Spoopy Stories

"But I Didn't" By: PEPIDY

I didn't kill Emily. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to. But I didn't. The moment I saw my wife of 11 years having sex with some asshole in our own bed, something snapped. The dresser was next to me, and the bed on the opposite side of the room... I knew I could pull out my gun from the top drawer and nail them onto the bed before either of them could open their filthy mouths to blurt our a pathetic excuse as to why I should spare the little shits who ruined my perfectly happy marriage. But I didn't. I'm not that kind of man. Instead, I let that son of a bitch go, and haven't spoken to my wife since.
A few days later I opened the fort to a police officer who asked me questions about Emily. Apparently she was reported missing by her mother, who repeatedly tried and failed to reach her phone. I haven't seen her for 3 days at the time, and honestly, I didn't care. The cheating whore probably deserved whatever happened to her.
I spent the next few weeks with interrogations and court trials. They seemed to have no doubt as to who was the culprit. Can't blame them after all, it would be awfully convenient for the murderer to be the victims ex-husband. People in law enforcement probably see the same case every other week. Luckily, there wasn't enough evidence to convict me.
The whole process was soul crushing, months spent trying to convince people that I didn't murder the love of my life, while staring at the obvious disbelief in their eyes. I wish I had killed her, it would've been so much simpler for everyone. But I didn't. No matter how angry I was, I could never do that to her.
Today as I write this, it's been exactly a year since I caught her red handed. I miss Emily so much, but everyone seems to have forgotten about her. I would too, if not for the fact that I feel her presence. She's still with me. I can see her. Some nights, I can hear her crying, as if apologizing to me for the things she had done. At least, that's how I like to see it. Sometimes she screams, making me jump out of bed in panic.
Usually, a broken finger or a rib is enough to shut her up. Sometimes she feels like resisting, and I have to bring out the knife. Oh the horror in her eyes... She's always been frail, so I don't have to flay her a lot before she passes out. Then I change the duct tape she chewed through with a fresh one, and go right back to my cozy bed.
You see, I told you I didn't kill Emily. I could've shot her the moment I walked into that room. But I didn't. And I make sure that everyday, she wishes that I had.