Her Face

I lost the love of my life two years and six months ago. I’ve been in a psychiatric facility ever since, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself; I’ll go into that after I’ve told you about her.

Katrina saved me, there’s no other way to say it. When I met her I was a young man with an unwarranted chip on my shoulder hanging around with some unsavoury people. As soon as I saw her in that bar it was like someone turned on a light in my mind and illuminated emotions I’d never felt, and possibilities I’d never seen before. The “friends” were ditched, and I got myself a decent job so we could afford to move in together.

After two years of living together I whisked her away to Paris, I know I’m a cliché, and asked her to marry me. She said yes without hesitation. The fact I never got to watch her walk down the aisle is high on the list of regrets that haunt me.

One of our few differences was our opinion on animals. I would never mistreat an animal, but I was never warm to them. As a veterinary nurse, Katrina fell in love with every one she laid eyes on. It was one of my main goals in life for her to be happy, so when she wanted to foster a West Highland Terrier called, shudder, Cupcake I couldn’t say no. Of course, fostering turned into adoption and I grew to cherish the scruffy little thing too.

As much as I’d love to reminisce about happier times forever, I’m going to move on to what led me to find myself in a facility. I’m here because I’ve been charged with Katrina’s brutal murder. I was more or less catatonic though, and they couldn’t determine a rational motive, so I escaped jail by reason of insanity. If I had gone to jail, I never would never have met David and this story would be different, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

My first six months here I didn’t utter a single sound, but through intensive therapy and a sprinkling of heavy drugs I began to function better. It took another three months until I first told one of the doctors how I remembered the night she died. He listened calmly then pointed out the obvious reasons it couldn’t be the real account. After another three months of this I believed my recollection was incorrect but I couldn’t remember how it really happened so some group therapy was introduced to see if that would trigger anything.

Do you remember when you had to do a presentation at school? That’s how I felt when I decided to share after a few sessions. My heart was pounding, my palms were clammy, and I actually raised my hand for permission to speak like a timid child. I fidgeted in my chair and cleared my throat several times before I managed to start speaking, and then it was a little too fast at first,

“I’m Luke, and I’m telling you this to try and figure out the truth. I know that it can’t have happened like this but I’m going to tell you, and hopefully I can figure out the details because I don’t know why I would have killed Katrina.”

I’m not ashamed to say that at the mention of her name I began to cry. I hadn’t cried much in all the time I’d been there, so the doctor just let me get it out, got me some water, and then I started again,

“I remember that I thought it was weird when I came home from work that night because the house was quiet and dark. Normally Cupcake barks her head off when anyone walks in, and Katrina is usually on the phone, or playing music and singing. I checked my phone, but she hadn’t text me to say she was going out anywhere. I was scared because she always texts, um I mean she did text a lot. I went through the rooms calling her, but I had this ball in my stomach like I’d swallowed a rock. I knew something awful had happened but I can’t explain why, or maybe I’ve got a gap in memory here that would make it make sense.

As I approached our bedroom I heard a dripping, like when a tap won’t turn off all the way. It made that rock in my stomach grow heavier. As I looked in, I could see Katrina sitting at her dresser in front of the mirror. I was obviously relieved, I said ‘you scared me, what are you sitting in the dark for you daft cow?’, and flipped on the light.

It was then that I realised I was out of my mind to have ever confused the thing sat there with my darling Katrina. Although it wore her face like some hideous fancy dress, it was all wrong. As I started to realise what this meant, its yellow eyes met mine in the reflection and I think a part of me died right then and there. Every night since I’ve seen those awful eyes burning into me in my nightmares, telling me of their owner’s evils. Where my Katrina had a flawless bone structure, this thing’s face underneath contorted it in alien ways that made me want to start screaming and never stop. Instead of her luscious curls it had matted clumps, balding in places.

I kept eye contact with it through the mirror for what felt like years. Eventually, I pulled my eyes away and scanned the room. I think I was looking for a weapon to use against it. Instead, I saw a lump in the bed. I think I knew what I was going to see but I still screamed when I pulled back the cover and saw Katrina with no face. I’m not sure why but I got in beside her and put my arm across her waist.

The thing stood up then, which made me scream again. As it moved, something slid off its lap with a wet thump. It was Cupcake. The dripping I’d heard had been coming from her neck where it had removed her head. As it came closer I kept screaming but I was too scared to move. Its limbs were far too long for its body and it creaked as it moved. I didn’t want to see any more so I shut my eyes. It let out something which I think was a laugh as it placed an object in the hand I had over Katrina. Then it, oh God, it- it balanced something on my face and I knew it was my beloved’s skin. I was still paralysed with terror, so I just kept wailing. I heard it step back as though it was admiring its work, then it let out that ‘laugh’ that sounded like nails on a blackboard again, and left.

I don’t remember much else after that, I think I might have blacked out for a while, but a neighbour called 999 about my screams, they found me in the bed holding a knife and wearing her face, and eventually I ended up here. That’s how I remember it but obviously I know there aren’t really awful beings that steal faces, so I need to find the truth.”

I’d unconsciously squeezed my eyes shut for the last part of my story and when I opened them, I found all the other members of the group leaning forward tensely. Even the doctor running the session looked on edge, but he got himself together quickly, thanked me for speaking and wrapped up the session. I felt drained, so I stayed in my seat while the rest of the group began to make their way out. David, one of the group I didn’t know very well and hadn’t heard speak yet, also stayed seated. He waited until it was just the two of us and moved next to me so he could whisper in my ear. What he said both horrified and relieved me,

“I’ve seen it too.”

We were ushered out back to our rooms at that point and I passed a fitful night playing his statement round in my mind repeatedly. I eventually decided I had to believe him because that meant I was innocent.

I didn’t get to talk to him again until the next day when he plonked himself down beside me at dinner. I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation, and I knew we’d have to be careful with staff in earshot, so we sat in silence for a few minutes. David was obviously feeling the need to explain himself, and he broke it first,

“I wasn’t lying you know, I really have seen it.”

“We have to be careful how we talk about it but I’ve decided I believe you. We’ll pretend we’re discussing a horror movie, the thing is a slasher. So what is the protagonist of yours incarcerated for?” I hoped he understood me.

“Almost the same as you, not charged with the act but as a result of the visit of the slasher.” He looked a bit confused but I think he was keeping up.

“Did the slasher not frame the protagonist?”

“No, same procedure but was disturbed and couldn’t plant any evidence.”

We were getting suspicious looks from the woman opposite us on the table at this point, so we both wordlessly decided not to risk it and finished our meal in silence.

It went on like this for a few weeks, small titbits here and there tinged with secrecy. It was agonising, especially as I had to keep pretending to the doctors that I didn’t believe my account. The more I spoke with David the more sure I was that I was innocent, so I refused to confess to killing Katrina, or hazard any guesses as to why I would. I did begin to deliberately contradict myself in small ways in sessions, and then we’d discuss what might have actually happened there, this was enough to let the doctors think I was still heading in the right direction.

It was after I’d been in the facility for 14 long months that I had David’s complete story. Like me, he’d come home from work to find the house dark and quiet. Whereas I didn’t see anything was wrong until I reached the bedroom, David spotted a fair amount of blood in the kitchen, he thinks now that the thing killed his dog there while collecting a knife, and called 999. This is what saved him from being framed by the beastly thing as the police arriving startled it, and it fled out the bedroom window. It left the knife but as his prints weren’t on it and there were witnesses that he’d been at work until minutes before, he was cleared of suspicion. David saw it wearing his wife Irene’s face for a few moments though and it broke him. He referred himself to the facility because he couldn’t cope, and he didn’t expect to ever leave. All the locks and the reinforced windows made him feel safe when he woke up from one of the nightmares featuring the yellow eyes.

As I’d been able to convince the doctors I was progressing I’d asked for a pencil and paper, saying I needed to be creative. I wrote down our stories like a screenplay in case they were found but having them tangibly made me feel a little saner. I knew there must be more of us out there that had our lives imploded by this abomination though, so I needed more than a pencil.

Trust me when I say you can’t judge me for this next bit more than I’m judging myself. I pretended to have a breakthrough and remember removing the dog’s head. Wherever you’ve ended up Cupcake you adorable scruff ball I’m sorry! As I’d hoped though, this was enough to allow me some short bursts of internet usage with minimal supervision. It took a while but eventually I found a few message boards here and there with mentions of the thing. Most of them weren’t direct from the source as the person who experienced it had been jailed, sectioned, or committed suicide but it was enough to piece some basic information together.

It’s taken me many of my internet sessions to write this up but here is my warning. This thing is out there, and it seems to be global so there may even be more than one. From what I’ve read, it watches for a couple of weeks before it attacks. In this time, the intended target will get flu-like symptoms and experience a slight change in behaviour. Katrina was more irritable before her death but I thought she just didn’t feel well. If this happens to your loved one, look all around the outside of your house. If there is even a tiny piece of evidence it’s been there; a crushed flower, a strange imprint in the mud, a scratch on a brick, then you must move in with someone else. It seems there is safety in numbers, so make sure you don’t leave the target alone at any point and it should get frustrated and move on. I don’t know if it will come back if it’s marked them, you’ll have to stay vigilant forever. I wish I’d known this two and a half years ago, so I’m hoping it spreads.

However you’ve come across this, just know I wish you luck. I’m not sure how much time I have left. David was found dead in his room three days ago and every night since those yellow eyes have been speaking to me in an abhorrent whisper,

“You’re next.”