Before you read ahead, I think it's best that you know what happened with us. I am not sure if both the incidents are connected, but you might be able to help us if you caught up on the recent occurrence in our lives.
For those of you who are aware of our shattered lives, it's been over a week since that "event" occurred. My lost sleep has returned, my visitor hasn't returned ever since. Lucille, my wife, bore the brunt of the immediate shock of losing our baby. The loss of blood coupled with the severity and the anomaly with which we lost our baby caused her to faint. I rushed her to the hospital, simultaneously trying to battle my own trauma and explaining what happened to my worried family.
Our doctor, a sweet old man, was on the verge of ripping his hair out. My wife had talked to him while she was on the way to our home on that fateful day, and hadn't complained of anything bizarre. She even made a joke about the baby playing football inside her. This sudden "miscarriage" within hours was downright the strangest thing the man had ever seen in his career. He consulted some of his other colleagues, and they shook their heads too. A miscarriage wasn't uncommon. But the nature of our miscarriage surely was. I opened my mouth to explain what had gone down, but I feared of being perceived as a situational lunatic. In the mean time, Lucille slipped into a coma. That was the last thing I needed. I couldn't bear to lose the love of my life as well.
As she was wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit, I crumpled onto the floor. I could feel the last bit of my strength leaving my body. My parents were hunched over me, telling me things will soon fall into places, to not lose hope, but I knew that anyone who'd have been in my position would have considered those words to be absolute bullshit.
That was 10 days ago. 8 days ago, Lucille suddenly woke up from her coma. Yet another occurrence that got the doctors scratching their heads. Even in these bizarre times, the doctors' animated reactions were almost comical.
Lucille, on the other hand, was strangely calm. She had an unusual charm in her smile, and her voice and demeanor didn't seem aggrieved. None of that mattered. It didn't matter that she suddenly sprang back to life, or that she didn't seem to be mourning the loss of our child. What mattered was that she was back and she felt healthy. She even made jokes. I could sense the discomfort in my family's dry laughs. NONE of it mattered. The doctors said that Lucille's brain was blocking the trauma, that it would be best for us to not talk about it with her. Made sense to us. The last thing any of us wanted to do was to push her over the edge. I needed to recover too. But that could wait. Lucille was my priority.
We got her back home, my sister-in-law suggested that we shift to the guest bedroom instead for the time being, that would prevent any memories of the incident coming back to Lucille. I agreed. When Lucille asked, I told that there was a leakage in our bathroom, and the room was borderline flooded. It would take a while to be fixed. She didn't question anymore and settled beautifully in the guest bedroom. Everything was fine for the next few hours. Well, to be honest, nothing was "fine", if you consider everything, but the fact that Lucille was back with us was...fine.
Then came dinner time. That was when things started seeming a bit...off. My mother and my sister-in-law had prepared, to the best of their abilities, Lucille's favorite lasagna, with a side dish of tofu balls dipped in sesame sauce. 15 minutes in, and Lucille hadn't eaten even a tiny bite of her dinner. Instead, she kept fidgeting with the knife and the fork. "Honey, why aren't you eating? Are you feeling unwell?" I could sense the disheartened state of Mom and my sister in law. My wife didn't answer, perhaps she was too engaged in her trance-like fidgeting. "Babe, is everyth..." "I heard you the first time, Leonard", she said in the calmest voice ever, but the way she said it was what sent chills down my spine. For starters, she never called me Leonard. She always stuck to Leo, or "Babe". But that's not what bothered me. What did was that even in her "calm" state, she said the entire sentence through clenched teeth. Her voice sounded a bit different too, like it would when you had something stuck in your throat and ended up getting a throat rash. "What's wrong, Luce?", my dad asked, concern dripping from his words. "I don't want to eat this shit. Give me meat!" At this point, everyone present at the table was freaking out for two reasons - first, Lucille was no longer speaking through clenched teeth, rather the voice that came out of her mouth was more guttural; second, Lucille had never touched meat in her entire life. She once witnessed a livestock slaughter as a toddler, and was never able to get the imagery out of her head, so she could never eat meat. Also, she never spoke like this. She was the politest person I had ever come across.
Before any of us could react, Lucille had pulled my plate in front of her, and was DEVOURING my serving of steak. The scene was...unnerving. With bare hands, she was tearing apart the meat, the juices running down her chin and dripping onto her light blue dress. All of us looked at each other, trying to grasp the scene in front of our eyes. Dad was the first one to break the ice, trying to be as jovial as possible, albeit still sounding nervous, "Whoa, someone's got a huge appetite after the hospital trip! Say, how about we take a trip to KFC, see if we can get something else too?" "Sure", she said without stopping for a breath in between chews.
The drive to KFC was the most awkward drive of my life - dad trying to be light-hearted, and Lucille grunting in response. Before Dad or I could get out, my wife was already out of the car and was almost inside the store. By the time I reached inside, she had placed an order for 3 HUGE buckets. When her order came through, the scene from the dining table was repeated. I could feel the other customers and the servers staring at us. I smiled nervously at anyone who made direct eye contact with me. I wasn't able to understand the situation myself, let alone explain it to someone else.
The drive back home was less eventful because Lucille fell asleep as soon as she sat inside the car. My dad was very concerned, but he didn't know what to make of it, because both of us were in the same boat. We reached home, 15 minutes later, and not wanting to wake her up, I took her inside in my arms. Mom and my sister-in-law sprang up to their feet the moment we entered. My brother, who was back home, had been filled in on the details, and he told me to let him know if I needed help with anything, in case Lucille woke up late at night...and hungry. I took my wife to the guest bedroom, and after hours of thinking and worrying, I eventually drifted off to sleep, until I woke up again to use the bathroom. Out of habit, I checked the time - 2.33 AM. I turned to check on Lucille. Except that she wasn't there. She must have gone to the bathroom, I thought out loud. But after several minutes when she hadn't returned, I started panicking. I was no longer sleepy, and I was sure that something must have happened to my little angel. I dashed to the bathroom - empty. I started calling out her name, loud enough for her to hear, not loud enough to wake up the rest of the house. I ran down the stairs to check the kitchen, just in case she went to get a snack. Nothing there either, except a tiny opening in the fridge door that dimly lit the otherwise dark kitchen. I surveyed the rest of the floor, and couldn't find her anywhere.
Out of breath, I fell to my knees to regain my breath, and that's when I heard a faint singing coming from upstairs. I don't know how I didn't hear it previously, but I ran upstairs, and as I did so, I realized that it was coming from our old bedroom. I hesitated as I stood in front of the door, and then I gave it a slight push - it opened easily. There she was, my lovely wife, on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Babe, what are..." I stopped in my tracks. Something felt...off. With whatever little courage I had left within me, I circled towards her. In front of her lay packets and packets of raw, frozen meat. Because of our business, we have an emergency walk-in freezer at home with a sizeable supply of some products, and from the looks of it, Lucille had emptied the entire stock of meat. A good amount of meat was stuffed inside her mouth, and several other packets lay open and empty. "WHAT THE FUCK, LUCILLE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?" I must have shouted loud enough because my mom rushed in, and let out a shriek when she saw the scene. "Mum, please go! I'll talk to her", I didn't know what was more frustrating - my newly bizarre wife, or my hyperventilating mom. Amidst all of this, Lucille finished her "meal" and walked out of the room and into the guest room. Long story short, I did not return to the guest room that night.
The next morning I asked her what was wrong with her, and she just said with a blank face that raw meat tasted more satisfying. I went to work to get away from this drama, but dropped in at the hospital to have a quick word with a doctor. Didn't find any answers, although, I am not sure what the answer would be to something like this. Things started getting increasingly weird after that night. Well, weird is an understatement. But please understand my state of mind. Missing posters of a couple of kids, some neighbors mourning the loss of their furry friends, more and more packets of raw meat in our old bedroom. On top of that, Lucille barely spoke with me. I was just a stone's throw away from a breakdown.
2 nights ago, I woke up from my sleep. I had shifted to the couch a few days ago, so a loud slurping noise from outside the door woke me up. At this point, I am not ashamed to say that my ass was tattered on multiple occasions due to everything that's been going on, and the same happened that night as well. I slowly walked towards the door and opened it. I was scared as to what I might find on the other side. To my relief, it was just Lucille, sitting on the porch steps. "Babe, why aren't you sleeping? What's wr..." She turned to look at me with bloodshot eyes, but those weren't the only "bloody" things. Her lips and chin were smeared with blood, and so was her nightgown. The source of the blood was...her arm. There was a gaping wound with blood oozing out of it, and the skin around is was torn and missing, and the missing part was...between Lucille's bare teeth. My wife was tearing apart and eating her own flesh. God knows how I controlled the urge to puke. Or faint. She continued tearing another bite of her flesh, blood oozing out like a fountain. I didn't know what to do, so I did what anyone in my position would perhaps have done. I dialed 911. I only managed to mutter "My wife is injured". The dispatcher said that the police and the ambulance were on their way. But it was of no use. Lucille sprang to her feet and before I could register what was happening, she ran away into the darkness that shrouded our suburban street. The police, the ambulance, and my family arrived at the scene at the same time, which was a good thing I guess, because I don't think I could find it in me to narrate the incident more than once. Although I am doing that here again.
It's been 2 days, the police hasn't been able to find my Lucille. They have been frequenting our house for questioning and trying to find evidence that might help them investigate the case and find Lucille. Today, they searched our old bedroom. The drawer at the bottom of Lucille's wardrobe had a couple of dresses that matched those of the kids in the missing poster, and a few pet collars. I now believe that the person who came back with me from the hospital was not Lucille. Or, as a matter of fact, not a person, to begin with.