“Honey, I’m home!” The door slammed shut behind me and I kicked off my boots onto the plastic mat.
“Maggie? Are you home? Hello!” I called out but there was no reply. The hallway was cold and the house empty and silent.
“Maggie?” I checked the kitchen but it was devoid of life. No note or anything either. The living room was silent and still as well. Oh, well perhaps she’s upstairs and just didn’t hear me.
“Honey?” Not in the study. The door to the bathroom at the end of the hall was open, showing the dark blue tile of the wall.
I entered the bedroom and froze. My blood turned to ice in my veins.
On the bed, draped beneath the white shroud of the sheets, was the shape of a body. It lay straight on the mattress like a soldier, head at the headboard, feet at the footboard, arms at the sides beneath the cloth draped overtop.
I found my voice. “M-m-m-m-m…aggie?”
The shape did not move. Slowly, with great trepidation, part of me not truly believing what was happening, I bent down and grabbed the base of the sheet and began to pull, terrified of what I would find beneath.
As the white cloth slid over the contours of what lay below it, the room distorted and bent around me. My cold blood suddenly sang in my arteries and roared in my ears.
The body beneath the sheet wasn’t Maggie. It was me.