my best to hold back tears as I saw him clutch his hand.

One paramedic said they had never seen such a bad burn.

I was quiet, too disturbed to talk, as I realized that if I had just tried to get rid of the damned organism earlier, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

I wondered, as we got to the ER, how Abby was going to handle all of this.

Somehow, I knew she would use me as her punching bag, and I mentally prepared for that.

An hour later, when Hunter was back with the doctors and given some good medicine, she arrived with the most judgmental look on her face.

She said she knew I was going insane but thought that I could handle things for a single day.

Her words cut deep.

She couldn’t believe that she had left for only a few hours, and now our son had life-threatening burns. She even accused me of leaving the burner on, shouting that I could have set the house on fire.

“Please, lower your voice,” I stammered. “You don’t understand what happened!”

I wasn’t sure if she would even believe me. I hardly believed it myself. The thing in our closet was destroying our lives, driving a wedge further between us.

She said we would figure it out and come to an agreement.

But that conversation never happened, because another horrible scene awaited us when we got home. The sight of our door, once again wide open, caused Abby to hyperventilate.

As she struggled to breathe, she told me she was tired of our constant fights.

Despite all the issues we were going through in our relationship, I didn’t feel like being petty. Instead, I offered to go in first and investigate.

My first instinct was to check the closet where the intruder had hidden before. I thought I knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed.

The growth had engulfed the entire left side of the closet wall, sprouted strange tentacles, and rooted itself into the floor. It had seven heads now, all of which resembled various misshapen skulls, and it smelled worse than any decaying animal. It thrummed louder than it ever had, consuming everything and destroying our lives.

I looked down and saw the wet collar of our beloved dog, and realized the organism had eaten it and spat out the bones and unwanted metal.

I kicked the collar away and returned to the living room, announcing to Abby that her dog had run off.

We didn’t talk for the rest of the afternoon. She was on her phone, comforting Hunter about the dog, while I stared at the organism that only I could see.

Every breath it took was an affront. My family was hanging by a thread, and this thing was determined to destroy us all.

I told myself that I needed to finish what I had started when I saved Hunter.

I needed to kill the damn thing.

* * * * * *

Abby fell asleep on the couch, refusing to share a room with me again as I studied the gigantic ball of snot. It was pushing itself out of the closet now.

No longer hidden by the darkness, I could see just how ugly and putrid it truly was. Its engorged veins pulsed with black blood, poison covering every inch of its thick green-grey skin. Every pore and surface constantly eroded our home, our very lives.

I took the long carving knife and began to jab away at the creature, starting with the misshapen spores that looked like skulls. Each time, noxious fumes erupted into my face, burning my eyes. But I didn’t stop. I needed this thing to die in order to be free.

The goop and blood spilled out onto the floor, acidic fluid splattering my skin as it tried to defend itself.

I kept chopping, slicing at its limbs and listening to it squeal. It was just what I needed to keep going.

The screams were so loud they filled the entire house. But I was not going to stop, not until I was sure it was dead.

Then, another scream pierced my ears. Abby’s.

She grabbed me from behind and twisted my wrist, forcing me to stop, and the knife fell to the floor.

She shouted at me to stop as she pulled me away.

My eyes were coated in acid, and I couldn’t understand why she was wailing so loudly as she pushed past me and forced the door open. The glass collapsed forward, and as it shattered, I saw my son Hunter lying in a pool of his own blood. He had numerous stab wounds, and his cries resembled those I’d heard the creature make.

Abby looked up at me, her eyes brimming with hatred.

She let out a banshee-like shriek, grabbed Hunter, and ran toward the door, shoving me into the pool of shattered glass.

Each prick was sharper than a needle, the broken edges stabbing me in the same way I had my son.

As I lay there in Hunter’s blood, I heard them drive off and felt tears pour out of my bruised eyes.

Then I heard the organism’s low, guttural breathing. I saw it move amidst the shadows and begin to swallow me.

This time, I didn’t fight it.

My family was gone. And even if they did survive, I had lost them.

The abomination had won.

I surrendered.