FSS: Not My Wife

She held out her arms to hug me, but I knew this wasn’t my house — and she definitely wasn’t my wife.  I’d walked through my same old familiar front door into…“Where am I?” I ask, noting the walls, they weren’t supposed to be beige, we’d always had lovely sky-blue walls, hadn’t we? Had my wife redecorated while I was gone? But I’d only been gone 10 minutes or so…  “Who are you?” I asked the woman who approached me, she looked like my wife but her once beautiful green eyes were now a dull grey, her blond hair, a limp mousy brown, her smile flat and expressionless. 

“What are you on about?” she asked, her high-pitched voice scratchy and unfamiliar. 

I took a step back towards the door, hadn’t we had carpet out here? Not this bare wooden- 

“Honey, are you okay?” she reached her arms out towards me once again, the left one a few inches longer than the right, it seemed to grow and stretch longer as I looked at it. 

“What are you?!” confusion was swiftly turning into fear. 

The wife woman looked at me with pity, “Have you hit your head?” she crooned, those wonky, stretched arms were closing in on me, I smacked them out of the way and lunged for the door- or where the door was a moment ago. 

Fear twisted into panic when I realised there was no escaping this nightmare. “Let me out,” I screamed banging against the blank space where my salvation should be. “Let me go, you monster,” I screamed.

.

“Is that when you murdered your wife?” The policeman interviewing me asked.

*****

Written for and inspired by Fandango’s Story Starter.

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