The Drowned Husband at My Door

On Halloween night, a sharp stench of chlorine and cheap booze woke me up.

I opened my eyes to a man grinning at the bedroom door.

It was my husband, David, soaking wet and showing off the liquor he’d vanished hours ago to buy.

I cursed him out, called him a liar, and demanded a divorce. He just kept that idiotic smile.

Then my phone rang. It was his best friend, Mark.

"Claire, David drowned drunk in the pool!"

——

The heavy reek of chlorine spiked in the bedroom.

I stared at the man standing five feet away from me.

If David was dead, I had no idea who or what was standing in my room.

"Claire, who is calling you this late?" David asked, stepping in.

On the other end of the line, Mark was panicked. "Claire, he went under... we couldn't find him..."

I shoved my hand holding the phone behind my back and ended the call.

"Nobody," I kept my voice flat, my eyes locked on his chest.

"Just my mom. Asking how our Halloween went."

"At two in the morning?" David asked.

He took a step forward.

I finally looked down. He was completely barefoot. Water steadily dripped from the hem of his soaked jeans, pooling on the floorboards.

Clumps of dead wet leaves clung to his ankles. The puddle seeping into the wood carried a faint pink hue.

If he had just walked back from a party, there was no reason for him to be bleeding.

"Yeah. Asking why my husband abandoned me on Halloween." I squeezed my free hand into a fist.

"Jesus, Claire, chill out."

"How can I, David!" I yelled.

"You left at eleven for a bottle of bourbon!" I forced the anger back into my voice. " Where the hell were you?"

David rolled his eyes, totally unfazed by my screaming. "Mark dragged me to a party at a hilltop mansion. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? I've been calling you for hours!"

"Will you shut up?" David's smooth facade cracked. "I didn't even stay. And look, if Mark calls you, don't answer it."

"Why?"

"Because Sarah called him an hour ago. Screaming her head off about something back at their house. You know what a psycho control freak she is."

He walked right past me, leaving a wet trail, and slammed the bourbon bottle onto the dresser.

"He bolted. Left me there alone like an idiot. So I swam a few laps, grabbed the bottle from the kitchen, and walked back."

"Let them have their domestic dispute. He’s going to call here trying to get me to play referee, and I'm not doing it. Don't get involved."

I stared at the back of his wet shirt.

Mark claimed David drowned. David claimed Mark ran home to a screaming wife.

One of them was lying to my face.

I didn't push it. I just pointed at the hallway. "Get out of here and take those wet clothes off."

A gust of wind slammed against the bedroom window.

Right then, the lights started flickering erratically, then died completely.

The only source of light was the battery-powered jack-o'-lantern on my dresser.

It cast a weak orange glow on David's pale face.

"Storm blew the fuses," David muttered in the dark.

"Go check the breaker box," I said.

"Tomorrow. It's pouring out there."

I turned and walked fast into the living room. I grabbed the handle of the front door and pushed.

Nothing.

I yanked it hard. The heavy metal handle wouldn't budge.

The smart lock. The biometric system was hardwired to the house panel. When the grid failed, the magnetic deadbolts clamped down by default.

We were locked inside a cage. The sheer realization of being trapped with him made my stomach drop.

My phone vibrated violently.

Messages from Mark flooded the screen in rapid succession.

[Claire, I swear to God. He drowned.]

[Do not trust him.]

I stared at the glowing words. Not human. My mind raced trying to understand what the hell that meant.

An image slowly downloaded at the bottom of the chat. The loading circle spun.

It was the edge of the hilltop mansion's pool. A trail of wet footprints led away from the water.

Beside a lounge chair, David's leather jacket and his car keys sat abandoned.

Right in the middle of a massive splatter of dark red blood.

The driveway in the background was empty. His SUV wasn’t there.

The logic crashed in my head.

The old superstitions my grandmother used to tell me flashed through my mind: when people die a sudden, violent death, they don't know they are dead. They just return home.

Another text bubble popped up from Mark.

[Did he go home? Is David with you?]

I had to reply. If Mark sent the police, they needed to know where we were.

[Yes.]

I tapped the send arrow.

The tiny green bar shot across the top of the screen. Then, it froze.

The Wi-Fi icon vanished. The cellular bars plummeted to zero.

No Service.

Then, I noticed the shadow moving at the end of the hall.