Night Terror

It didn’t make any sense.

I know most night terrors don’t.

But this was different.

In every way.

One minute Ava and I were talking in the kitchen. Having a normal conversation.

Her long blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her blue eyes sparkle.

Then arguing.

She was screaming at me and I shouted back.

Tears were streaming down her face and she looked at me in a way she never had.

I knew it was over before she even spoke.

“How dare you? How dare you blame me?” She snaps

“We’ll it wasn’t my fault!” I shoot back

Her eyes widen at this.

“It was not my fault. It was a miscarriage, Ryan!” She cries

The words sink in.

I just blamed her for the death of our unborn baby.

I try to move towards her to apologize. To hold her. She shoves me away and doesn’t meet my eyes. Her next words are a whisper.

“Get out.”

I try to move towards her again but she jerks away.

“Baby I-”

I’m at a loss for words.

How could I say that to her?

How could I be so cold?

“I will never forgive you for this. It seems like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.” She says harshly

It was like a punch to the face.

I stare at the woman whom I’d fallen in love with 5 years ago. We were both volunteering at W.N. Animal Shelter when we met. I was new and felt very out of place. She made me feel welcome. We grew closer and 1 year later we were engaged and building our dream of creating our dreams, fostering dogs, and training rescues.

Ava was everything I’d always wanted in a partner. Sweet, funny, and smart as hell. She spent so much of her time making sure she gave as much love to every animal she could.

That’s just who Ava is.

2 years later we were married.

Every big milestone in a relationship, we did together. First kiss. First dates. Everything.

We made a lot of mistakes along the way but through it all, stuck by each other’s sides.

Even during the worst of it all...

The night she got into a car accident and broke her leg. I sat by her side for months and cheered her on through her recovery.

My sister took her own life after our father told her he wished she’d never existed as his very last words to his daughter.

She always saw the best in me even when I didn’t. Those moments when I went out by myself. Feeling like I wasn’t enough for her. I believed I couldn’t give her everything she ever wanted.

I stare at her now and all I feel is hate.

How dare she compare me to him?

My father.

The drunk.

My abuser.

Her words ring in my ears.

I spot an object on the counter and knew what I needed to do next.

I advance toward her with the item.

An 8-inch stainless steel knife.

I grip the handle so hard it hurts.

I’m shaking.

When she sees the blade in my hand, her face turns white.

“Ryan, what the hell are you doing with that?” She demands

Her voice shakes.

She’s scared.

Good.

She starts backing away from me but I keep moving towards her.

“Ryan stop! Stop it! Don’t come near me! Put it down!”

Her voice becomes higher and more strained.

I grab her shoulder with my left hand and sink the blade in with my right. It makes a sickening sloshing sound as it sinks into her stomach. Blood begins to flow through my fingertips.

She looks from me down to her injury.

Shocked that the love of her life just harmed her. Whatever thoughts circle in my brain are cast aside.

Regardless of my wants and desires.

I’m still stabbing her.

Over and over again.

Faster.

More viciously.

She screams.

Cries out.

She falls to the ground, no longer strong enough to stand and I collapse down with her, continuing the attack. I lose count of how many times the blade penetrates her flesh.

I slowly stand and look around.

Still alone.

My clothes are now covered in warm blood.

I stare down at her as she gurgles and begins to choke on her blood.

I do nothing.

Just watch as she suffocates and dies.

I wake with a start.

I wince as I rub my temples.

My head aches.

When I pull the covers up, I can feel that they are slightly damp. It wasn’t uncommon for me to sweat from the night terrors that often plagued me. Thinking back to the horrible images that had woken me up, I wonder what had caused such a strange nightmare.

Every scary dream I had was always the same.

Distorted and gruesome memories from childhood.

The first time Dad put a gun to my head.

When he smacked my little 4-year-old sister Kristen because he was sick of the toddler bothering him. Throughout all the abuse, we were alone. Mom had died giving birth to Kristen. Dad was normal in the beginning. Normal being not a piece of human garbage.

He was probably more excited when he found out that Mom was giving him his first girl.

He was never happy that he had me for a son.

In his words: “I am ashamed to have a son who fails at everything. I’d no sooner disown him.”

A wonderful conversation I’d heard with one of his many shady friends when he was drunk.

He was always drunk after Mom died.

He tried to love Kristen.

But he blamed her for Mom being taken away.

So he decided hating us and beating us was better than failing to love us.

It was almost a relief when he kicked me out.

I shudder.

Still somewhat groggy from the awful sleep, I turn to the right in the bed and reach a hand out toward my wife, trying to wrap my tan arm around her to pull her closer to cuddle up.

My hand falls to the mattress.

I open my eyes to see that the bed is empty.

As I fully wake and see why my sheets are damp, I cover my mouth to stifle a scream.

The bed sheets are damp with dark red blood.

I look down at my hands.

They are also stained with blood.

Ava.

“Ava?” I call out

Oh God. Oh God. What happened?

Where is she?

I pull the covers off and am surprised to find deep marks on my arms. I rip the covers off and move towards the door.

I gag when I see that what was once a light gray carpet is now stained with bloody footprints. Thinking back to the dream, I run to the kitchen.

“Ava!” I shout

Nothing.

I click the light on in the bathroom.

Empty.

Swing open the closet.

No Ava.

I think back to the nightmare and something in my stomach turns again. I rush to the bathroom and just barely make it to the toilet before I start throwing up last night’s pasta.

Chunks of noodles pieces and tomato.

I flush the toilet quickly and give myself a minute before I get up, letting the dizziness pass. As soon as I can catch my breath, I’m back on my feet.

“Ava, where are you?” I croak

There’s a bloody handprint on the wall.

More drops and puddles on the floor.

I move closer and yank the curtain open.

As the light of dawn shines into the room, I finally see the true devastation in the room.

The TV lies on the ground, screen shattered. The coffee table is across the room.

As I round the corner towards the kitchen, my heart sinks with every step. I’m rushing as fast as I can but it feels like the world is moving in slow motion, refusing to let me move quickly enough to aid whoever was hurt.

She’s lying in a large pool of blood. Her arms were at awkward angles by her sides.

I can tell she’s dead before I even move close enough to see her face. The smell and stillness told me everything I needed to know.

Whatever happened, it was too late.

I rush over to her knowing full well that there’s nothing I can do for her. I sink to my knees and cradle her in my arms as best as I can. Her body is stiff and cold.

I sob uncontrollably and look around. I’m not sure what for. Maybe something crazy and unreal. Proof that I’m still asleep.

Something to tell me that this isn’t real.

I wrap my arms around her.

“Oh, Ava what happened?”

I plead for her to wake up.

To breathe.

To come back to life.

I sniffle and wipe the mess off my face.

“Did I? Am I a monster?” I ask her corpse, wishing she would answer me

I can’t even bring the words to life.

Did I do this to her? Is this my fault?

Was that nightmare real?

A hazy memory of what I did to her?

There’s a pounding at the door.

“Sheriff’s Department!”

This can’t be real.

Wake up. Wake up.

I’m still sitting in a heap holding my dead wife.

A pounding on the door makes me look up and when I do, all my worst fears are confirmed. Lying under the fridge is the kitchen knife.

Still coated in my wife’s blood.

It was real.

All of it.

I sob even harder.

I did this. This is my fault.

Why did I say that to you? Why did I do that to you? What is wrong with me? How could I do this to you? Oh Ava. Oh Ava I’m so sorry. Please wake up. Please. Please.

I just sit there completely numb as the door breaks open and the room swarms with officers.

“Put your hands above your head!” One of the officers commands

I obey instantly.

Defeated and devastated.

“Interlock your fingers and place them on your head!”

I do.

One of the officers yanks me onto my feet.

I don’t fight them as they bring me out the door and down to the cruiser. The door to the cruiser closes and I stare at the home we had spent all those years planning and dreaming of.

I killed her. I killed Ava.