The bed was torn as well. She wasn't like this a couple of months ago. Why was she getting all interested in keeping pets? Especially when she was allergic to anything with fur on it. She couldn't stand dogs. She threw up on a cat once when my father took one home and accidentally held it a little too close to her face.
I didn't even have to say it—the one thing we were coming all the way here to tell her.
Margaret anticipated it too.
She was okay with me leaving the house for a little longer.
I only told her that she—or anyone for that matter—wouldn't be able to see the spiders. Based on that information alone, she could easily guess that I wouldn't be sticking around, for her own sake.
I clutched the knife handle under the pillow. This was a mistake. If they suddenly decided to show up now, I'd be the one putting us all in danger.
We needed to leave first thing in the morning.
What were we even doing here?
Margaret was surprisingly calm about all of this. Eerily calm. When the bite marks had started showing up for the first time, they didn't unnerve her in the slightest. The curse could've been infectious, for all I knew.
This time the stories and the tape with the spiders didn't seem to have any effect on her, either. Monsters that you could not see that could tear you apart without the slightest effort.
I had a hard time deciding whether my wife was incredibly brave, or that she didn't fully understand the severity of the situation and how it could've easily affected her.
Some people only lived for today.
To them, every moment would count.
Margaret probably had some of that built into her personality—a hint of recklessness.
It reminded me of how my wedding proposal had played out.
We stumbled on one another on a dating website.
Twenty seconds into our first date, she asked me how much I earned a month and whether I'd be willing to be faithful to a beautiful woman, if bound to marriage.
Within the first minute of meeting a stranger, she was already talking about money and her looks, tooting her own horns.
Within the first minute of meeting a stranger, she was already expecting them to love her unconditionally, and dedicate the remainder of their life to her.
She somehow knew I was going to propose on our first date as well.
Maybe I really was that predictable, and she could read me like a book.
I turned under the mattress. It smelled like wet fur in here. Cotton debris was floating and bouncing in the air, some of them trapped underneath the sheet on top of me.
That promise, at least to me anyway, had stood tall over the past seven years. If I had ever cheated on her, it would have only been in thought.
I could have broken that promise so easily. It's funny how she expected me to be faithful, yet didn't ask the same of herself.
Kevin.
This wasn't the first time she'd bragged about one of her boyfriends.
The double standards were jarring.
Something was looming from below, its black eyes looking at me on the bed side.
Its whiskers flapped about as its snarl rumbled my ear drums.
Everything happened so fast I didn't have time to jump or scream.
The tiger dug its claw in the fabric and climbed on the bed.
It was smaller than I thought.
A tiger the size of a pit bull.
Margaret had a death wish.
It started rubbing its head against the mattress.
Where did she even find this thing?
Did she have something to prove to someone? Was this her way of giving herself an ego boost, so she would seem less insecure to the world?
What would she do once it grew bigger?
It was 2 am and that music was still playing.
The sound quality was so bad. I couldn't believe those sub-woofers cost seven hundred dollars.
I needed some water.
Turning the corner round the stairs, I headed for the kitchen.
"You know, I also couldn't remember what my parents used to look like." My wife was talking. "It's all a hazy blur in my mind, like a water-puppet show on old tape."
"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am."
"You can stop calling me that. We're all family here. It's not like Robert's around to hear us, either."
I suddenly had the urge to sneeze, but managed to hold back. You usually sneezed when someone mentioned your name. I thought you needed to be far away from the person for it to happen.
"Why don't you loosen up a little, dear?" my wife said. "We've been singing for four hours, and you still haven't opened up to me as much as I hoped."
Liz stayed quiet. I was sure that Margaret'd been singing this whole time. How did she even manage to sing for that long?
I could still hear them pretty well even with the music playing.
Now that I was standing down here, I knew I wasn't imagining things.
Despite being almost at max volume, the sound quality of the background music was thin, as if a large chunk of the frequency range had been gouged out from the audio. Margaret must have turned down one of the EQ knobs by accident.
"Something's been on my mind for a while now," Margaret said. "I want a third opinion. Tell me, sweetie, what do you think makes a strong man?"
"I don't know." Her voice was quiet.
"Of course you do. We all have our own beliefs. I want to hear your perspective. What makes a strong man? Is it the physic?" She chuckled. "Is it about how strong he is, like how much he could lift? My husband is pretty weak. He put off going to the gym because he didn't want to catch disease. Talk about girly."
Liz sat quietly.
"How do you define a strong man?" Margaret asked her.
After a while, she meekly responded, "Resilience?"
"Bingo~. Perseverance is probably one of the most admirable traits in humans. No matter how many times you step on a man, especially a weak man, they will bend over and grin, like a good loyal dog they are. A weak man will fight back if you push him hard enough. But if they know their place, they will be more than happy to just lie down there for a very long time and be your little doormat. They haven't given up, yet, so they're waiting for something—an opening. In a way, I think it's admirable. Somehow that cowardice and total submission make them look strong to me. I've always had a soft spot for those kinds of men, though I don't know how other women feel about it. You're one of us, sweetie. What's your take?"
"I don't know… I think it takes a lot to be able to accept the short end of the stick all the time. But I don't know if that life is worth living."
"Now you're onto something!" Margaret suddenly raised her voice. "Should they fight back, or should they stay on the ground? Which is the right thing to do? Which one is true strength? Maybe you subscribe to the camp that a strong man always fights back. I don't blame you, sweetie. That's why I think Robert is not a real man. Don't you agree?"
Liz didn't respond.
Margaret then said, "Not just him. Sometimes I feel that's what it looks like from an outside perspective. The human race as a whole just isn't very 'strong'. What was it. Um… We are lambs in a field… disporting themselves under the guise of the butcher. I read that in a book when I was a kid and it stuck with me ever since. You know how it is with those philosophers, the pessimists. But they were right. In a sense, we could never really be 'strong' because such a moral character was never meant for mankind in the first place. It simply is not in our nature."
Liz listened on without saying a word.
"But sometimes I wonder." Margaret lowered her voice, "Sometimes I wonder… If we're the livestock, when will we get the chance to see our master?"
The stereo let out a piercing scream.
"This is only between us," she continued, "tell me, how has he treated you?"
Liz didn't respond.
"That silence, again! You're killing me, miss Elizabeth." The glass clacked on the table of the same material. The wine was filling.
"He's nice," Liz eventually said.
"I wouldn't buy that in a million years but go on. What else, dear?"
"That's the overall impression I got from him."
"Tell me how you really feel about him."
"What do you mean?"
"'Nice'. Is that a euphemism for something? You couldn't bring yourself to use other, more meaningful words, instead?"
"I think it's pretty accurate. What do you suggest?"
"Oh, I don't know. Something more honest, transparent."
Liz stayed quiet.
"Weak, dumb, blind. Your own personal Stockholm bitch. So many good words to choose from and you went with 'nice'. I'm a little disappointed, to be honest. I was expecting more from you." The glass clacked against the table.
"I can't use those words because they're not true." Liz said.
"C'mon, Liz. There's no one here." Margaret kept her voice low but was sure to stress every word. "What would you gain by playing up to me?"
Silence.
"Pity? No, that's not it. It's funny how you're being so cautious."
The music continued blaring next to them.
I could barely hear Margaret at this point. "Maybe you're thinking it'd be more fun this way," she said, before I heard the sound of the glass getting a refill.
There was another pause between them. Margaret was probably drinking.
"This game was decided long ago," Margaret said. Her voice was low, bitter, like a wounded dog. She took another swig from the glass. "What else is there for me to say to you at this point?"
Clak.
The song ended and looped back again.
I sat on the stairs and leaned against the wall.
"If you still have a heart, let him go."
Even with the mid frequencies scooped out, a portion of the bass could still slip through the sub-woofers and filled the room, sending waves of vibration through my chest. The glass clicked against the table.
"Your husband is a free man. He can go wherever he wants."
"Oh, but you know. He's no say on the matter." Margaret chuckled.
They sat in silence for a moment. The music went on in the background.
"You're a strong girl," Margaret said. "Much stronger and much smarter than my husband could ever handle. He's hopeless. He takes everything at face value. Though I admit I'm just as blind and clueless as he is."
Liz didn't respond.
"But I'll tell you this. I don't know how much time we have left, but if you're going hurt him any more than you should, I can promise you. There'll be hell to pay."
More music filled the silence. The same song looped back to the beginning for the fifth time.
"I can't hurt him," Liz said.
Margaret chuckled, filling another cup.
"That's what I thought, too, the day he proposed to me."
I couldn't get my drink.
Lying in my bed, my body froze, not daring to move, to twitch a muscle, as if any movement would attract unseen predators.
It wasn't because of the tiger under the bed. That much I could handle.
What was she talking about?
Throwing these accusations all over the place.
I was the one who'd been with Liz the whole time. My judgment couldn't be that bad. Right?
And the sub-woofers. Had she done it on purpose? Margaret hogged that karaoke machine to herself and used it all the time—at least four out of seven days of the week. She knew how it worked.
Did she expect I'd be listening in on them? Well then, how nice of you to make it easier for me. She could've just recorded the conversation on her phone and the result would've been no different.
Maybe she didn't want to appear biased.
If you wanted to change someone's mind about something, you'd need to make them curious enough so that they'd investigate for themselves. That way, you'd seem impartial as if you had nothing to prove.
Only a thief would need to plead not guilty in court.
A long sigh escaped my lungs as I turned on the side.
I'm the one who've been with her, Marge. You've only met her for a few hours. How could you know her any more than I do?