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This can’t be. He was perfect, sobbed Teresa.
Is perfect, she corrected herself, glancing once more at the cell phone. After all, she
hadn’t actually caught him doing anything. He probably had a number of reasons to
lie to her. He’s never hurt her before, so why now? She looked down at his phone
once more. The tiny device cast its pale glow across her lap as she reread the
enigmatic text message.
345 N. Chandler. She’s PURE.
What did that even mean? Teresa rested her head on the steering wheel, taking a
deep breath. The rain assaulted the car’s windshield, distorting her perception. She
wished Chad was here. Not in the house in front of her, mind you, but actually in the
car with her. Since she met him three years ago, he had been her rock. He was the
shining Galahad that had turned her life around and made every day a dream for her.
Even now, as she lay in wait before a stranger’s home, awaiting her husband’s
incriminating appearance, she wished he was there to comfort her. She
unconsciously began fidgeting with her wedding ring. The red ruby set within the
yellow gold glinted slightly.
The door to the house in front of her opened. A silhouette in a long black coat
emerged, looked about cautiously, and walked swiftly away into the storm as the door
swung shut behind him. There was no doubt about it now, thought Teresa. Though
she could not make out the figure’s features, she recognized the coat. She had
bought it for Chad on his birthday two years ago.
Now what do I do? she thought, tears streaming down her cheeks, carving ugly paths
through her makeup. Could her husband really be cheating on her? What the hell
does “PURE” even mean?! Was this some kind of code for prostitutes? Why would
he even need one? Their love life had been just as passionate as the night they met
at the club. Why, just last night they had given into their unquenchable desires; her
smooth, manicured hands tracing the contours of his broad, muscular back. She
knew every carbuncular curve of his body, from his strong hips, to the faded scar that
ran the length of his spine. The very thought of another woman savoring her man
nauseated Teresa. A furious maelstrom of hate and jealousy welled up inside her.
Chad would never have done this if it weren’t for that little bitch. Whoever she is, she
must have duped him somehow.
The slut had to answer for this.
Galvanized by her pain, Teresa threw open the car door and marched across the
darkened, muddy lawn in front of her. The freezing rain pelted her tear-stained face,
sluicing through the distorted remains of her makeup. Abandoning all logic, she
hammered on the front door with her fist.
The door swung open.
Spurred by fury and a primal drive to get out of the storm, she ducked into the harlot’s
home. “Hello?” she shouted, making a feeble attempt at controlling the rage in her
voice. She was greeted by the sound of rain drumming against the windows and
nothing else. She called again, but there was no reply. Was the bitch hiding from
her? Anxiously, she took in her surroundings.
It was a fairly plush suburban home. Immaculately kept and full of rather nice
furniture. There was a series of photos on the mantle, featuring a family of three. Oh,
God, thought Teresa, he’s cheating with another man’s wife. The photographs
depicted a haughty-looking blond woman with a haggard-looking husband and a
pretty blue-eyed pre-teen daughter.
“Don’t you feel that sometimes, you just need to run away…”
Was that music? Teresa looked at the staircase leading to the second floor. Was her
husband’s lover listening to music? Is that why she didn’t hear her calling? Unsure of
her overall plan, Teresa began climbing the plushy carpeted stairs. Despite the thick
orange carpeting, the floorboards creaked loudly under her feet. As her heart
hammered in her chest, she realized that her anger was rapidly being replaced with a
creeping dread.
“Watch out for the sunshine, forget about the rain…”
It certainly was music and it was coming from one of the bedrooms that lined the
upstairs hall. Nothing could have prepared Teresa for sheer horror of what she
found.
The room belonged to the young daughter.
Her mind was awash in a tempest of dark possibilities. The girl was nowhere to be
found, but the room was disheveled and the television was on. The source of the
song was a videogame, which was left running. Could the girl be hiding from her?
She couldn’t have gone far if her game was still on, right? Teresa didn’t honestly
know. She was never big into videogames before meeting Chad, and he certainly
never let her near one. He actually forbade her to play them. It was pretty odd in
retrospect and she would have been insulted if the order hadn’t been so silly. She
abided by the rule, but she always assumed it was a joke.
There was nothing funny about this situation, though.
She sat down on the edge of the girl’s bed, sinking into the lavish pink sheets. What
to do now? Should she go home and explain to Chad that she found his phone and
followed him here? Should she wait here for the young girl? At the very least, she
had to talk to the parents. This was no long about bawling out her husband’s lover –
this was about reporting a crime. The very thought caused her to retch.
“Does it brighten up your day?”
It wasn’t long before the looping song of the video game began to take its toll on
Teresa’s patience. She slumped off the bed and reached for the videogame system
that lay on the floor. Her hand caressed the unfamiliar black unit, searching for the
power switch. Despite having been left on for some time, the ebony casing was ice
cold. Her fingers found what she assumed was the power switch, but she stayed her
hand. The wedding ring on her trembling finger shone fiercely against the dark
console.
“That bastard told me not to play games,” she mused. “Who the hell does that
bastard think he is?” Clearly she was losing it. Fear and grief had given way to
childlike pettiness. Chad had betrayed her and she was willing to do the same in any
way possible, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
She reached for the controller and pressed start.
The next few hours were a haze to Teresa. Despite never having played many
videogames, she picked up the controls almost by instinct. She didn’t enjoy herself,
but she found herself compelled to grind through the game. The ugly truth about her
husband, the plight of the young girl, and the very home around her seem to melt
away as she raced every course in that strange little game, collecting coins and
challenging other characters. Anything was better than facing reality.
Chad’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
Jolted from her reverie, Teresa dropped the controller and pulled out the phone.
There was an incoming message from an unknown number. Outside, the rain must
have stopped, because the air was deathly quiet. She checked the message.
345 N. Chandler. Your wife must die.
She dropped the phone, which rolled under the bed. She had no idea what was going
on, but she saw her situation with crystal clarity. She was in a stranger’s home and
someone was planning on killing her. Her heart hammered in her chest. Who was
sending these messages? Were they watching her? The dimly lit hall outside now felt
like a mass of suffocating black gauze. She had to get out. She had to call the
police! She reached down to pick up the phone.
A bloody hand shot from under the bed and grabbed her wrist.
Screaming, Teresa pulled free and leaped back onto the bed, cradling her gore
flecked arm. A foul gust rose up from the floor and the bedroom door slammed shut.
The lights and television blinked out, plunging the room into complete and utter
darkness, save for a faint crimson glow emanating from somewhere on the floor.
Teresa scrunched up closer to the headboard of the twin bed, wrapping her arms
around her knees. She tried to calm herself. A fuse must have blown. There’s
nothing to be –
A wet gurgle emanated from under the bed.
The eerie red phosphorescence seemed to gain strength, casting sinister shadows
across the walls. The soft sheets on the bed shifted gently. To Teresa’s horror,
something was pulling on them. A single trembling hand rose into view at the foot of
the bed. It jerked and flopped as if being controlled by an unseen puppeteer. It
suddenly seized a handful of blanket and tugged forcefully as another bloody palm
rose up over the linen horizon. The light was getting brighter still and it was easy to
see that the pair of hands had been stitched onto their arms.
Icy terror froze Teresa in place, unable to scream as a head rose into view. Lolling
awkwardly to the side, the girl’s long, blood-matted blond locks hung over her face,
nearly obscuring the hollow sockets that once housed her beautiful blue eyes. Her
lips were sewn shut with asymmetrical imprecision. Blood trickled out from between
the frayed pieces of cord that bound her once rosy flesh.
“Who are you?” croaked Teresa weakly, as the teen continued to claw her way up
onto the bed, staining the pink sheets black with her congealing humors. In response
to the question, the corpse’s head flopped forward, exposing a tangled mess of blond
hair, with a jewel, the source of the red radiance, rising up out of it. The tangle
shifted. It looked at her with soulless, felt eyes.
It was a small, orange-yellow rag doll.
A stream of light lashed through the gloom as the bedroom door opened. Teresa
turned and saw a familiar silhouette in the doorway. “Chad!” shouted Teresa. She
hurled herself off the bed and into his waiting arms. She dared not turn back to look
at the abomination shambling up onto the bed. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.
Her knees gave way, but her husband held her up in his strong arms. “It’s OK,” he
said, stroking her head. “It’s all ok, now.” Gaining a second wind, Teresa pushed him
away and risked a glance back at the bed.
It was empty.
Was it all in her mind? The lights were back on, and everything was just as it had
been since before she got the text.
That awful text.
“What are you doing here?” she sobbed.
He reached down under the bed and picked up his phone. “I couldn’t find my phone,
so I figured that I left it here.”
He started checking the messages. Teresa began edging towards the door. “But why
did you come here in the first place? Who is the girl? Why was she pure?”
Chad solemnly looked at the game machine on the floor and then back at his cell
phone. A single tear ran down his cheek. “You played the game,” he said eventually.
Teresa slammed her fists against the wall a shouted. “Forget the damn game! What
are you doing here?”
“His will,” sighed Chad as he rushed his wife, slashing her throat with the compact
knife he kept in his coat pocket. She gasped in wild disbelief, or at least tried to, as
bloody bubbles gurgled from the deep gash in her throat. Her frenzied eyes soon lost
their focus and she sank to the floor.
Chad knelt down and caressed his wife’s soft cheek with his strong hand. “I love you,”
he said in a hoarse whisper.
A blood-drenched fox doll nodded, as if to say “I know,” before moving in for the
feast.
Is perfect, she corrected herself, glancing once more at the cell phone. After all, she
hadn’t actually caught him doing anything. He probably had a number of reasons to
lie to her. He’s never hurt her before, so why now? She looked down at his phone
once more. The tiny device cast its pale glow across her lap as she reread the
enigmatic text message.
345 N. Chandler. She’s PURE.
What did that even mean? Teresa rested her head on the steering wheel, taking a
deep breath. The rain assaulted the car’s windshield, distorting her perception. She
wished Chad was here. Not in the house in front of her, mind you, but actually in the
car with her. Since she met him three years ago, he had been her rock. He was the
shining Galahad that had turned her life around and made every day a dream for her.
Even now, as she lay in wait before a stranger’s home, awaiting her husband’s
incriminating appearance, she wished he was there to comfort her. She
unconsciously began fidgeting with her wedding ring. The red ruby set within the
yellow gold glinted slightly.
The door to the house in front of her opened. A silhouette in a long black coat
emerged, looked about cautiously, and walked swiftly away into the storm as the door
swung shut behind him. There was no doubt about it now, thought Teresa. Though
she could not make out the figure’s features, she recognized the coat. She had
bought it for Chad on his birthday two years ago.
Now what do I do? she thought, tears streaming down her cheeks, carving ugly paths
through her makeup. Could her husband really be cheating on her? What the hell
does “PURE” even mean?! Was this some kind of code for prostitutes? Why would
he even need one? Their love life had been just as passionate as the night they met
at the club. Why, just last night they had given into their unquenchable desires; her
smooth, manicured hands tracing the contours of his broad, muscular back. She
knew every carbuncular curve of his body, from his strong hips, to the faded scar that
ran the length of his spine. The very thought of another woman savoring her man
nauseated Teresa. A furious maelstrom of hate and jealousy welled up inside her.
Chad would never have done this if it weren’t for that little bitch. Whoever she is, she
must have duped him somehow.
The slut had to answer for this.
Galvanized by her pain, Teresa threw open the car door and marched across the
darkened, muddy lawn in front of her. The freezing rain pelted her tear-stained face,
sluicing through the distorted remains of her makeup. Abandoning all logic, she
hammered on the front door with her fist.
The door swung open.
Spurred by fury and a primal drive to get out of the storm, she ducked into the harlot’s
home. “Hello?” she shouted, making a feeble attempt at controlling the rage in her
voice. She was greeted by the sound of rain drumming against the windows and
nothing else. She called again, but there was no reply. Was the bitch hiding from
her? Anxiously, she took in her surroundings.
It was a fairly plush suburban home. Immaculately kept and full of rather nice
furniture. There was a series of photos on the mantle, featuring a family of three. Oh,
God, thought Teresa, he’s cheating with another man’s wife. The photographs
depicted a haughty-looking blond woman with a haggard-looking husband and a
pretty blue-eyed pre-teen daughter.
“Don’t you feel that sometimes, you just need to run away…”
Was that music? Teresa looked at the staircase leading to the second floor. Was her
husband’s lover listening to music? Is that why she didn’t hear her calling? Unsure of
her overall plan, Teresa began climbing the plushy carpeted stairs. Despite the thick
orange carpeting, the floorboards creaked loudly under her feet. As her heart
hammered in her chest, she realized that her anger was rapidly being replaced with a
creeping dread.
“Watch out for the sunshine, forget about the rain…”
It certainly was music and it was coming from one of the bedrooms that lined the
upstairs hall. Nothing could have prepared Teresa for sheer horror of what she
found.
The room belonged to the young daughter.
Her mind was awash in a tempest of dark possibilities. The girl was nowhere to be
found, but the room was disheveled and the television was on. The source of the
song was a videogame, which was left running. Could the girl be hiding from her?
She couldn’t have gone far if her game was still on, right? Teresa didn’t honestly
know. She was never big into videogames before meeting Chad, and he certainly
never let her near one. He actually forbade her to play them. It was pretty odd in
retrospect and she would have been insulted if the order hadn’t been so silly. She
abided by the rule, but she always assumed it was a joke.
There was nothing funny about this situation, though.
She sat down on the edge of the girl’s bed, sinking into the lavish pink sheets. What
to do now? Should she go home and explain to Chad that she found his phone and
followed him here? Should she wait here for the young girl? At the very least, she
had to talk to the parents. This was no long about bawling out her husband’s lover –
this was about reporting a crime. The very thought caused her to retch.
“Does it brighten up your day?”
It wasn’t long before the looping song of the video game began to take its toll on
Teresa’s patience. She slumped off the bed and reached for the videogame system
that lay on the floor. Her hand caressed the unfamiliar black unit, searching for the
power switch. Despite having been left on for some time, the ebony casing was ice
cold. Her fingers found what she assumed was the power switch, but she stayed her
hand. The wedding ring on her trembling finger shone fiercely against the dark
console.
“That bastard told me not to play games,” she mused. “Who the hell does that
bastard think he is?” Clearly she was losing it. Fear and grief had given way to
childlike pettiness. Chad had betrayed her and she was willing to do the same in any
way possible, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
She reached for the controller and pressed start.
The next few hours were a haze to Teresa. Despite never having played many
videogames, she picked up the controls almost by instinct. She didn’t enjoy herself,
but she found herself compelled to grind through the game. The ugly truth about her
husband, the plight of the young girl, and the very home around her seem to melt
away as she raced every course in that strange little game, collecting coins and
challenging other characters. Anything was better than facing reality.
Chad’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
Jolted from her reverie, Teresa dropped the controller and pulled out the phone.
There was an incoming message from an unknown number. Outside, the rain must
have stopped, because the air was deathly quiet. She checked the message.
345 N. Chandler. Your wife must die.
She dropped the phone, which rolled under the bed. She had no idea what was going
on, but she saw her situation with crystal clarity. She was in a stranger’s home and
someone was planning on killing her. Her heart hammered in her chest. Who was
sending these messages? Were they watching her? The dimly lit hall outside now felt
like a mass of suffocating black gauze. She had to get out. She had to call the
police! She reached down to pick up the phone.
A bloody hand shot from under the bed and grabbed her wrist.
Screaming, Teresa pulled free and leaped back onto the bed, cradling her gore
flecked arm. A foul gust rose up from the floor and the bedroom door slammed shut.
The lights and television blinked out, plunging the room into complete and utter
darkness, save for a faint crimson glow emanating from somewhere on the floor.
Teresa scrunched up closer to the headboard of the twin bed, wrapping her arms
around her knees. She tried to calm herself. A fuse must have blown. There’s
nothing to be –
A wet gurgle emanated from under the bed.
The eerie red phosphorescence seemed to gain strength, casting sinister shadows
across the walls. The soft sheets on the bed shifted gently. To Teresa’s horror,
something was pulling on them. A single trembling hand rose into view at the foot of
the bed. It jerked and flopped as if being controlled by an unseen puppeteer. It
suddenly seized a handful of blanket and tugged forcefully as another bloody palm
rose up over the linen horizon. The light was getting brighter still and it was easy to
see that the pair of hands had been stitched onto their arms.
Icy terror froze Teresa in place, unable to scream as a head rose into view. Lolling
awkwardly to the side, the girl’s long, blood-matted blond locks hung over her face,
nearly obscuring the hollow sockets that once housed her beautiful blue eyes. Her
lips were sewn shut with asymmetrical imprecision. Blood trickled out from between
the frayed pieces of cord that bound her once rosy flesh.
“Who are you?” croaked Teresa weakly, as the teen continued to claw her way up
onto the bed, staining the pink sheets black with her congealing humors. In response
to the question, the corpse’s head flopped forward, exposing a tangled mess of blond
hair, with a jewel, the source of the red radiance, rising up out of it. The tangle
shifted. It looked at her with soulless, felt eyes.
It was a small, orange-yellow rag doll.
A stream of light lashed through the gloom as the bedroom door opened. Teresa
turned and saw a familiar silhouette in the doorway. “Chad!” shouted Teresa. She
hurled herself off the bed and into his waiting arms. She dared not turn back to look
at the abomination shambling up onto the bed. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.
Her knees gave way, but her husband held her up in his strong arms. “It’s OK,” he
said, stroking her head. “It’s all ok, now.” Gaining a second wind, Teresa pushed him
away and risked a glance back at the bed.
It was empty.
Was it all in her mind? The lights were back on, and everything was just as it had
been since before she got the text.
That awful text.
“What are you doing here?” she sobbed.
He reached down under the bed and picked up his phone. “I couldn’t find my phone,
so I figured that I left it here.”
He started checking the messages. Teresa began edging towards the door. “But why
did you come here in the first place? Who is the girl? Why was she pure?”
Chad solemnly looked at the game machine on the floor and then back at his cell
phone. A single tear ran down his cheek. “You played the game,” he said eventually.
Teresa slammed her fists against the wall a shouted. “Forget the damn game! What
are you doing here?”
“His will,” sighed Chad as he rushed his wife, slashing her throat with the compact
knife he kept in his coat pocket. She gasped in wild disbelief, or at least tried to, as
bloody bubbles gurgled from the deep gash in her throat. Her frenzied eyes soon lost
their focus and she sank to the floor.
Chad knelt down and caressed his wife’s soft cheek with his strong hand. “I love you,”
he said in a hoarse whisper.
A blood-drenched fox doll nodded, as if to say “I know,” before moving in for the
feast.