Amelia

I fumble about in bed, my body temperature steadily increasing as I grow a fever unlike any I’ve ever had in the past. I can feel sweat droplets tumbling off of my forehead and trickling down my temples towards my chin. I begin to cry a light sob, almost inaudible as I rock back and forth in bed, whispering for my partner to please wake up, to please help me snap out of this. I’m hot, I can’t catch my breath. I feel for my partner, but he’s not there. I can’t feel his presence at all.

I call his name but my voice is weak; I cannot speak my words aloud. I panic as I realize I’m consumed by a heaviness; the fever must be getting worse. This heaviness consumes me and I cannot sit up. I begin flailing around, commanding myself to get up, to drink water, but my body is numb.

I manage to throw myself out of bed and onto the hardwood floor, twisting my wrist and landing on my pregnant stomach in the process. I slowly maneuver until I’m resting on all fours and then I gradually work my way up to a standing position. My legs are wobbly and the room is spinning; I need to throw up.

As I walk towards the bathroom my full body mirror catches my eye. I pause to look at myself as the moonlight glistens through a window and illuminates my face. I move closer so I can see myself better, but as I look closer it becomes clear that this face does not belong to me.

My great-grandmother looks back at me, her face deformed, with one eye stitched shut and a joker grin on her face. Her hair is frayed as if it’s been singed off, and her intense stare back at me tells me that she is hungry for something sinister.

She lets out a maniacal laugh; it pierces my ears and I collapse to the floor. I want to look up but I’m petrified - I can sense her presence next to me. I squeeze my eyes shut as I tremor in fear of what’s to come.

Moments later, I slowly muster up the strength to turn my head to the side as I see the shadow of a leg in the darkness. This leg - this innocent body part - radiates a sensation of darkness and hopelessness down the hallway and I feel it enter and encompass my body. I am now carrying this unwanted energy, these negative feelings that are not my own as I crawl closer to this leg, which is sticking out of the bathroom doorway and into the hallway as if it’s taunting me to play a game of cat and mouse.

I contemplate throwing up on the floor instead of trying to make it to the bathroom, as it seems my grandmother is intentionally trying to bait me to come nearer...

I make my way towards her leg as I crawl slowly, my stomach contracting and my eyes blurring from tears. I stop crawling as my face makes it just inches from the being that stands before me. I gaze at her foot before slowly working my way up.

The shoe is black; it must be a 10-inch heel. It‘s a lace-up boot with a shiny black finish - I know because as my grandmother twists her ankle as if to model her leg for me, her shoe glimmers from the natural light coming through the bathroom window.

My eyes make their way past my grandma’s ankle and I begin to analyze her leg. I take my time, as I fear what will happen when our eyes finally meet. She’s wearing tights; her leg is covered in a black and white stripe print, like Beetlejuice’s suit.

Her hands rest naturally past her hips and I see breakage, discoloration, rot. I can’t make out the condition of her skin as I raise my head higher, because she’s wearing a flowy, long-sleeved lace blouse that covers all the way down to her wrists. On her neck is a black cameo necklace, boasting the side profile of a woman I can only assume was my grandmother years and years ago.

As I analyze her necklace I realize there’s only inches left to go before I reach my fate. What is my next move? I tremble in fear, my body dripping with perspiration, my heart all but beating a hole into my chest, my stomach contracting and reminding me that I have a tiny person to live for.

I gulp my feelings of being petrified down and I raise my chin, making strong eye contact with my grandmother. With her left arm she reaches up to the left side of her face, ripping the stitches out of her left eye and dropping them just in front of my fingers on the floor. She is grinning from ear to ear, staring motionless at me as blood trickles down her cheek. Her grin does not waver.

“Grandma?” I ask, but I’m parched and I don’t know if my words are coming out.

She reaches down and puts a hand around my throat, picking me up off the floor and holding me in the air, slightly above her face. My legs kick back and forth as I plead for her to let me go. Her grin does not fade, nor does her eye contact as she continues to smile at the sight of me fighting for my life.

Now she has both arms around my throat as she pins me against the wall, still managing to keep my feet away from the floor. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but I try as hard as I can because I want her to see what she is doing to me and the child inside of me.

She doesn’t care; as I go limp she laughs her maniacal laugh again, dragging me to the toilet and grabbing me by the back of my hair. She plunges my head into the toilet water, holding my head there for what feels like a lifetime.

I see flashes of my favorite memories of my partner and me, namely when he proposed on his birthday in front of all of his friends. I see all the nights he was by my side when I was exhausted and felt like giving up. I see our little girl in the future, our little Amelia saying her first words and riding a bike for the first time. And then everything goes black.

I can feel my grandmother removing my head from the toilet, but I’ve almost faded all the way away. I can’t see her anymore, or anything for that matter, but I can hear things from a distance. I overhear my grandmother’s voice, a murmur in the darkness, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. I hear my partner hollering for me but it’s too late, I’m almost gone.

“What will she do to him now?” I wonder. I hear him pleading with her to save me, but she just laughs.

I feel my body being dragged but I can’t see or talk. I wish for the pain to be over. “Why are you making me do this?” I hear my partner ask. “I love her, why are you making me do this?” My grandmother does not respond except to chuckle back at him.

“I’m sorry,” I hear him whisper. “I love you. I have always loved you. I’m so sorry.” I feel a tugging sensation around my neck. I am numb, but I still feel a distant tug.

“Who are you? Why are you making me cut off her head?” I hear him plead and I realize what I must be feeling. The tugging sensation is growing more intense, my grandmother’s laughter louder and more insane as I realize that my head is literally being cut off.

My eyes open abruptly as I gasp for air; the sun is shining through the window, birds are chirping outside and my partner lies next to me, sound asleep. I am dripping with sweat.

A nightmare. Just a nightmare. I take a deep breath.

I roll over to get out of bed, feeling relieved that it was just a dream. I notice a red puddle where I had just been sleeping, right where my private parts had been. I look down between my legs and see blood trickling down my calf, soaking into my socks.

I scream as loud as I can, this time knowing I am audible, and I run around to my partner’s side of the bed. I grab his shoulders to wake him up, but something is not right.

I move his hair from his face and I see it: that core-shaking grin from ear to ear, and his left eye is stitched shut while his right eye stares directly at me. My partner lifts himself up in bed, still grinning, and wraps his arms around me. “What is it?” he asks.

I blink repeatedly to snap myself back into reality, but his face does not change. He stands up now, still grinning at me, and reaches up before ripping the stitches out of his left eye.

I take off running, screaming as loud as I can. I open the door to the basement, but I trip down the first stair in a panic and I roll all the way down, breaking an arm and a leg in the process. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my head hits concrete and I have double vision.

I lie there twisted up and broken.

I see a high heel standing at my feet - a shiny black lace-up boot. I look up and there she is, grin and all. I hear my partner’s footsteps approaching down the stairs towards me. I look up.

“I give up. Do what you want with me,” I whisper. I close my eyes, picturing my version of Amelia and the love we would have had for each other. Maybe now we can be together.