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772words2026-01-26 09:05

Ever since my husband returned from a trip to Thailand, he seemed like a completely different person.
He used to be mean and rough, but now he was gentle, attentive, and brimming with affection.
Until one night, I woke up and was shocked to see him standing at the kitchen counter.

On the counter were his head, tongue, eyeballs, and a still-beating heart.
"He held a cleaver, and was muttering," Where should I start fixing this?"
Then the tongue on the counter suddenly screamed," She's seen us!"
…
I jolted awake, my heart pounding, and my back soaked with sweat.
It was just a dream, but it left me uneasy.

What terrified me even more was the empty bed beside me—my husband, James Carter, was gone.
From the kitchen, I could hear the " thwack, thwack, thwack" sound of chopping.
Too scared to turn on the light, I fumbled in the dark, grabbing a baseball bat for some courage. James used to hit me with it—it hurt like hell. I thought if he had turned into something strange, this bat could protect me.
Clutching the bat, I tiptoed toward the kitchen.

It was pitch black, save for a shadow at the counter. The frenzied chopping echoed like blows to my heart.
The dream replayed vividly in my mind.
I was so scared that my body froze, and all I could think was: Run! Run!
My legs wobbled as I edged backward.
But my slipper squeaked against the floor.
Right away, the kitchen noise stopped instantly.
The room fell silent, only my ragged breathing audible. I clamped a hand over my nose.
In the silence, the shadow moved toward me, step by step.
"Laura, why didn't you turn on the light?"
The fluorescent bulb snapped on, flooding the living room with warm light. James stood by the switch, looking at me, puzzled.
I swallowed hard."I heard noises in the kitchen...came to check. What are you chopping?"
He smiled, and his eyes were soft," Didn't you say last night you wanted pork wontons? I'm prepping the filling."
His eyes drifted to the bat in my hand. His smile faltered, and his voice turned eerie.
"Honey, what's with the bat?"
Memories of his beatings flashed through my mind.
The bat fell from my hand and made a clattering sound on the floor.
I gave a nervous laugh."Nothing, just…nothing."
He didn't press, returning to the kitchen under my wary gaze, resuming the" thwack, thwack, thwack" of chopping.
Blood-red meat tumbled onto the counter. James chopped hard, blood splattering, some hitting his brow, but he didn't care.
I watched, growing uneasy, and fled back to the bedroom.
Buried under the blankets, the chilling dread eased slightly.
Since the trip, James had been acting bizarrely different. He stopped hitting me and became oddly caring.
He never used to cook—meals were my job. But now, he was like a man possessed, whipping up gourmet dishes daily.
At first, I thought he might be trying to poison me so he could remarry, but after two weeks of his cooking, I was fine.
I had mentioned pork wontons yesterday.
Maybe I was overthinking.
But who chops wonton filling at 3:30 a.m.in the dark?
Something felt off. I should tell him to wait till morning—neighbors are sleeping.
I got up, grabbing my slippers, only to notice they were stained with dark red blood, glaringly obvious on the faded fabric.
This blood wasn't mine.
The chopping outside stopped.
James stood in the doorway, holding a cleaver, staring at me darkly.
My slipper fell as I gasped.
As he approached, cleaver gleaming, I dove under the covers, hugging my head in terror.
The bed sank slightly. His breath grazed my ear.
"Laura, dinner's ready."
"The wontons are cooked. They're best when they're hot—come eat."
The steaming wontons had chewy skins, fragrant pork filling, and a burst of savory juice with each bite.
Before marriage, I loved wontons. But since marrying, I hadn't had them in ages—I couldn't make them, and James didn't let me eat out. He controlled our money, even my paycheck, giving me$20 daily for groceries. Every cent had to be accounted for, or he'd beat me.
Now, the hot broth filled my mouth, unlocking something. Tears streamed down my face.
James sat across, smiling, occasionally asking,"Taste good?"
I ate, nodding."Delicious."
But then I noticed his bowl and chopsticks were untouched.
I realized he hadn't eaten for days.
I stopped with my chopsticks in the air and asked, "Aren't you eating?"
He didn't answer, his dark eyes fixed on me, saying," This is prime...pork. I picked it specially. You better finish it, honey."
Wait—had he bought pork recently?