I Almost Choked to Death on His Words

NoSleep Horror Story

Hi. My name is Emily. Most days, I would rather eat hot coals than do something that would send my husband Dennis into one of his rages. Like using his laptop. But I’m doing it.

My husband says I’m stupid. Maybe I am. But I figured out how to post my story on the web. Despite the terror making my fingers shake and my heart stutter … I’m determined to tell someone what happened, even if it’s an anonymous group of people on the Internet.

It’s rare that I’m alone. Dennis works from home. Computer stuff. I’m not sure exactly what he does. He tells me I wouldn’t understand. That I’m too dumb to have a regular conversation, much less one about his big, important job.

See, I’m a housewife. I’ve never had a job. I don’t know what it’s like to work. Not that I didn’t want to get a job — I did. Dennis wouldn’t hear of it. We don’t have children, either. I would love to be a mom, but Dennis doesn’t want to be a father.

I’ve been with Dennis since I was fifteen and he was nineteen. He was handsome. Confident. Smart. I was so in love with him that I believed his lies.

He said my friends were jealous of us. He said my parents were control freaks who stood in the way of our happiness. We only need each other, Emily. Run away with me. So I did. For the last eight years, I’ve spent every day regretting that decision.

Sorry. I didn’t get on here to whine about my life. Anyway. Here goes…

It started earlier this morning. Dennis woke up in a bad mood. He tripped me coming out of the bathroom. Yelled at me for being lazy because I took too long to climb to my feet.

At breakfast, he took one bite of the scrambled eggs I made for him then he dumped the whole plate of food onto the floor and screamed, “You’ve ruined my day, you dumb fucking cunt.”

I immediately started cleaning the mess. But I wasn’t fast enough. Dennis shot up from the dining room chair and kicked me in the ribs. I fell on my side, my cheek squishing into the scrambled eggs.

He kicked me again and yelled, “You’re fucking useless!” Hot agony struck my ribs and slammed into my lungs.

My body buzzed with a strange, cold energy. My stomach heaved, and I rose onto my knees right before painfully sharp vomit pushed up my throat and burst out of my mouth.

On the beige carpet, scattered in Dennis’ eggs and my bile, were metal words.

His words.

You. Are. Fucking. Useless.

They were shiny and sharp. Word-shaped blades.

Dennis squatted down, his nose crinkling at the noxious smell of vomit. He stared at the words then he turned his glare on me. “What the fuck, Emily?”

The moment he asked the snide question, I felt the uneasy roil of my stomach. Then it happened again. Sharp metal sliced up my throat, forcing me to puke.

What. The. Fuck. Emily. tumbled into the mushed eggs.

“How are you doing that?” he asked. Anger vibrated in his tone.

“I-I d-don’t know.”

“It’s a trick,” he accused. “You’re fucking with me. You’re doing this on purpose, you stupid cow.”

I groaned as my stomach squeezed and my entire body vibrated with that same weird chill. I vomited You. Stupid. Cow. onto the carpet.

Dennis stood up, and I did, too, because I didn’t want him to kick me again. I already felt like someone was stabbing a stick into my lungs. Probably a broken rib. I’ve had them before and I recognized that particular kind of agony.

“Whatever this is,” he said in a menacing voice, “you better knock it off.”

“Those are your words,” I managed to choke out.

“Don’t you dare blame this bullshit on me!” His brows snapped together. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

The word-knives exploded out of me.

Shut.

Your.

Fucking.

Mouth.

jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, jabbed into my husband’s chest. Shredded his clothes. His skin. His arrogance.

He looked down at the blades jutting out of his body. Then he slowly raised his head to stare at me. I saw in his eyes an emotion I had only seen from my own gaze in the mirror.

Terror.

Dennis was afraid. Of me. I’m ashamed to admit I liked it. There’s a hideous power in creating fear in others. In this horrifying moment, I didn’t feel dread and panic.

He did.

“Call me a name, Dennis,” I whispered. Talking was pure torment because my throat felt like wet dangling ribbons. I swallowed my own warm blood. It tasted like pennies. “Tell me I’m dumb. Tell me how lucky I am to have you because no one else would put up with me.”

“Fuck you.”

Fuck came out sideways and sliced open a corner of my mouth. But the jagged pain was worth it as Fuck. You. stabbed Dennis’ soft belly. He cried out and backed away, holding up his hands.

“Stay away from me, bitch!”

Bitch hurt coming out more than any of the other words I’d puked so far, but it hurt Dennis more when lodged into his left eye.

He screamed, grabbing at the word. The edges sliced his fingers, and he screamed again. He dropped his bleeding hands and left Bitch in his eye. He turned and stumbled down the hallway.

I followed him. “Say something else,” I whisper-yelled.

“Get away from me!”

“What’s wrong, honey?” My voice was barely audible. And I couldn’t breathe well. I felt liquid filling up my lungs, and realized that between the word-knives and Dennis’ hard kicks, I probably had internal bleeding.

But so did he. For once, Dennis was suffering the same as I was.

He slipped in the hallway. He tried to use the wall to balance himself, but his hand was too slick with blood. He fell face-first onto the hardwood floor.

I got on my knees and rolled him over. All those words he’d screamed at me had embedded more deeply into his flesh.

Blood seeped out of the wounds caused by Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth. Fuck. You. Bitch. Dennis’ one good eye zeroed in on me. “You cunt,” he gurgled.

Cunt lurched up my throat and spun out of my mouth, cutting my tongue and cheek as it exited. I watched as Cunt slammed into his neck, just above his clavicle.

Cunt had the power and force of a machete, slicing through trachea, muscles, bone. Blood splattered everywhere as his head loosened from his spine and rolled to the side.

No more Dennis.

My husband died. Murdered by his own vile insults. I’m paying the price, too. But I’m okay with that.

I think … I think I died a long time ago, anyway.

Just so you know, I called 911. I couldn’t talk very well, but the operator got the gist. Yeah. I hear the sirens now.

God, I’m tired.

I’m gonna close my eyes.

Just for a min….

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