An elderly couple resided in the midst of nowhere. They had been married for 30 years and had raised two children in that house, a beautiful daughter who was now married to a businessman in a faraway place and a boy who never cared to ask how his parents were holding it all together.
They had weathered all odds together for the past 30 years, and while there had been ups and downs, they never left each other’s company. They had seen others battle cancer, get greys, and fret wrinkles over time. He was still her idol, even though she had excruciating joint swelling and could scarcely move without discomfort.
If there was one thing that hadn’t changed over the years, it was their 30-year-old routine (a set of actions that are consistently performed in the same way for religious or other reasons), in which the husband made dinner and the wife prepared breakfast. This series of activities consistently performed in the same manner for religious or other reasons of theirs has never failed/broken into.
As the husband entered the bedroom with the tray of dinner (they used to eat in bed), he was greeted by a strange sight: his wife, who was suffering from acute painful joint swelling, was leaning down from the bed, her ears pressed hard against the floor, as if she was trying to listen to something, really hard!
“Are you insane!” he exclaims as he rushes over to her, “what do you think you’re doing?”
She signals to/shows him to shut up by placing a finger on her lips and saying, “Listen closely.” Is it audible? There is a voice from beneath.
“Whose voice is it?” You’re just making stuff up. Now sit up straight and eat your dinner.
“Can you not hear it, it is loud and clear”, it says, ‘confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess.’
He couldn’t hear anything, but he agreed to summon the priest when his wife persuaded him that the house was haunted. What he didn’t comprehend was how things had changed so drastically in 30 years.
Anyway, the priest entered the chamber with holy water, his holy book, and a holy charm, inspecting every nook and cranny and frowning. “Sir, I do not feel any spiritual presence here,” he stated to the spouse. At the risk of sounding unpleasant, I recommend that you look after your wife; I have a hunch that age is catching up with her far faster than it should.”
The wife emerged from the room, suspiciously peering at the door, as the husband thanked the priest for his assistance and closed the door behind him. “ You know what, the voice ceased as soon as the priest entered the house! This voice, ‘confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, Is it possible for you to put a stop to it? Please!” He held her hand and forced her to sit in her favorite chair, a brown cushioned armchair she had inherited from her mother, and refused to give up at any cost.
The wife spent as little time as possible in the bedroom over the next few days, as this voice – “confess, confess, confess” – began to creep under her skin every time she entered. While reading a magazine one night, the husband noticed his wife enter the room with dinner and tears in her eyes.
He stood there stunned; their (series of actions consistently carried out in the same manner for religious or other reasons) had been broken into for the past 30 years, and he knew it was serious. “Look honey, I can’t hear anything, but I know it’s bothering you, and I can’t bear to take that,” he said, holding her hand and looking her in the eyes. “What confession is the voice talking about, there is nothing you can hide from me,” he said as he noticed her expressions shift, which made him uneasy. “Is there something you are hiding from me?” he asked.
In her sobs and sniffles, the wife took his hand in hers and led him to the chair she refused to give up, pointing to it, she said, “I have seen half a million dollars in the folds and choirs of the cushions here.” When my father abandoned my mother when I was a child, she cautioned me that you cannot trust men and that you should preserve something for yourself in case they ever leave. So there’s my confession; please silence the voices; they’re killing me right now.
The voices had ceased, but in front of her stood an enraged and stunned husband, who couldn’t believe that the solution to all of his problems was right in front of him and that his wife had withheld it from him. All of their hard work to pay off their debts fund their children’s education, and everything else! Besides, his wife, whom he adored unconditionally/without conditions, didn’t have enough faith in him!
It broke him, and he returned to his room without saying anything. His pain, on the other hand, was not shared by his wife, who was ecstatic that the voice had finally stopped. They drifted apart over the next several days, he remained uninterested and angry, and his wife tried her hardest to make amends.
He loved her, and you forgive people you care about, so he did as well. He accepted the reality that they now have the money at the very least. Things were virtually back to normal and healthy.
When the husband returned from the washroom at midnight, he noticed his wife sitting up straight and crying to herself. She looked up with bloodshot eyes as he approached her and said, “It’s back!”
“Confess, confess, confess”
He comforted her in some way, but he was now nervous/excited, and he didn’t like it (based on facts and other evidence)! What surprises are in store! What the hell was going on in their life! When our old father returned home the next day, around late evening, after a long day of work at the NGO he used to visit, he found his wife sitting outside the house, crying loudly! He dashed over to her. “What is it, dear, what is it?” says the narrator. Oh, my God, you’re freezing. He cradled her against his chest.
“That voice, that scraping voice, saying ‘confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, She began ripping her hair and beating herself too hard, saying, “I just can’t take it any longer, this is killing me.” He wanted to tell her that it was all in her head and that she should try to relax a little! But They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell. He ushered her inside and grabbed up the phone. It was their daughter, the apple of his eye, the person he cherished above his own life. He forgot about the (current and essential circumstance) for a short time/in a short time and began conversing with her; after a few minutes, the daughter said, “Hello dad!” Is the priest or someone else paid us a visit or something?”
“No, no, no! It’s just you and your mum in this room. Why?”
“Oh! It must be the television, because I can hear a voice saying, “confess, confess, confess, confess, confess, confess,”
The old man froze in place, allowing the receiver to slide from his grasp. He hurried to his wife, who had badly injured herself by this point and appeared to be the devil herself as she ran about the living room crying, “make it stop, stop, oh god, this is torture-like!” He approached her, took her arm, and said, “I don’t know what’s going on with us, but our daughter heard the voice as well; is there anything else you’re hiding from me?” “That daughter of yours, well, she is not yours!” she hissed without a second thought. I had betrayed you. I apologize.” She then pleaded with the walls, “Please stop now, I cannot handle it, I have said everything I have to say, I have no more secrets, please stop” Unaware of this, our elderly gentleman went unsteadily towards the door, which struck him like a bullet; he was used to pain, but this pain, brought on by his wife’s confession, tore him apart. He walked out of the house without turning back, hoping that the fresh breeze would help him chill off.
After about 4 hours, he returned to their home, determined to confront his wife, fiercely confront/stand up to her, and possibly leave her. He returned to an open door and entered, calling her name out loud, but received no response. He rushed in to find a fallen stool and a dead body hanging from the ceiling fan! She did abandon her. This dreadful tragedy struck him like a bolt of lightning. He leaned against the wall, gazing at his lovely wife’s dangling figure, reminiscing about their great times together. He hadn’t expected it to end like this.
He was supposed to call the cops and report the suicide right now. But there was one last thing he needed to do before dialing the number! He had to take out all of the tape recorders he had hidden beneath the planks of wood on the floor, in the Attic, and on the walls, which were playing a recorded voice that said “confess, confess, confess” on a loop.