What Came After

For anyone who's ever read "The Yellow Wallpaper", this is an alternate ending I had to write for a class. It's a little creepy and a lot of whimsy.

            He doesn’t sleep much, not anymore.

             There are nights when he lights every candle in the house and forsakes the warm comfort of his lonely bed for the wooden chair placed before the window.  It is unyielding, that chair, and the chilly moonlit view even more so.  I suspect that he likens it to his memories and how, in spite of the time that has passed since, they refuse to fade.  I have watched him attempt to shake off these nagging ghosts, but to no avail.  Even the move from the rented mansion back to our house has not cured his gloomy sentiments.

            I also suspect that he is afraid of the dark.  This fear stings like a slap in the face " like the point of a needle after its initial piercing of the skin.  Does he expect me to follow him, to moan and wail, to shake the furniture and cause such a fuss until he…until he what, exactly?  Repents? 

            Of his repentance, I am unsure.  He has never made a formal announcement of it.  And the times when we have crossed paths in the halls, he merely looks past and breezes through without a word. 

            He doesn’t practice anymore either.  A weak heart and unsteady nerves have attributed to his discontinuation of being a doctor.  He cannot even pick up a water glass anymore without his hand trembling and slopping it all onto the table!!  Poor dear.

            One night, his condition was especially bad.  His hands were shaking so that he could not even do up the buttons on his nightshirt.  He tried so hard, he really did, but the simple task escaped him. 

            With a wordless cry of rage and anguish, he tore off the piece of cloth and flung it to the side.  He then went to sit by the window, with his head in his hands, to weep.

            I sighed, picked up the shirt, and made my way towards him.  “Dearest?”

            Immediately, his shoulders stiffened.  His head whipped around.  “W-who’s there?”  Although I stood plainly in the middle of the room, his eyes drifted past me.

            I advanced on him, swung the shirt round him, and quickly fastened the buttons.  “There.  All better.  You’ll catch your death of cold, not bundling up against this chill.”

            “No.”  He was on his feet in seconds.  “You…no.  You’re not real.”  He crouched down on the floor.  “You’re not real!!  You’re not real!!”

            “Why, whatever do you mean?” I asked.  “Dearest, you’re being absurd.  Tell me, what’s the matter?  I’m right here.  I’ve always been.  Can’t you see?”  I placed a hand on his shoulder.

            “Get away from me!!” he roared, quickly fleeing towards the bed.  He swathed himself tight in a cocoon of blankets and lay down on the bed. 

            From my position by the windowsill, I could hear his frantic murmuring. 

            “You’re not real,” he said again and again.  “You’re not real…”

            I smiled at his antics " how silly of him, to play such games with me! " and lay down next to him on the bed.  I put an arm around him, and he sniffled and whimpered just like an infant.  “But I am, you silly little boy,” I crooned into his ear, “I’m right besides you.  I always am, and I always have been.  Now hush.  Go to sleep.”  He whimpered and struggled, but I was unyielding.  Eventually, he grew quiet and ceased all  movement.

            When the sun had risen, I sat up and peered at his face.  It was pasty, waxen, and a florid shade of yellow.  His cheeks were slightly blue, and his flesh was unnaturally cold. 

            I felt his arm in the spot where he’d often measured my pulse in the past.  There was no fluttering against my fingers, no sign of warmth.

            Poor, dear John.

           

Reviews

[Persona]

It was a good first sentence, simple and straightforward. It gave the impression that something sinister has happened, or traumatic

[selkietales]

I like this, enough that I went and reread "The Yellow Wallpaper" so I could place exactly how it was an alternate ending. It's pretty good, although you didn't mention how she crept about. But then again, this is your own work, and it is pretty great.

[Ama May Cooper]

What a marvelous and blood curdling tale... you write in a very classical style and i think you write it well its not an easy thing to do , but you have mastered it with almost flawless talent.
I feel it could of been longer is my only critical point, it feels like toward the end you rushed it, im only talking a few lines nothing drastic or massive.
A beautifully described tale , very saddening as well

[Mockingbird]

i enjoyed the suspense of it. it is very like poe, but i guess you get that alot. it was the right amount to make a short story, and the climax was frightening. great job!

[Haeshin]

You have the tone of a classic novel, subtle in its suspense and the horror at the end. Be careful of being overly descriptive though; you've got it done in just one sentence as far as I can see, but it's just a rule I like to follow myself for simplicity's sake.

[Tegon Maus]

Yikes !!! Now that's scary.