I’d like to preface this story by saying that I love my husband and don’t have any history of substance abuse or mental illness.
Believe me, I’m not giving anything away by telling you guys this information.
I just feel that when you tell people about this type of stuff, it’s important to start off with a good understanding about the people involved.
Updated 10/1/2019 – The same goes for my husband, Dean.
We were childhood sweethearts and always knew that we were soulmates – like twins who were separated at birth.
That’s what makes my story so difficult to share, but I’ll cut to the chase because I don’t want to bore you with unnecessary details.
It all started the night of our honeymoon.
Not having a lot of money and wanting to sink what we had into our new home, we decided to stay in a nice cabin near a lake.
We had a lot of fantasies about romantic boat rides, champagne and strawberries in front of roaring fires – you get the drift.
As soon as we stepped foot in the cabin, I had a hunch that things weren’t going to go well.
Call it women’s intuition – it doesn’t matter.
It’s hard to describe, but I guess the best way to illustrate the atmosphere in the cabin, was the sense of death and madness.
My heart started palpitating before I even put my bags down.
Dean sensed it too, but we decided that it probably just needed airing out, so we opened the windows.
But the fresh air didn’t help the darkness we felt in the cabin.
Being very careful with money, we decided that we would stay, no matter what.
We unpacked and decided to go for a walk in the nearby forest, which sloped down to the water.
We tried hard to lighten the mood, but the feeling stayed with us everywhere we went.
Strange for us, we started to argue about stupid things.
Dean started to show disdain at my weak attempts at humor.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes – which he’d never done before.
There were several times when I felt like he wasn’t even himself.
Once we got back to the cabin, his nasty new demeanor got worse.
I asked him what was wrong and started to cry, which angered him quickly.
Just imagine how hard it is to see a man who usually worships the ground you walk on suddenly turn into a psychotic monster.
I tried to reason with him, but I soon started to respond in the same way.
I became just as aggressive and soon we were at each other’s throats.
We were so mad, we barely noticed the evil cackling in the background.
As a matter of fact, we both blamed each other for the strange events that began to occur.
When a mirror fell from the wall in the spare room, smashing into millions of pieces on a carpeted floor no less – Dean screamed at me from the kitchen, thinking that I had done it.
The thing was, I was in the bathroom at the time.
By the second night, I felt like I was two people in one.
I had moments of lucidity – when I cried and tried to plead with Dean to be kind to me.
When he snorted in disgust and told me to “Piss off” I flew into a rage.
I shudder when I think of it now, but I grabbed the skillet off the stove-top and threw it him, narrowly missing his head.
It was on.
My hands are trembling as I write this.
Dean charged at me with his hands out like tiger’s claws.
I’ll never forget his face, because it wasn’t his face at all.
My anger prevented me from screaming in fear, as I watched him closing in, looking like an old and twisted madman.
His eyes were now dark, where they usually were blue.
I felt his hands around my throat, but don’t think I stayed still and mute.
I felt a banshee screeching from deep inside me.
I reached up and scratched his face, while he tried to strangle me.
It was so surreal.
What stopped me was the sight of the blood trickling down his cheek.
It was like I immediately changed back to my original self.
Like a trigger, Dean too slipped back into his usual persona – complete with his handsome face.
Suddenly we hugged each other desperately.
Dean whispered into my ear, “We have to get out of here!”
I didn’t even wait to respond.
Both of us let go and scrambled around the cabin, dragging our things into our suitcases and racing to get out.
The atmosphere in the cabin became darker and it was difficult to even breathe.
Outside, storm-clouds had gathered and soon a heavy downpour came down.
We didn’t stop until we got in the car.
Dean started the engine and we sat for a moment, staring at the cabin.
It was strange, but we felt like we’d escaped a madhouse.
When we took off, we both burst into tears and apologized to each other profusely.
We never discovered any history of that area and that cabin, but trust me – we’re never going back.