“What was that?”
“Er… what was what?” I asked groggily from beneath the duvet.
“I heard something downstairs, outside,” she whispered again into the dark. “Honey, I’m scared, go look.”
“Eh, wha…?” The bed was so warm; the last thing I wanted to do was get up.
“Come on baby, please? What if it’s a burglar?”
“It’s not a burglar,” I said, and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re hearing things. Would you please go back to sleep?”
“Then why did I wake up?” she said in hushed tones. “Please, honey, go. Go and make sure it’s alright.”
I sighed. “Oh, alright.” I threw aside my half of the blankets and got up. The floor was cold and foreign against the bare soles of my feet.
I crept downstairs and the old steps of the stairwell creaked beneath the carpet. The kitchen was clothed in rays of somber moonlight pouring in through the window. I looked out of it into the empty backyard. I went outside and stood on the back porch and listened intently. There was nothing; only the cold air and the rustle of the leaves in the wind and the shrilling of summer cicadas. On the way back looking out bay window confirmed the street was the same: dark, empty, and deserted.
The warmth of the bed was a comforting relief.
“There’s nothing honey,” I said, sliding next to her. “It’s empty out there.”
“Really, there’s no one out there?” she said, not quite convinced.
“Yes, there’s no one out there.”
“So, we’re alone?”
“Yes, honey, we’re alone.”
She smiled as she plunged the blade into my chest.