Mercy

When Micero wakes to find his wife missing, he fears that the woman he married was never who she said she was at all.

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It was three am in Miceoneon when Micero awoke to silence. You see, Micero was accustomed to the dainty tufts of his wife’s relentless snoring, a factor in which he claims makes him love her more. The two married in the spring of 2011, and have been inseparable ever since. The pair were like clockwork, always in sync and always driving each other for the best. However, upon this particular morning, Micero awoke to silence. The silence filled their cottage like a layer of dew on a winter morning, cold and unwelcoming. Micero grabbed his glasses from the side table with ease, a practiced and mastered habit, only to view the unsightly mess beside him. The blankets were strewn carelessly, the sheet spilling over the side of the bed uncharacteristically of his usually pedantic wife. Slipping his feet into his slippers and drawing his caramel dressing gown tightly around his torso, he pattered down the hall toward the kitchen. His wife was quite fond of her cheeses, and often wandered in the night for a snack, or two, or three. Hoping to join her, he found the kitchen empty. The fridge was left open, with a spilt box of crackers and cheese layering the bench. Closing the fridge door gently, an overwhelming sense of dread fell upon Micero, as he noticed traces of crumbs, cracker crumbs if he guessed correctly, lining the tiles in a trail like line. In a rare moment of bravery, Micero cautiously followed the trail, curious as to where it leads and his wife’s reasoning to do it. Leading to the front room, Micero was met with a forceful gust of wind, whirling him into the couch. Wheezing, he fumbled for his inhaler within the gowns pocket, taking two sharp puffs before composing himself. The front door was wide open, a familiar trail of crumbs leading outside. Something was undoubtedly and horribly wrong. 

 

 

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