Chapter 17 Ruth
Ruth
I’m pacing at the foot of the bed. An old antique carpet covers the dark wood floorboards, which creak beneath my feet.
The walls are bare with hunter green wallpaper.
A single dresser sits there with hanging brass handles that look like door knockers.
And in the corner by the small wooden framed window and floral drapery, is a rocking chair.
Every inch of this space makes my skin crawl and if I die in this tutu, I will flip tables in the afterlife. I promise you that.
A loud clatter jolts my body forward. Looking around the space, I am alone, and nothing reveals itself as fallen while terror enters my veins.
Fucking Martha. The things we do for love and curiosity.
A game night of dominoes ends with two lifelong members of the community found dead in The Venom Estate.
Cause of death: heart attacks from strange sounds of an old, haunted house.
Another eerie creaking sound follows. My head slowly shifts as my body jumps out of my skin.
At first, the movements are slow. And as my heart rate increases, so do the movements until the backrest aggressively slams against the wall with each motion.
The rocking chair is possessed by the devil and I refuse to be a poltergeist. I am fucking out of here.
Sorry, Martha, but this is not how I am going to go down.
Gathering my composure long enough, I sprint to the door, and as it opens on its own, the lights throughout the second floor begin to flicker ferociously.
My entire body becomes anxious. And with anxiety comes the possibility of shitting myself.
This is turning into my own personal hell.
I swear, if Martha isn’t in a similar state, I am going to lose my mind.
But with the amount of weed in her system, who knows how I will find her, or where?
She can be fucking insane, my sweet girl. And I love her regardless.
The last time I saw Martha, she was rounding the corner to the hallway.
Retracing her steps, I follow the hall and I am welcomed by multiple closed doors.
Murderers and scary shit I will never survive hide behind these doors.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I wish for her to give me a sign.
I’ll take anything to avoid opening the wrong door.
My eyes open and I go on instinct, reaching for the door closest to me.
As my hand moves toward it, it trembles in the air. Okay, this is it.
“Yes, yes, yes,” faintly riddles the idle hallways. I know that sound. That’s my baby!
“I’m coming, dear.”
And my Martha shouts back breathlessly, “So am I.” Her response causes my brow to arch. Where is she? What is she doing?
Convinced now that this door isn’t the one, my heart pulls my body to the door at the end of the hall.
That is where my baby is. My booty hustles to her and a rush of adrenaline joins.
My leg rises and I kick the bitch in. It feels effortless, but tomorrow it will feel like I pulled my crotch muscle.
At the same time as my epic combat moves took over, the dancing lights stopped.
Glancing about, I realize I’m in a bathroom, and it is in complete disarray.
What in the hell has she been doing here?
Water soaks the counters with cracks in the antique mirror.
A silver tray hangs off the edge of the countertop with scratch marks surrounding it.
Poking my head in, I peek around the door which is ajar and find Martha relaxing against this horribly tacky wallpaper.
“We need to get out of here,” I shout with urgency, exhausted.
Martha fails to move. Fuck, she’s still high off her ass. Then I take a moment to really take her in. Like, really look at her current state, and What the fuck has she been doing in here?Repeats in my head.
Taking her in, sweat is beading along her soft skin.
A wet spot prominently stands out on her nightgown.
My eyes continue to trail down her body where I find, at her feet, a glistening wooden brush.
And it’s not glistening from a fresh coat of varnish just being applied, unless you call cum varnish.
Bending down, I pick it up from the puddle it is sitting in.
My thumb bushes against her wetness left behind on the handle while I bring it to my nose to confirm what I already know.
Sniffing the tip in one big whiff, I follow that by bringing my tongue out for just a little taste, immediately confirming it is indeed my Martha’s cum.
Shaking my head, confused and slightly delighted, I question, “Dear, what happened?” Because this is more than popping two weed gummies.
Before she can respond, I do a double take, looking back down at her delectable, exposed toes.
Toes that I last remembered having had slippers covering them.
But now, only one slipper remains. Interesting.
“They had to have been laced. The gummies.” She is quick to divert the attention off her disheveled state and back to the weed.
“Dearest, we got them from the store,” I inform her. Then another wave of realization hits me. “Did you take your Ambien tonight?”
Martha’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head as if an aha!moment just occurred in that beautiful head of hers. “Is that why the mirror ghost creature appeared? Why did she leave? I wanted us to take her home with us, and the cricket.”
I stare back at my sweet wife, wide-eyed and completely fucking mortified. Her face tells me that to her, this all makes sense now. Everything adds up, and no further questions need to be asked.
We need to leave. This is getting out of fucking hand. And I know it is, because my swearing is increasing by the second.
Another scream startles us both.
“Martha, we aren’t staying another minute in this place.
Let’s get out of here, please.” And as the word please leaves my lips, she scurries past me, arms up, waving, with her own screams and hollering joining the chaos within this house.
My stomach rumbles, gas passes through me and a loud fart erupts from my bottom.
I have no control over my body when stressed and frantic!
Martha doesn’t bother finding her other slipper before hauling ass, either, but she has no problem shouting back, “Bring the brush!” as I follow behind.
THE END.