Fearful Mistake

The wall was green, prickly, speckled with brown branches creeping here and there. Mostly, the wall was the green of the bottom of the ocean, when it caught the light, it had some yellow, and some bright green of freshly watered grass. It smelled good, heady, breathing it in like a dose of pure oxygen, which it kind of was. It had carefully crept up, slowly, taking its time, up the wall over the course of a few hundred years. At the start they had not noticed, later they had not bothered to fix it. Then they had left it. The place, and by extension, the wall.

It had been abandoned for so many years that the cobwebs had been replaced by cobwebs. Mice had dug intricate tunnels in the walls, rabbits hopped about in the grass breaking through the stone floors. Beams of light shone through the various holes in the ceiling.

It smelled of life, birds fluttered about, it was the perfect image of nature having reclaimed land that was forcibly stolen from it.

This was where he had brought her. They had been best friends for sixteen years, married for two months. They had grown up together, had known each other for what seemed like forever. Yet, she had found something she could not explain. Something that drew chills up her spine.

He brushed through the overgrowth with his wide palm, holding it for her to step through, she lifted her skirts and did. The sun shone cheerily and brightly.

She had been looking for had pads. She was sure she had brought them. They shared bags. He was snoring in the tent. They had been here for a day already. Her time of the month had come early. She had planned this trip so that it would be a few days after they got back.

Now, as she walked by him, her skin prickling, fingers trembling, ever so slightly, she wondered why. It was for her. She knew that much. Why though.

The night sky had been pitch black, as if foretelling what was to come. The smoke from the fire drifted upwards hazily, the night was cool, and comforting. She had been looking around the bags, maybe she had accidentally packed it in this one.

The sun shone bright, beams dancing through cracks in the ceiling. Mice scurried about, running for their holes, as the explorers made their way past the cobwebbed walls. A loud sound, and she jumped. “What’s the matter with you,” she started as he touched her shoulder, “You’re so jumpy today.” She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her heart was racing. Her mouth was dry.

Then her hand had fallen on them. There were two. Even in the dark night, they gleamed evilly. She had always been terrified of them. But these were especially terrifying. Her flashlight fell on them, and she saw dried brown rust caking on one of them. Slowly, she brought it to her nose. It was a distinct alkaline smell. The smell when her cat fell off the wall, and her neck landed on the pointed decorative spikes below. It was the smell of when she accidentally cut her hand cooking. It didnt leave you. He had been acting oddly recently. And it was all over the news. The things people were doing. Inexplicable. Hurting their loved ones.

A dot of light flashed on the wall in front of her, and she turned. Pepper spray out of her pocket before she realized it. His scream. The struggle. Wrenching the knife out of his hand. Stabbing him too hard. Watching the light drain from his eyes.