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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Braven025 on 2024-11-22 20:04:17+00:00.
Day Four
On Monday, I woke with a start. Dylan wasn’t in bed with me. I knew it the second I opened my eyes. His absence was tangible, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. I’d turned in early the night before, so I could get away from the accusatory stares of my husband, who now believed I was trying to poison him. I didn’t notice that he’d never come to bed. I was too exhausted from lack of sleep.
Fear rippled through me.
I pulled myself out of bed, slipped out of my pajamas and changed into a light sweater and a pair of joggers. My eyes drifted to a duffle bag I’d hastily packed before turning in the night before. It held some clothes, my passport, some money, and my work computer. I’d emailed my boss the night before too, to tell her I wasn’t going to be in that day. If I couldn’t get Dylan to drink the tea, get him to see that this boy in our house was evil, I was going to leave.
My heart ached at the very thought of abandoning him there with that thing. But what else could I do? There was no sense in us BOTH succumbing to whatever terrors the demon child had in store for us. I’d call for help from the road, try to get someone to do a welfare check. Not that I expected them to find anything wrong, since the boy was capable of manipulating people’s minds. But at least I’d know I tried.
I’d mourned our life together as I shoved my things in the bag. Memories of our life together—our whirlwind romance in college, our marriage shortly after, vacations and holidays, laughing until our stomachs hurt—that was all that would be left. Dylan was my person. But I didn’t think I could help him. I didn’t think anyone could. Which was exactly what the boy was hoping for.
I pulled open the bedroom door and wandered down the hallway, listening. The guest bedroom door was closed. The house was silent. Dylan should have been getting ready for work. I found him sitting on the couch in his pajamas. His back was rod-straight, and he was just staring straight ahead at the blank TV. Dark bags punctuated the skin under his eyes.
“Dylan,” I said, stopping in front of him. “What are you doing?”
He startled, then looked up at me slowly. “Getting ready for work, of course.”
“But…but you’re not…you’re just sitting on the couch,” I said, noticing how pale he was. “Why didn’t you come to bed last night?”
Dylan scowled. “What are you TALKING about, Lyss? I came to bed! I got up a little while ago to get ready for work. I’m really starting to think we need to have you see someone. You’re just not acting like yourself.”
I chose to ignore the comment. Something was very wrong. Dylan looked like he’d been sitting up all night just staring at nothing. And he definitely wasn’t getting ready for work. Not still wearing his pajamas with his hair unbrushed. The boy was obviously planting these things in his head, making him THINK he was doing them. He looked pale and fragile, sick. And thinking about it, I couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d eaten. He ushered me out of the kitchen the night before when I tried to make dinner, afraid I was going to poison him.
The boy was sucking the life out of him.
I rushed back into the bedroom and grabbed my duffle off the floor. I wanted to get it into the car before the boy woke up. Dylan didn’t even glance at me as I passed. I dropped the bag in the back of my car, then came back in the house, slipping my car keys into my pocket where they thunked against the crystal Autumn had given me. I had to give it one more try. I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“Dylan?” I asked, standing in front of him again. “Can I make you some breakfast?”
“I already ate,” he answered.
“Oh?” I asked. “What’d you have?”
“Eggs, toast, bacon,” Dylan said.
We didn’t even HAVE bacon. I was trying to cut back on fatty meats because Dylan had high cholesterol. We hadn’t had bacon in the house in months. Besides, there were no dirty dishes in the sink, and nothing looked out place. Another mind trick from the evil little monster.
“Are you sure, Dylan?” I asked, frowning. “I think you might have forgotten.”
“What, do you think I’m stupid?” he snarled. “You’re just trying to slip poison into my food, just like Logan said. Go away, leave me alone!”
“Dylan,” I said, flinching. “I love you. It’s ME. It’s Alyssa! You know I wouldn’t hurt you. Please let me make you something.”
“He isn’t hungry.”
The voice came from behind me. I spun around to find the boy, wide grin plastered on his face. His fingers were laced in front of him, his big, dark eyes boring into me.
“What are you doing to him?” I asked, shoving a finger in his face.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit,” I spat. “He’s been sitting here on the couch all night. He thinks he’s getting ready for work right now. He hasn’t eaten. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m just a boy,” he said innocently. “How could I possibly be doing any of that?”
“I know what you are,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And I don’t want you here. I revoke my invitation to come into my home. You’re not welcome here.”
The boy recoiled like he’d been struck, but then the smile returned to his face. “I don’t need your permission anymore.”
“I’m not going to let you have my husband,” I hissed. “Go find someone else to fuck with.”
“Dad!” The boy cried suddenly. “Mom is scaring me! There’s something wrong with her! Help!”
Dylan jumped up from the couch, his eyes flashing with anger. “What are you doing, Lyss?! He’s just a little boy, OUR little boy! Why can’t you just be happy that he’s returned to us? Why are you trying to ruin our family! We could be so happy!”
“Dylan,” I sobbed. “This boy isn’t ours. He’s not even human. Please! Wake up and see the truth! He’s killing you!”
“This is ridiculous,” Dylan said, rage making the veins in his forehead stand out. “It’s jealousy, isn’t it? You’re jealous that you no longer have all my attention. It’s pathetic, Lyss.”
I shook my head. “No! That’s not it, I swear. This THING is making you see things, fucking with your head—”
“The only person with a fucked head is you.”
I threw my head back, defeat prickling across every inch of my skin. It was no use. Without the clarity tea, he was never going to break free of the boy’s hold on him. There was nothing more I could do. It was time to go.
“I’m leaving,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m going to send help though.”
“Leaving?” Dylan asked, blinking. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t stay here with him, Dylan,” I said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Emotions flickered across his face—confusion, fear, disbelief. He reached a hand out, and for a second it felt like the old Dylan was back. Then he grabbed my arm roughly and pulled. I let out a sharp scream and tried to tug away from him.
“Dylan, what are you doing?!”
“The basement,” the boy said gleefully. “Put her in the basement!’
“Good idea, son,” Dylan said. “She can’t hurt us down there.”
“Let go!” I screamed, but he was already dragging me across the floor, both hands clamped around my wrists. “Please, just let me go! I’m not trying to hurt anyone. Let me go!”
The boy wrenched open the basement door and Dylan shoved me roughly onto the landing at the top of the stairs. I whirled around just as the door slammed shut. I heard the key slide into the lock, the bolt moving into place. I banged on the door and screamed until my throat was raw. On the other side of the door the boy laughed—that rasping gurgly sound that made the hair on my neck stand on end.
“Dylan, let me out of here!” I screamed. “Let me out and I’ll go away. I won’t tell anyone anything, I’ll just go! Please!”
A hiss came through the door. “Why would I let you go, Alyssa? Once I’m done with your husband, I’ll need someone else to feed on.”
I dropped my hands to my sides and stepped back from the door. Fuck. This was it. I was going to die. Dylan was going to die. There was nothing I could do to save us. I sank down on the top step and dropped my head into my hands, sobs shuddering through me. Once I was spent, and no more tears would fall, I stared blankly into the dark. I couldn’t give up. That wasn’t who I was.
I stood and flipped on the light switch beside the door, illuminating the bare bulbs down in the basement. The wide-open room held our washer and dryer, water heater and furnace, and a bunch of old furniture and odds and ends. There were windows at the top of the walls, but they were all made of glass block. All but one.
I rushed down the stairs and across the room to the washer and dryer, staring up at the casement window we’d never converted to glass block because sometimes, in the summer, Dylan would run an extension cord through it to plug in his electric meat smoker. I climbed up on the dryer and tugged at the crank. It was tight, maybe a little rusty, but after a minute, I got it to turn. The window, which opened toward the backyard, slowly lowered. It wasn’t a big window, but I thought I could fit through it.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered, turning the crank. But it wouldn’t move any more. I squinted through the frosted glass. Something was below the window, stopping it from opening any further. What the hell was it? Crouched on the dryer, I froze, thinking. I could break the glass and push whatever it was aside, but Dylan and that demon spawn might hear it and come running. I could scream for help, but that might result in the same thing. Dammit!
Fresh hot tears sprang to my ey...
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