cw: body horror
(You can now listen to an original audio recording of this story here.)
I didn’t plan on telling you this story, but something ate my ex-girlfriend. Well, most of her anyway.
I came into our bedroom one night and there was this void, this thing on the bed in the basic shape of my girlfriend, right where she would be. Do you know what a void is? Ok good.
It was black. A black like I can’t even describe to you, so dark it felt like I could fall into it. Like, I didn’t know if my eyes were open or closed. But it was more than just black, it was electric. It was liquid. It was air. It moved slightly, like it was breathing. And it made a wet, crunchy sound, like someone eating cereal.
The room smelled hot and chemical. Like when you’re running a bunch of copies on a Xerox machine. That hot paper smell, that inky smell.
I reached for the golf club I keep by the door. Whatever it was— alien, demon— I was ready to fight it. But almost as soon as my hand was around the club I stopped and thought what if that was her in there? I don’t want to beat my girlfriend with a club.
I fumbled for my phone, thinking I would call 911 but as I looked at the screen I thought, what am I going to say? Am I losing it? Am I even awake right now?
So instead, I crouched and crept to the other side of the bed, keeping eyes on the thing but not looking directly at it for more than a second at a time. That living blackness was something I had to avoid, no matter what. I didn’t have to know what it was to understand I needed to stay away. I have some street smarts, you know?
But I didn’t think I could leave her in there either. What kind of a man would do nothing? I knelt on my side of the bed, to check if she was maybe underneath it. But there was nothing but the shape, wiggling. And chewing.
I could hear my heart beating, and for the first time I wondered if I was safe. Could it hear me? Could it see me? I went flat against the floor, sweat beading on my forehead. I listened to the sound of my heart and after a while I started to calm down. That smell was making me drowsy. Maybe I was already asleep.
Well, when I woke up, it was morning! You believe that? I was on the floor and my girlfriend was in bed, sound asleep, right where the blob had been. The weirdest dream I’ve ever had.
So here’s the weird stuff. A day or two later I realized my girlfriend couldn’t laugh anymore. She used to have a sweet, beautiful giggle that I loved to hear. It took me a couple days to notice because we were kind of fighting, that dream had put me on edge.
But when I knew she should have laughed at something I said and she didn’t, I was stunned. She just smiled at me and went back to her book.
If I’m being honest, that made me worry about our future. I am a funny person, and I need to be around people with a good sense of humor. Maybe she was depressed or had her period or something, I can’t say. But I thought about the blob. Maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe it was a body snatcher and she wasn’t even the same person anymore.
A week later I saw it again. A week where I wondered every day how I could be with a woman who couldn’t laugh. It was torture!
The night it came back I was just out of the shower. I walked into our room in my towel, and there it was on the bed, this void of light and color, right where she should have been. Her book was open next to it. I called for her but she didn’t answer. I knew she was in there. That chewing cereal sound, like it was consuming her.
I decided I should try something, so I poked it with one of my clubs. The club just slid into the darkness with no resistance, like I was pushing it into a hole. I wasn’t about to touch it, so I backed out of the room and closed the door. I pinched my arm. I was definitely awake. I looked at my phone in my hand. I opened it, typed in “black void,” then “exorcism,” then deleted them both. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and fell asleep on the couch in my towel, shivering. It was a metallic kind of sleep, cold and hard and I ground my teeth all night.
The next morning, we had it out. Shouting at each other. She started crying, which I hate. I was confused, angry. She said I was scaring her. She said she had never seen the blob, had no idea anything was happening. Except I knew she knew, because she admitted it, admitted that she no longer felt like herself.
I was disgusted by her. I remembered something I saw on Twitter— she was gaslighting me. She was going toxic.
After her laugh, the thing took her smile. And then, to be honest, her looks started to go. She turned sort of grey, very unhealthy looking. Her hair got greasy and her lips got dry. I know how it sounds for me to say that. But I’m still a guy. Sue me.
I made her a smoothie every day for a week: Greek yogurt, spinach, bananas you know all that stuff. A good breakfast to kick-start her life. I bought her one of those big water bottles that keep track of how much you’re drinking every hour. A lot of women online like those big water things.
I knew for sure she had to take control, make changes, fight the blob! But she just wasn’t doing her part. And I was getting sick of it. In my family, we were taught God helps those who help themselves. But here she was, giving in to this demon blob like it was nothing. Lazy, miserable. Some people just like being sad.
I suggested she try yoga. Wake up at 5 am and do a gratitude journal. Walk more steps. But I don’t think she tried anything at all, because the next thing it took was her hand.
You can imagine this was a pretty rough morning. My ex she was one of those hobby girls, she paints and knits, she has plants, and she loves to bake. Waking up with half her hands missing was a big loss, so I did want to be there for her. I’m not a monster.
It was really weird. Her arm ended at the wrist in a clean little patch of skin, like her hand was never even there. And that chemical smell was clinging to her. She was starting to cry, a really ugly cry that distorted her face and made me super uncomfortable.
She started going on, “I just tried to keep going,” blah blah. “You know, one foot in front of the other? But I’m scared. What do I do?”
Once again I suggested she figure out a way to fight back. But at this point I was thinking too little too late, you know? Like why did I make you all those smoothies so you could do nothing until you lost a hand? The way she kept wiping her face with the stump was getting to me.
“Look. I want to be here for you but this is not my monster,” I said. “We don’t even know if its like contagious or something. Right? I mean, what if it started on me? Then we’d both be screwed! Put on your mask before you help someone else, you know?” I chuckled a little at this last part, I thought it was kinda funny but maybe bad timing. As I said, she lost her sense of humor anyway. She walked away sulking. I started to hate her.
“You can still do a lot of stuff with one hand,” I said to her back as she closed the door on me. But even as I said it, I was thinking about how awkward it was going to be for her to see anyone like that.
I think I’m right to worry that she could pass it to me. At least we should realistically consider the possibility. I mean, you shouldn’t worry about it, not at all. We don’t even kiss anymore. We’re basically roommates.
Now, I sleep on the couch, so I don’t have to be reminded all the time. She barely sleeps at all. I think her idea is to avoid it by staying awake. She’s always scurrying around the apartment while I’m sleeping on the couch. So most of the time we’re both awake. But staying awake as a strategy has its limits. Eventually she passes out and the void finds her.
This week, she woke up in a cold bathtub without her legs. They were neatly shaved off at the hip, two little patches of clean skin where legs used to be. I guess she woke up when the thing let her go and she slid under the water and almost drowned. No legs to hold herself up in the bathtub. She hauled herself out of the water with her one good arm just long enough to scream for me. I carried her to bed, dried her off. I tried not to look at the legs of her pajama pants lying flat on the sheet but that shit haunted me.
At this point she can’t really do much, so I try to help out— even though we’re not together any more, seriously. But I told her she should hire like a nurse or something. She constantly hassles me, asking me to do this and that, fold the laundry, find a priest, listen to her stories of being eaten alive. But I can’t do it for much longer.
I’m not proud of myself, but I started spending a lot more time at my desk. And yeah, I’m looking for apartments in the city.
What I’m not looking for is a priest or any sort of monster ectoplasm expert. This is humiliating enough. Last thing I need is everyone thinking I’m some kind of crazy.
Well I have my own life to live, you know? I want to be successful, meet interesting people like yourself. I didn’t really consent to this, like I didn’t have a chance to say if I wanted this life. I’m not trying to be a nurse. And really, I have to respect my own boundaries. That’s just plain healthy.
I do pray for her recovery. I sent her an article about this woman with no arms who became a painter. I don’t know if she read it or not. It seems like she doesn’t want my help.
But I hope she does fight that demon and win because yikes. That was A Lot. And its a shame because she’s totally dateable otherwise.
Anyway. What about you? Any weird exes I should know about?
I kept thinking the demon eating her was depression, and what a great analogy
"It was a metallic kind of sleep, cold and hard and I ground my teeth all night." - awesome, deeply vivid description.