Chapter 4 - The Midnight Awakening
A few minutes later, I carried my quiet plan down the stairs into the living room. I popped open one of Ethan’s precious small-batch IPAs, settled comfortably onto the plush living room sofa, and turned the television volume up to a respectable level, playing an action-packed sports replay on the screen.
Then, looking down at my phone, I dialed Ethan’s cell phone number directly.
Upstairs in the master bedroom, his phone began to buzz loudly against the wooden nightstand.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I took a slow, leisurely sip of the IPA, listening to the vibration echo through the ceiling.
Finally, a heavy, irritated grunt echoed down the staircase, followed by the sound of shuffling slippers against the hallway floorboards.
Ethan’s drowsy, irritated voice crackled through the phone line.
“Hello? What the hell? Do you know what time it is? It’s past midnight!”
I kept my voice completely calm, casual, and unnervingly quiet.
“You might want to come downstairs and turn on the hallway light, babe,” I whispered smoothly into the speaker.
A heavy, groggy pause stretched across the phone line. I could practically hear his sleep-addled brain trying to process my words.
“What are you talking about? Come back to bed. You’re acting weird.”
“I’m serious, Ethan,” I replied, taking another unhurried sip of beer. “You’re not alone up there in the hallway anymore.”
Upstairs, the heavy silence broke instantly. I heard the sharp squeak of his slippers pivoting on the hardwood floor.
“Ha. Very funny. Did Derek and the guys show up early through the back door or something?” he muttered, sounding annoyed as he fumbled for the wall switch.
A sharp, audible click echoed from the upstairs hallway as the bright overhead lights flooded the second-floor landing.
I listened intently through the open phone line.
For two agonizing seconds, there was absolute, breathless quiet.
Then, a blood-curdling, high-pitched shriek—a sound I had never heard come out of a grown man’s mouth in my entire life—shattered the midnight quiet of our home.
It wasn't a normal yell of surprise. It was a primal, full-volume shriek of pure, unadulterated terror.
A loud, violent thud echoed through the ceiling as Ethan apparently tripped over his own feet, crashing heavily into the hallway wall before scrambling backward like a crab on polished tile.
“WHAT THE—OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THAT?! GET IT AWAY! GET IT AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed, his voice cracking into frantic hysterics as he backed up against the far wall of the master bedroom doorway.
I calmly stood up from the sofa, walked over to the base of the stairs, and held the phone up so he could hear me clearly over his own hyperventilating gasps.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Ethan,” I called up sweetly. “That’s just Biscuit and Gravy. They’re completely harmless. They just wanted to come out of the dark and enjoy the cool hallway air for a little while.”
At the top of the stairs, peering around the corner with trembling, pale hands pressed flat against the wall, Ethan stared down at the two docile ball pythons resting comfortably on the carpet near the top landing.
He looked like he was about to actively pass out right then and there. His face was stark white, slick with cold sweat, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon through a burning building.
“Dani... please,” he choked out, his voice trembling violently, tears of pure panic pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Get them away from me! Please! You know I can’t—I can’t breathe near those things!”
I slowly walked halfway up the stairs, resting my hand casually on the banister, looking down at my terrified, pathetic husband with an expression of icy, untouchable calm.
May you like
“Funny,” I said softly, tilting my head. “That’s almost exact word-for-word what I said last Saturday night when you locked me in the dark basement.”
Ethan froze, his eyes bulging as the brutal realization slammed into his brain like a freight train.
