My apologies for how long it’s taken me to get back to you guys… I know you’ve been anxious to hear about the footage. A lot has transpired since my last update, so I will try my best to explain the events as they occurred.

Last night, after my “husband” and I told each other goodnight, we went our separate ways—me to our bedroom, him to the guest room. I lay there, wide awake, waiting. It felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. Then I heard it.

That low, guttural growl. That demonic voice again.

I didn’t have the guts to walk out of the room, so I cracked my bedroom door and just stood there, listening. My room is about eight feet down the hall from the guest room. You’d think I’d have to strain to hear anything that far away—but I didn’t. The sounds were even louder than the night before. And the wet, squishy noises I mentioned? I swear to God, it literally sounded like something was being born. It was disgusting. I nearly threw up.

Then—silence. About ten minutes of total stillness. Eerie. Paralyzing.

I waited, ears straining, heart pounding. Nothing else happened. Eventually, I tiptoed back to bed, but there was no sleep for me that night.

This morning, everything went back to normal. Or at least, what passes for normal around here. I made breakfast. Michael sat at the table, pushing his food around with that creepy smile plastered across his face. I was trying to figure out how I could get rid of him for the day so I could sneak into the guest room and view the hidden camera footage.

That’s when it hit me.

“Michael,” I said sweetly, matching his eerie smile. “Wouldn’t you like to spend some time with your mother? She’s really worried about you, you know.”

He stopped pushing his food around and turned that grinning face toward me. “My mother?”

“Yes. She’s concerned, Michael,” I said, casually taking a bite of sausage. “She’s been crying. You should let me call her.”

He lowered his gaze back to the plate without responding.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Come on, Michael… don’t you want to seem… normal?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up. The smile faltered.

“Normal? Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, no, no,” I said quickly, laughing nervously. “I just meant, for your mom’s sake. You don’t want to stress her out more than she already is.”

He considered this for a moment. Then the smile returned—bigger, creepier than ever. “Of course, dear. You should call her.”

Perfect.

I finished eating. He finished pretending to. When we were done, I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, trying not to look too eager. Once the cycle started, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and dialed Pamela’s number. All I had to say was that Michael wanted to spend some quality time with her, and she was already grabbing her keys and heading out the door.

In the twenty minutes it took her to get here, I played the loving wife role like a pro—telling him how much I’d miss him, to be careful, how I couldn’t wait for him to come back. If he was suspicious, he didn’t show it.

Finally, Pamela arrived, and the two of them left. The second the door shut behind them, I bolted into the guest room like a woman possessed. I ripped the hidden camera from the wall, pulled out the SD card, and jammed it into my computer.

Now, if you’re sensitive—or if you have a weak stomach—you might want to stop reading here.

What I saw on that footage was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever witnessed. I will never forget it. Ever.

Michael was lying on the guest bed, that creepy fucking smile still glued to his face. Then—his expression changed. Actually… “ changed” is much too generous of a term. His face contorted into something evil. Grotesque. The smile crumpled, replaced by a hideous sneer. His eyes rolled back and turned completely white. No pupils. No irises. Just blank.

And then—from the center of his torso—a blade tore upward from his pubic bone to his chest bone. His insides—organs, guts, gallons of blood—spilled out across the bed. And crawling out of him…

God.

This thing wasn’t human. It wasn’t like anything from this world, or any horror movie I’ve ever seen. It was vaguely humanoid, but its skin looked like cracked, dark tree bark. It had no face—just a mouth, lined with rows of jagged teeth like a bear trap. Its fingers were literal razor blades.

I watched in absolute horror as this thing sliced my husband in half and dumped what was left of him onto the bed. Then, as if that weren’t enough, it ate him. All of him.

Except for the skin and bones.

When it was done, the creature morphed. It shifted shape, growing more human-like. And then it did something that turned my blood to ice.

It crawled inside Michael’s skeleton, Shifting and twisting until it fit perfectly inside. Then, it grabbed his skin, stretched it over itself, and sealed the slit back up—like zipping up a goddamn bodysuit. When it was done, Michael looked brand new. And the blood-soaked sheets? Gone. As if nothing had ever happened.

Though I can’t be certain this is what I heard the night before as well, I have a strong gut feeling that it was. I mean, what the fuck else could it have been? But how are his organs reappearing if that fucking creature is ripping them out of him and turning them into a full course meal? these are questions that I don’t yet have the answers to. But you can mark my word when I say that I fully intend on finding out.

Now, you’re probably thinking—Am I sure I saw what I think I saw? Am I losing my mind? Don’t worry. I’ve asked myself the same thing.

I’ve watched the footage thirty-seven times now. And I’m still watching it, just to be sure. But no. I know what I saw. And there’s no rational way to explain it.

I’m just about to hit play for the thirty-eighth time when I hear it—a car door slamming outside. Beep beep.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I try to close the footage, but my damn computer is frozen. Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps on the porch. The doorknob turns. The front door slams.

“Come on,” I whisper, clicking frantically. “Come on, you old piece of shit…”

Too late.

Michael’s standing over me, that sick, eerie smile just inches from my face. Just inches from the computer screen—where his true form is still paused in full view.

I open my mouth, try to speak, to plead—but his eyes go white. Terror locks me in place. Hot piss soaks through my jeans as my bladder betrays me.

A sudden feeling of grim resignation washes over me as I realize… There’s no talking my way out of this.

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Part Three Coming Soon!

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