Liam was my husband. We had been married for five years, and our love was as strong as ever. Until I received an anonymous video: a man’s head was bashed in, his face a bloody mess, with several stab wounds on his body. If it weren’t for the custom-made diamond ring on his ring finger, even I wouldn’t have recognized Liam. At this moment, I was lying with my back to “Liam”, desperately trying to stifle any sound. Who, then, was sleeping beside me? “Nora, why aren’t you asleep? Is the wound hurting again?” The gradually dimming phone screen reflected Liam’s expressionless face. He stared at the phone, his neck craned at an awkward angle. I stiffened but quickly turned to hug him, whispering, “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling a bit upset about the baby.” Liam and I had been married for five years. My mother-in-law, Martha, had been urging us to have a child. I had helped Liam start his business from scratch, but the constant drinking and late nights at social events had taken a toll on my health. For the past two years, I had been trying to recover my health, and finally got pregnant. But just two months ago, the doctor told me that the baby’s heartbeat was extremely unstable. They diagnosed it as a genetic defect syndrome. Giving birth would not only be irresponsible to the child but also pose a huge risk to my safety. The doctor recommended termination. And just like that, my first baby left this world. Liam reached out and stroked my face. His expression was hidden in the darkness, unreadable. His fingers were ice-cold, sending a shiver of fear through me as they traced my skin. “Honey, did you forget to take your medicine today? You know Mom specially got it prescribed by the doctor.” Liam and I both loved children dearly, and losing the baby had left me with depression. I had quit my job to rest at home. Liam’s voice was so gentle it could almost wring water. He got up to heat some milk for me. Watching his back, my thoughts lingered on the terrifying sensation of Liam’s fingers on my face. Remembering the gruesome scene in the video, my body involuntarily shuddered, causing me to drop my phone. As I bent down to retrieve it, I suddenly caught a whiff of a very subtle formaldehyde smell. The screen’s light illuminated my horrified face. There was a dead infant under the bed. It was curled up, preserved in formaldehyde solution, its pale face turned towards me. Suddenly, its tightly closed eyes opened, staring straight into mine. Then its mouth twisted into an eerie smile. My whole body trembled, goosebumps erupting on my arms. Overwhelmed by fear, I felt my body go limp. In my panic, I turned around only to see Liam standing at the door with a glass of milk, smiling at me.
When I regained consciousness, it was already noon the next day. “Nora, you’re finally awake. Are you feeling any discomfort?” Liam sat by my bedside, looking at me with concern. Ignoring him, I immediately got out of bed and pulled out the jar from underneath. The glass had shattered, but instead of the dead infant I saw last night, it was a small figure wrapped in bloody bandages! “Impossible, I clearly saw… it even smiled at me…” I panicked and stumbled backwards, only to be caught in Liam’s embrace. “Oh no, who broke the jar?!” An elderly woman rushed in, first complaining, then wailing as she cradled the jar. “My poor grandson, can’t even rest in peace after death…” “Mom, what’s going on? Who told you to put this thing under our bed?!” Liam scolded his mother while gently comforting me. I stared blankly at her wrinkled face, only connecting her to my mother-in-law when Liam spoke. My condition seemed to have worsened recently. My memories of everyone were just blurry fragments, even their faces seemed covered in a layer of sand, impossible to recall clearly. “The house is haunted, so I found a spiritual healer,” she said. “We can’t let it interfere with my grandson’s birth!” She had been looking down, speaking hesitantly at first. But then she glanced at me, her tone turning disdainful and louder, as if intentionally speaking for me to hear. “Alright, Mom, that’s enough. Don’t upset Nora,” Liam urged his mother to leave, his tone annoyed. “What I saw last night wasn’t a small figure…” I said, my fear growing. No matter how I tried to explain, Liam insisted I had just had a nightmare. “Honey, where’s my phone?” I suddenly remembered the video, wanting to show it as proof. But Liam’s expression turned strange. He unlocked his phone and held it up to me. “You mean this video?” ! “How did you know?” I felt scared, backing away step by step. Liam sighed, “You’ve watched this video many times already. Every day you suspect that I might be dead.” “I know losing the baby was a huge blow to you. You’ve developed depression and prosopagnosia.” “But this is just a video. I’m standing right here, alive and unharmed.” I stared intently at the ring on Liam’s finger, suddenly deflating. Perhaps I really was too stressed out. “I’ll be here to help you get better, trust me, okay?” “We’ll definitely have our own child someday.” Liam’s last sentence sounded like comfort, but I detected something odd in it. He kissed my forehead and walked towards the door. “Nora, I’m going to buy your favorite roast duck.” I watched him leave, trying to recall last night’s events. To my horror, I realized that my memories were all fragmented, and even Liam’s face was starting to blur. “Nora, come on, it’s time for your medicine.” Martha appeared at the door with a cup of medicine just as Liam left. “Am I taking the medicine this early today?” I looked at the time, feeling confused. After all the strange occurrences, I didn’t want to take the medicine, even if Liam said it would help my condition. But Martha just stood there holding the cup, staring at me intently. She looked very eager. “Mom, you can leave it here. I’ll drink it in a bit.” Martha reluctantly put down the cup and left, repeatedly reminding me not to waste it. I stared at the dark brown liquid, a thought flashing through my mind. Why had my symptoms gotten worse after taking this medicine for so long? Could there be something wrong with the medicine? As I picked up the cup, debating whether to drink it or not, I caught a glimpse of something in the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. The door was slightly ajar, and Martha’s pale face was pressed against the crack, expressionlessly staring at me.
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