The Red Puddle

The sun shone bright through the day. The sky was a mass of blue. I wiped the sweat from my brow, then continued to chop logs from a tree downed a week back.

This life, such a beautiful life, never failed to mystify me daily. The chirps, the howls, the whistling wind, and the shaking trees. After the hardships of my youth, this future I so desperately had paved finally came. Now I stood a man, chopping wood for a lovely wife and two children, with a third on the way.

My sons, five and seven, played in my view. Thomas, the older, waved a stick at the younger Benjamin. They often pretended to be strong warriors, fighting for glory and perhaps just the thrill.

I smiled at their antics. I loved them so much.

My wife's sweet voice called us all inside as the sun descended into darkened clouds at the horizon. My heart belonged to her.

I scooped Ben onto my shoulder and held Thomas' hand, then made my way inside, leaving my muddied boots on the porch.

Ben and Thomas scurried to their mother's side in the kitchen. My sweetheart Mary glowed. Her beauty was second only to her heart. I went to her and held her firmly in my embrace. My lips found her cheek.

I would again kiss Mary that night in bed after a venison dinner and tucking the children in to her singing. Sleep wrapped around me then. And then nothing. Then red emerged from the nothing.

That red puddle beneath me, I didn't know what it was. It wasn't human, it couldn't be. The bones were smashed to bits, the meat was pulp, and half of it was missing.

I wished my heart would race. Not this calm in my chest and mind. Such a curse was this misplaced calm.

This thing, it must've been human. It smelled like human. I winced at the realization I could tell meat scents apart.

Then I looked down at my hands, at the bloodied claws and jet black fur.

I furiously tore the hairs from my arms, to no avail.

I signed.

I noticed then I stood in my bedroom, and it was still night, the moon calling to me from the curtains. My balance failed as I realized I stood on back legs. I gave into the reality I was quadrupedal now.

My Mary wasn't on the bed. She must've left during whatever happened here.

I crept from the bedroom, and then my heart thumped. I saw my son Thomas there, clutching the heads of his mother and little brother.

My eyes flew open, and I screamed. My blood pumped furiously through my chest. I looked to and fro, and I was in my bedroom again. Again, it was night. But I calmed as I saw my Mary sleeping soundly beside me. I clung to her side. Tears left my eyes.

"Another nightmare tonight?" she murmured, dazed.

"Yes," I stuttered, sobbing still.

She held my hand tightly.

"You're not a beast. Ignore the dreams. I love you. You will never do us any harm. Please sleep," she said.

I nodded.

I took a lengthy breath, then settled back into the world of dreams. The red took over my eyes once more.

The crimson puddle now existed on the ceiling, and it dripped onto my forehead. The stench of iron was stronger this time.

I shuddered and closed my eyes tight. I hugged onto myself, trapped in that dream, for a week. I would not move forward to see my dead child on top of this puddle that I now knew was my dead wife.

At the end of the nightmare week, I woke up to the next morning in my bed.

My eyes fluttered open. The sun's rays trickled through the curtains. I took in a long breath.

My heart froze in place at what I smelled. Tears built up in my eyes.

It could not be real. I was still in a nightmare.

I looked down at myself. Human still, but bloodstained.

I looked over to my side.

There, all that remained of my Mary was a red puddle.

I had lain on the floor for more than a week before I joined my family once more.