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It’s been about two months since it happened, since I came home from work on a rainy night, flowers and chocolate in hand. This isn’t going to be easy to say, but if I’m going to tell the story, I have to tell all of it.

I had had an affair. I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t. It just sort of… happened. I was having dinner with a coworker, speaking of a new contract about to be signed, when the conversation moved to her apartment. I felt terrible afterwards, I wanted to take it back, but I knew I couldn’t.

My girlfriend could be… overly dramatic. That’s why I knew it would only make the situation worse to try and hide it and risk her finding out herself. So there I was, standing outside our apartment, flowers and chocolate in hand, preparing to beg for forgiveness. I raised a shaking hand and knocked. I waited a few moments before knocking again. I could hear the large grandfather clock ticking through the door, maybe she wasn’t home?

I set down the flowers and began fumbling for the key. I wanted to confront her, not wait for her and then tell her, I’d lose my nerve by then.

I found the key and slid it into the lock, paused briefly, took a deep breath and pushed it open. The door swung open and bounced off the wall, nearly hitting me in the rear as I bent down to pick up the flowers. I kicked it back open and walked into our tiny living room. upon walking in I smelled something burning. It was faint, but definitely there. I smiled a little, Jen never was the best cook, I learned that at thanksgiving last year when she burnt the entire turkey. My smile slowly faded as I remembered my reasoning for being there. I made a right into our small kitchen, to find nothing. Oven was not on, nothing in the microwave, even all the dishware was still in place. Nothing had been touched since our lunch a few hours ago. Then what was that smell?

“Jen?” I called out, my voice seeming to shatter the silence in the room. I peeked into the bathroom, nothing. I made a 180 degree turn toward our bedroom. The smell was coming from there.

“Jen? You here honey?” I said cautiously, my now violently shaking hand reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and slowly pushing it open.

The first thing I noticed was the blood. It was so dark, almost black splattered over the majority of the wall behind our bed and up onto the ceiling. It was still dripping. Jen was laying on the bed, feet planted on the floor one arm hanging off the bed, the other above her head. A shotgun laying by her side.

I don’t know which was louder, my breathing or the blood dripping on the wood floor. When the chocolates hit the floor, it was like an atom bomb going off in my head.

“JEN!” I ran over to her, immediately beginning CPR. I frantically tried to remember my high school days as a lifeguard.

“28…29…30!” I quickly moved to breath, but there was no mouth to breath in. All that was left of my girlfriends head was her lower jaw.

I didn’t care.

As I look back on it now, I can’t imagine what the police must have thought to see me giving CPR to someone with no head. I wasn’t all there, I can admit that. They said her T.O.D was within the hour.

“Judging by the smell…” I overheard one of the forensic specialist say “…I’m surprised he didn’t hear the shot.” The next day, the police showed me security camera footage of the outside of my coworkers apartment. I attempted to keep myself from breaking down as I saw Jen's car pull into the lot and her watching through the first floor window.

I failed.

At the funeral, none of her family members would look at me. None of them said it, but I knew what they were thinking.

It was my fault. I drove Jen to blow her own head off with a fucking shotgun. It’s weird to think that you caused someone's death, that what has happened now means nothing.

Because of me.

That everything that was going to happen now means nothing.

Because of me.

The cops wanted me to go to a therapist, even gave me a card, but it didn’t feel right. Why should I seek help for my problems when I am the problem?

All of this took place in about a week, the next six weeks were just… numb. I’m still in the same apartment, I couldn’t afford to buy a new place, plus I don’t think anyone would want to buy that place, not now.

So this brings us to last week. I was sitting in our living room, watchig T.V. While the initial shock had begun to fade, the guilt was all too real. And the silence, the fucking silence. It was deafening. No amount of T.V. could block out the silence, no matter how loud I turned it.

That night was the first time the silence was broken, and it came as the sound of the front door buzzer. I muted the T.V. and sat for a moment, waiting for it to buzz again. No one visited since Jen died, they probably hit the wrong button. About five seconds passed before it buzzed again. I groaned as I stood up and walked over to the small panel on the wall. I leaned in close and held down the red button.





The voice sounded distant, as if someone was talking from down a long tunnel.

“Hello? Anyone there?“

STATIC "How could he do this to me?” STATIC

“Ma'am, are you ok?”



“I gave him everything, he was my everything.” STATIC

“Ma'am, I think you have the wrong roo…”


The voice came through the speaker so loudly that I jumped back in fear. My right ear began to ring. I walked back to the speaker, but before I touched the button, the voice came through.


I froze. No one can talk to a room unless the occupant is holding down the receiver button. It’s like a walkie talky.

STATIC “Tyler, I know you’re there baby.” STATIC

My heart froze. I knew that voice. I stormed up and practically punched the red button.


“It’s far from a joke Tybear.” STATIC

I stepped back away from the speaker. There was only one person that called me that, that even KNEW about that…

“Jen?” I whispered.

STATIC “I don’t blame you, you know? You may have fucked that dirty cunt, after I gave you everything that you could ever imagine, but I don’t blame you.”

At this point I had reached my phone. My landlord had an app set up where we could watch live feed of the front door. I opened the app and willed it desperately to load. I had to know. I had to know that she wasn’t actually there. The app finally loaded and I was staring at live feed of the front entrance. I let out a sigh of relief, whoever was messing with me had left.

STATIC “Still here, sweetheart.” STAAAAAAAATIC

I was still staring at the screen when the speaker turned back on, there was no one there. The deafening silence was gone and it was replaced by an unbearable static.

STATIC "I think we need to talk, I’ll let myself in.“

"NO!” I yelled and ran to the speaker, holding the button. “Jennifer, listen…”


My finger was frozen to the button when the sound of the elevator doors opening down the hall echoed through my eardrums. There was silence for a few seconds before I heard a familiar creak of a floorboard in front of the room four doors down to the left of me, then followed by another creak, one I recognized as the one right in front of my door.

I swallowed loudly, finger still firmly pressed to the button. Maybe it was just another occupant that moved on.

“Last time I walked down this hallway, I was thinking about what heaven would be like, flying through the clouds with angels. You want to know something Tybear? There is no heaven after death, only pain and suffering, and you put me there.”

I bowed my head, holding back a wrenching sob. I looked at the door, knowing that my dead love was just on the other side.

“You did it to yourself, Jen.” I muttered, biting my lip.

There was a long silence, followed by barely a whisper.

“Look through the peephole, Tyler.”

I just stood there, not daring to move.


I banged my head on the wall, trying to get the unbearable static out of my head.

“Is that what you want, Jen?”


I pushed myself away from the wall and faced the door. I knew what I was going to see on the other side, but she wasn’t going to go away. I walked up to the door until my nose was nearly touching the cold wood. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes.

“Ok.” I muttered and looked through the peephole. For a split second I thought there was no one there, but I quickly realized that what I was supposed to be seeing was splattered on the back wall two months earlier. I could see her shoulders, her neck, and her chin. But above the bottom lip and jagged teeth was just gore, the buckshot shredding through the top of her mouth and out the top of her head.

I let out a sob and pulled my hair, I was living in a nightmare.

“I want you to look at me, and know that you caused this.” She said. Now that I saw her, her voice echoed throughout my head.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?” I screamed between sobs, “HOW CAN I FIX THIS?”

There was a long sob, the headless body outside my door remaining perfectly still.

“I want you to join me, to be by my side forever.” She said in a calm voice. “All you have to do is walk through the door.”

I frowned, looking at the doorknob.

“If that will help you.” I said, reaching for the doorknob.

“Not that door, Tyler. The eternal door. It is locked and the Key is in the chest in your closet.”

I backed away from the door. Almost in a trance, I walked into my room and pulled out the blue chest stored in the back of my closet and undid the metal latches. The unbearable static was getting quieter the closer I got to the Key. I took a deep breath and opened the lid. The Key seemed to glow in the light, beckoning me to touch it. I lifted the Key out of the case and flipped open the small compartment in the Styrofoam.

There were two shells left.

I loaded the break barrel Remington and snapped it back closed. The police gave it back to me after they checked for further evidence. I tried to throw it out immediately after, but I was drawn to it, like I knew I’d need it someday.

I walked back out to the living room and faced the door. For the first time in two months, I was at peace. I was going to be with Jennifer again. I lifted the shotgun and pressed the end of the barrel firmly against the roof of my mouth. Upon contact, my front door swung open and Jen was standing on the other side, head intact, just as I remember her.

“You’re almost here, darling.” She said with a smile. “The door is unlocked, now you just have to walk through.”

I pulled back the hammer and shut my eyes.


My eyes flew open to see a police officer standing in the entry way, hand outstretched toward me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I have to.” I gargled, finger still on the trigger.

“Why?” He asked calmly, with a hint of fear.

“Because my dead girlfriend is at the door.”

When I said those words, the fog seemed to lift and the unbearable static faded. My dead girlfriend… wasn’t there. How could she be? She’s dead.

I dropped the gun.

I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for the past few days. He says I was lucky that my neighbor heard me yelling and had called the cops, I’d be dead otherwise. He said I was suffering from severe PTSD after the incident, and since I saw her death as my fault, the only solution in my mind was to end my guilt the only way I knew how.

“You both made a choice in the same situation.” He said. “You chose one way, she chose another. It was her choice to end her own life, and you chose to continue yours. By laying down the weapon you recognized that she was not actually there, that this whole nightmare was self induced, and acceptance is the first step to recovery.”

by santaismysavior via


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