Submitted by ByfelsDisciple t3_yam9gh in nosleep
Fuck me.
I married Alyssa because she was the archetype of my physical and emotional attraction: small, cute, unassuming, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. A fly came into the kitchen once and landed on her food, so she made a second breakfast and ate it outside. She didn’t want to deny the insect a snack.
She’s great. Or was, I don’t know. This is why I don’t usually ask questions with difficult answers. We each have our own credit card accounts, then share a third. We don’t fight about money. It’s great.
Or it was great. Fuck, I don’t know what’s going on.
Okay, she likes this esoteric jeweler. The business is called Blood Milk for reasons I cannot fathom. The role of a good spouse is to support the weird shit we don’t understand with an attentive ear and an open heart. But I can never remember what pieces she already has, because each one is just categorized as “that strange thing” in my mind. So I looked up her browser and purchase history on her laptop while she was at yoga.
Bad idea.
Today I learned that my wife spends time online searching Lululemon, Blood Milk, Buddhism, tantric sex (yay), Mother Jones, NPR, Nature, “how long human decomposition lasts”, garden shears, “is cholorform real”, zip ties, hacksaws, bleach, lye, scrub brushes, shovels, “how long does it take a human to suffocate”, State Farm life insurance (which I get through my employer), and “how the killer fucked up on Serial podcast.”
It was so out of character for Alyssa that I genuinely believed the computer was in error. It was more likely that it had somehow read a different person’s browser history.
To put my mind at ease, I looked up her Chase account. She never told me her password, but I knew that it was “butterfly.” I can say this with certainty because I know my wife.
It revealed that she had recently purchased groceries from Vons, gas from Chevron, jewelry from Blood Milk ($191.30, let’s stick to a budget, Alyssa), dinner at Aro with a friend, a refund of $191.30 from Blood Milk (thank you for being reasonable), and a substantial amount spent at Ole’s hardware.
So I logged in to her Ole’s account. Again, “butterfly.” Again, I know my wife.
She had purchased garden shears, zip ties, hacksaws, bleach, lye, scrub brushes, shovels, gloves, and a 36” axe.
I leapt three inches from the chair and dropped a tiny turd nugget into my briefs when the doorbell rang at 8:00 p. m.
Yes, I peeked through the little hole in the door and hesitated for five minutes before opening it. I was hanging by a thread at this point. The whole “someone is just using my wife’s accounts and computer and THEY want to kill me” narrative was now flimsy at best.
But I finally opened it to reveal that a box had been delivered.
Damn. The guy’s job had him dropping shit off to strangers’ houses on a Friday night, probably for dirt pay. There’s a scary story.
I pulled in the delivery that had Alyssa’s name on it and closed the door. I told myself that it was fine to open her packages, specifically because I didn’t think her murder gear was inside.
Her murder gear was inside. I almost cut my finger on the hacksaw. Everything was exactly as described.
Except for the envelope. My instincts told me not to reach for the envelope, because I wouldn’t like what I found inside.
I opened it and did not like what I found inside. A thick stack of photos awaited me, and I looked through every one.
Pics of me driving to work. Pics of me at work. Pics of me driving home. Pics of me showering. Pics of me taking a shit.
Why.
The phone buzzed and I nearly had a heart attack. I gazed around at the dark house; who was here without my knowledge?
I looked at the message.
>Hi baby home in 15 mins. want anything from Vons?
What was I supposed to say? That I wanted a stabbing weapon, a mind eraser, or a new wife?
I hyperventilated into a paper bag for a few minutes before texting her back a brilliant response designed to throw her off:
>no thanx babe
That should buy me some time until I figure out what to do.
Because my wife will be home shortly. I can’t call the police for a crime that hasn’t happened yet. Confronting her would only accelerate her plans, and not confronting her desire to kill me will result in her killing me.
What do you suggest?
Because I hear her car in the driveway, and if I need to grab that axe, I should probably do it right now.
[deleted] t1_itbrg1y wrote
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