That day, my husband was at work and wasnât supposed to be home for at least another three hours. I was in the middle of cleaning when suddenly â a knock at the door.
I opened it, and there he was. Or at least, I thought it was him.
âWhy are you home so early?â I asked.
âI wasnât feeling well, so my boss let me leave early,â he said. His voice sounded flat, almost mechanical. He didn’t make eye contact. He walked right in, past me, and headed straight to our bedroom.
Something about it felt… off. The air in the house suddenly felt heavy, like the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
So I followed him.
I reached the bedroom door and pushed it open gently. The lights were off, but the curtains were drawn, casting long shadows across the floor. He was standing in the far corner of the room, facing the wall. He wasn’t changing his clothes. He wasn’t lying down. He was just standing there, rigid as a board.
“Honey?” I whispered, stepping into the room. “Do you need anything? Medicine?”
He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. The sudden vibration made me jump. I pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Incoming Facetime: Husband.
My blood ran cold. I looked at the phone, then at the man in the corner, then back at the phone. My thumb hovered over the answer button, shaking. I tapped it.
My husband’s face filled the screen, sitting in his office, looking perfectly healthy. “Hey babe,” he smiled. “Just wanted to let you know I might be a little late tonight, boss wants to finish up a project. Everything okay at home?”
I couldn’t speak. I slowly raised the phone camera, pointing it toward the corner of the room.
“Honey?” my real husband asked through the phone. “Why are you pointing the phone at the wall? Is someone there?”
I looked up. The corner was empty.
The window was wide open, the curtains blowing violently in the wind. And on the dusty floorboards where the “man” had been standing, there was a set of muddy footprints… that didn’t look human at all.
