I had been alone for years; ever since my wife left me. Now don't get me wrong; we both left on good terms, thankfully. Even if she did cheat on me but that's besides the point. The strangeness happened when I had the police showing up at my door to ask some questions about my dead ex wife, considering I could've done it and had the means; I'm not surprised they thought I did it. After all, cheating ex lover strike down? Her boy friend, Tyrone in police custody for illegal possession of a fire arm and dealing meth, again not surprising with her taste in men. Even he's questioned, the reason why I bring up the fire arm and drugs considering how she was killed.
My line of work involves working with chemicals and knowing how to effectively use them. Yes; it's even a hobby at my home, a clinical clean room dedicated to testing different elements. I work for a major pharmaceutical company I can't disclosed, however let's just say I have enough sway to not be forcefully tied down to the job under any non-compete agreements.
So the fact meth was found in her system along with a gunshot wound in the head left very few people knowing about it, the right dosage to use and where the firearm would be, considering the safe wasn't forcefully opened and knowing her; her safe code was still likely her birthday 7, 18, 1997. Now looking back on it; I do feel like a fool for talking to the police without a lawyer present; however my employer backed me up that I wasn't home at the time. So the blame was pinned on Tyrone; it's not as if his friend Thomas could be trusted, a history of abusing women and looking the other way, not exactly trustful to take his word.
These facts, the aspects before me have me confused as of how or why she would be targeted. The more I learn of the case, the less I understand it. I brush the details in the back of my mind as I'm getting to work; as I go to put the code in for my space for the chemicals, I notice the number pad had been cracked on the, 9 tile. Yes I'm paranoid enough to have a 12 digit code to lock away all of my chemicals, checking further into the lab area to look over my stuff to see not a single thing out of place; besides the minor scratch on the floor, leaving marks which has me confused and worried with thinking, "is the foundation giving out? Did I damage the floor without realizing it?
Are the chemicals damaging my brain and I'm forgetting?" A quick rummage through my supplies, checking what is in or out of place. My needles, one of them gone; instead of there being 210 there was only 208; yes I'm very specific about my supplies and orderly-ness which you can see why my wife left me. I know I'm sharing useless details but it helps distract from the more... distressing parts of this story. When I'm in my lab, I swear I can hear heavy breathing.
This distracted me from my line of work; which when I showed the police my files for the given work I'm doing; which helped clear me considering how the details made their head spin. I was basically working on a drug that made women lustful for sex with the added benefit of being an anti-psychotic drug. No it's merely incidental that it's both; with me checking for the batches I've made, I notice a batch gone. One batch is enough to fill a single needle and I was preparing to inject more mice and if someone did steal a batch like a druggie well I could be screwed.
A part of me shrugs this off and calm myself thinking, "look you've forgotten small things like this before; maybe you miscounted the amount of batches you made and the number of needles you used." As I continued my work, I noticed the sound of heavy breathing coming from above or at least I think it's coming from above me; however before I could even look up, the noise stops.
After that, I rushed to the store; placing cameras around my house, hidden cameras. With me coming and going; not often having time to check the cameras and often times forgetting to check them, I hooked them up to my phone. When looking over the tapes now, my stomach twist into knots with the static happening for the cameras and stopping, however the audio somewhat working and my thoughts groaning, "did I get shit luck again and buy faulty cameras?" Keep in mind, my luck has been bad before in this regard so it's not out of the question I just got unlucky.
Lady luck can be a cruel mistress to me. After some time goes by, still nothing but the same camera static even with buying more cameras sure enough the same result. Some of them pickup distorted audio however, "Alex's home" is what it sounded like, though my mind tends to play tricks on me and surely it was just glitchy audio, I know for certain bad hearing and schizophrenia runs in my family. However; in that same room I hear the same words again, again and again with my own person ending in disbelief at this.
Some months later when coming home; something didn't feel right and when coming into the house a smell of rust fills the air and cheap cologne along with beer bottles. That's perhaps the loudest I've scream in my entire life; Tyrone on my carpet dead and sure enough; a firearm in hand. The neighbors call the cops after I screamed, the police showing up again and check out the crime scene with them about to take me in until they take the cameras instead, me having an eye kept on me while I stay in a motel. Sure enough I'm freed, I am left alone and sure enough they scan the house from top to bottom to find nothing. So I can finally get back to my house. It didn't take me long to figure out what happened.
The other part of me realized the police did a piss poor job checking the place and sure enough after seeing nothing change in my life, even waking up from my bed feeling like someone... how do I politely put this? Dug through my holes, even waking up with cuts on my body. That can brush off, I've always accidentally cut myself in my sleep, in my youth at least but all of these things happening at the same time just leaving a feeling of dread, a feeling of not wanting to face reality.
After another restless night I finally had a moment to come up with a plan; I moved around cameras around the house, still having them being used to see where it can't or can record. The place I found it can't record now... you guessed it; near my attic, up there was the space it couldn't get 10 ft near without just turning to static. So I put on my brave face as I went up there. The slow crawl, tip toeing around to smell of sweat, blood and rotting. Up here was countless pictures of me asleep, other pictures of me being asleep with... you know, you can guess what happen to me while I slept.
At that moment, at this point I was on the verge of a mental beak down. It didn't help that she woke up. This tall towering woman with black flesh that pulsed, claws for her arms and barely even human anymore. She had a deep guttural voice, "there we are; that bitch of your ex is dead! You're mine! All mine!" With her I couldn't move fast from her grasp, pushing me down, keeping me from moving, otherwise I'm going to get cut. I, I don't want to talk about what happened next.
Every part of me wants to lie and act like I easily escaped unharmed or anything but I'm not much of a liar and why start now? I'd prefer not to go further into detail. After she was done with me, cuddling with me and falling asleep, I had been able to escape her grasp. The police being called on her, sure enough by the time they came; she vanished as if she knew who I had called. Even at a loss with still needing to pay it off; sold the house, never want to think of that place. The photos they found were ones of me sleeping, showering, hell even eating with all the photos in that attic involving me somehow or in some shape or form.
As for my hobby research? My employer let me work on my pet project at work and of course in exchange for 50% of the revenue on said drug, assuming I somehow ever make it. Anyways I know live in an apartment and I swear, I can hear breathing in my walls.
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