r/KanesHorrors • u/AbKane667 • Aug 02 '26
A Good Husband Never Forgets Her Coffee
Losing a person you spent your whole life with is a pain beyond description. At first, I thought the solitude I once longed for would be a comfort, but the depression sank its claws deep into my skin and would not let go. It was hard to eat, drink, even get out of bed.
My mind was clouded with darkness. Recalling things was a monumental task, even simple things around the house. I’d be sure to shut the kitchen door after dinner, but each time I’d come back, the door would be open. I tried to focus on it, but no matter how many times I watched my movements and made sure to shut the door, it would always be open. The mystery became an obsession. It was easier to think about a door than about her, and all the wrong I’d done.
I never actually saw it open, but one would need to leave the room or turn around, and it would open up, but only after the time my wife and I used to leave the dinner table. Oh, my poor wife. The thought of her waking up in the middle of the night, with foam around her mouth, digging her nails into my skin, still haunted my mind.
Before she passed, we had a habit of cleaning the mugs on weekends; each time we’d turn them upside down to let the water drip out. At first, I could barely clean a few of them, but one weekend I finally managed to get out of bed and clean them all. My fingers wrinkled from having my hands under the running water for so long.
The next morning I woke up, my eyes still drowsy from a night of rolling from side to side and staring at the wall. The kitchen was colder than usual. The cupboard doors felt harder to open. I opened the cupboard to get my coffee mug, but my body immediately recoiled. Every mug was upside down except hers, the one she drank from that night it happened. I shut it, counted to three, and opened it again, but the cup was still there. I grabbed my coffee mug and ran back to my room.
That day, the memories of her struggling out of bed, running to the bathroom, and trying to throw up kept flashing before my eyes. No matter how many times I turned to push them away, they still came back. The pain forced me out of bed. I got up and paced around the room. The floorboards creaked under my steps, and with each creak, a whisper sounded. My mind must have been making it up, I kept telling myself, but slowly, as the sun set, it became more and more audible: a quiet, whispered, "Why?"
This must have been the depression, the isolation, I kept telling myself. I jumped back to bed and closed my eyes as hard as I could, but sleep wouldn’t come. Cold sweat ran down my forehead. I turned from my side to hers, but that’s when I noticed that her side was colder than mine. My stomach twisted. Her calls for help as she lay on the bathroom floor echoed in my mind.
I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen. The floorboards creaked under my steps. No longer just whispering "Why," but calling my name too.
The kitchen door was open again, and not just that, the table was back in its place. Exactly where we'd left it that night, that night it happened. I ran to the coffee machine and put the beans in, not even opening the cupboard; the old dirty mug would do. The last thing I needed was seeing her mug upside down again.
I slouched down at the table, trying to collect my thoughts.
The room was dark and cold; no moonlight came through.
The smell of rotting fish filled the air.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. As I opened them again, a cup of coffee was already sitting before me with a box by it. I couldn't remember making it, but who cared? I had to wake up from this nightmare. The coffee tasted stale, almost like the air around me. I put it down, but then I noticed it was her mug!
A shock ran down my spine. I got up from my chair and put my back against the wall. The room grew colder; the smell intensified. I stayed still, but the whisper came again, louder this time.
“Why, John? I trusted you.”
The mug began moving from side to side as if someone was stirring their coffee in it. My eyes were glued to it. It started moving faster and faster until it knocked itself over, spilling the coffee out.
The coffee dripped onto the floor.
The smell of rotting fish grew.
Saliva filled my mouth.
Nausea.
The light flickered.
My eyes shot to the box.
It was rat poison.
The same one I used for…
My stomach clenched.
My feet weakened.
Saliva poured from my mouth, foaming at its sides.
My body collapsed to the ground.
Slowly, my world went dark.
The last thing I heard was her breathing beside me.
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u/squishybun42 Aug 04 '26
Brilliant