The Worse Nightmare

(500 words)

“I love you Amanda.” I breathed in deeply. Tod and I had been married for three years now, and I still loved him more than words could describe. I heard him get settled and let my thoughts wander before I drifted off to sleep.

“Amanda, wake up!” Tod’s yell jolted me from my dreamland. I woke up to our bed room, almost exactly the same as always, except it was on fire. I shot out of bed and ran to the bedroom door.
“Amanda, help!” Tod’s scream stopped me mid-run. I whipped around, afraid of what I might see.
Tod just stood there on fire, his mouth open in a silent scream. I watched his skin burn, blacken, and fall off until nothing but his skeleton was left.
“Amanda,” it said, its jaw bones scraping together, “help me.” A great serge of panic swelled inside me. This wasn’t Tod; it was a skeleton with glowing red eyes. It couldn’t be Tod.
I screamed and ran, narrowly missing getting hit on the head by a burning piece of wood. Down the stairs, and into the kitchen, the house disintegrating around me.
The toaster burst into flames right as I ran past it, causing my legs to falter. I crashed to the ground, surrounded by burning and smoking objects.
I heard the bones creaking as it came down the stairs; saw its shadow dance in the light of the flames.
“Amanda….” it pleaded, its voice soft as silk.
“What do you want?” I asked defiantly as I got up and slowly turned around. I stared right into its glowing red eyes, my mind racing in order to compensate for the fear I felt. Fight or flight? The age old question haunted my thoughts.
Fight. A beam from the ceiling fell down, momentarily distracting it. That distraction was all I needed. I jumped for a knife lying among the rubble, wincing in pain as the partially melted plastic seared my palm.
I tightened my grip on the knife and faced what used to be my husband.
“What are you doing?” it asked, glowing eyes taking in my stance and the knife in my hand.
“This,” I snarled as I leapt at it, aiming for the place where a heart should be.
The knife slid neatly between the ribs but stopped ¾ of the way in. I screamed as it grew white hot in my hand, the light from the heat blinding me.
The knife exploded, demolishing the remains of my husband and throwing me backwards. My head slammed against the wall, knocking me unconscious. The last thing I remembered was bright white light all around me and the faint sounds of police sirens.

“Amanda Lilly Markson,” the stern voice of the judge broke up my thoughts. I looked down ashamed, my hands handcuffed together. The law didn’t believe my story, how my husband turned into a monster. They didn’t believe in terrible, life-changing, nightmares, only the fact that I had murdered my husband.