Stretched Skin

On that day, I woke up. I ate breakfast. I went to my job at the guitar factory, working the night shift. It was a normal day. A day like any other day. But things started going wrong when my wife, Stacey, called. "Don't come home," she sobbed. "What?" I asked. "Don't... do---" she let out a bloodcurdling scream. I heard a cruel, harsh laugh. Then the phone rang out a tone. It had been disconnected. I frantically dialed her number. There was no answer. I tried again and again. On my fifth try, something picked up. "Hello? Oh god are you alright?!" I asked with panic in my voice. I heard more laughing. "Who is this? Where is my wife?" My mind was racing, I could think of a thousand possibilities and none of them were good. There was no answer. only a loud "beep" as the phone disconnected. I slammed down the phone, What was happening? I needed to get home as soon as possible. Without a word to my boss, I ran to my car. It was an old, clunky, thing. In desperate need of a replacement. I silently prayed it would start. It had broken down only a few days previous. I briefly considered getting it fixed, but the car was on it's last leg anyway and I couldn't justify spending the money when I should be saving for a new car. Nervously I climbed into the drivers seat and turned the key. The engine sputtered and failed. I turned it again. fingers crossed. It let out a horrible choking noise before roaring to life. About halfway to my house I noticed that there were no other cars on the road. I always took the back way home, but usually saw at least a few other people. Now I was getting even more nervous. I increased my speed, eager to get home. The streetlights ahead flickered. I quickly switched on the radio, not caring which station was on, as long as I could hear someone's voice. There was nothing but static. This was enough to make anyone panic. I pushed the pedal to the floor, and sped toward my house. After what felt like hours I turned onto my street. No lights came from the other houses. What was going on? Dread welled inside of me as I pulled into my driveway. As eager as I had been to get home, I was scared to find out what was inside. Hesitantly I cut the engine and stepped out of the car. The house shouldn't be so dark with my wife home. Had there been a power outage? Was that all? My hopes were dashed when I saw the door was open. Stacey was a nervous woman and always kept the doors shut and locked. I walked inside. It was dark, but I always kept a flashlight near the door. "Stacy. are you alright?" No answer. I grabbed the flashlight. Where do I start? she could be anywhere in the house. Or possibly not in the house at all. I decided to look in the bedroom. Maybe she was asleep? I knew that was wishful thinking, but I harbored the thought anyway. My hands were shaking and the light was dim as I walked up the stairs. I called out for her again. Nothing. Everything looked normal. Like nothing had ever gone wrong. The stairs, the hallway. They were just as I left them. Her bed was empty and unmade, sheets falling onto the floor. "Stacey?" I asked. I looked around the room with my flashlight. Nothing else seemed out of place. I considered moving on to the next room, but decided to check the bathroom first. I couldn't imagine why she would be in there but something was telling me to check. Blood covered the floor. The shower curtain was drawn. I have to look, I told myself, I have to know. I pulled the curtain back The tub was filled with bloody flesh. It was vaguely human in shape, crumpled and broken. Sitting a top the gory pile was a human skull. Muscle and eyes still in place. I knew those eyes. I wretched, dropping the flashlight and fleeing the room. I had to leave. To get as far away as possible. I reached for the cellphone in my pocket, only to realize I must have left it in the car. I bounded down the stairs. There was a figure standing in the doorway. I froze, stricken with terror. At that moment the lights flashed on, revealing the grim sight that lay before me. The naked figure was masculine, but stretched across him was woman's bloodied skin. The suit was torn in places allowing some of the wearer's own skin to poke through. Long brown hair cascaded from it's headpiece, worn like a Halloween mask. Clutched in his hand were a bloody pair of scissors. It was undoubtedly my wife, cut and hastily placed back together. The man let out a cruel, harsh laugh.