It was nearing one in the morning when Charlotte had pulled up in the parking lot of the rundown motel. She had been driving for two hours, all the while not knowing where she was going. The small purse just contained a hundred dollars, a toothbrush, and a lipstick she bought at a local convenience store. The glovebox had a spare water bottle, and an empty glasses case. Just one week. It’ll be like this for just a week, and once everything dies down she can get back to that marsh like nothing had happened, because nothing did happen.
The woman at the front desk seemed like she was just barely getting through her shift with her third cup of coffee. A small scuffed name tag read “Sarah” in bolded letters. It was chipped in the corner with the side of it scratched from years of neglect. The rain hadn’t stopped either, and it was a miracle Charlotte didn’t crash while she drove over to the motel. It was bound to freeze over in the morning, but there was no point in leaving the motel anyway. The lobby smelled like old cigarette smoke, and there was definitely a leak in the plumbing that needed to be fixed soon. Maybe the place didn’t have the money for the renovations, or maybe the maintenance just didn’t care. Either way, it wouldn’t have surprised Charlotte.
“You’re in room 18. A five night stay, with a twin bed,” the woman at the front desk rasped out of her smoke damaged throat.
“Sounds right,” Charlotte responded with a curt nod. Her demeanor resembled that of a hollowed tree. Despite being awake for the past twenty-six hours, she wasn’t the least bit tired. She clenched her hands from shaking, and crossed them firmly in front of her chest. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.
“The heater’s busted. So, keep that in mind.”
“Alright?” The statement came out as more of a question as her voice filled with a hint of uncertainty. Hesitation held her back, as well as her wallet. The paranoia made it hard for her to trust new places-or people, for that matter. Finally, Sarah handed her the key to her room. Its quiet jingling was silenced by Charlotte quickly stuffing it in her pocket, and she reached into her bag to grab a bill to pay for the stay. Without a second thought, Sarah took the money, and exchanged it for a handful of change. There wasn’t much Charlotte could do now, except go through with the plan.
The walk to her room was short, but the frigid rain made it all the more miserable. Without the shelter of an umbrella, Charlotte’s clothes were soaked through by the time she had arrived at her room, but when she entered, a sense of relief filled her senses. By no means was the room big, but it would have to do considering the circumstances. She looked around the room with a hazy expression; surveying it with a sense of acceptance. It was the eye of a hurricane. The walls were adorned with an odd ornate yellow wallpaper that seemed out of place behind the weathered furniture that inhabited the room. A small desk sat against a corner with a wooden chair that’s paint chipped off at the edges. Beside the desk sat a TV on top of its stand. Against the other side of the room was an open wardrobe that seemed as though it was beckoning anyone to come near it, and peer into its smudged mirror. The bed next to it seemed to be clean, and the heater sat in front of the window. Charlotte kicked off her shoes, and stood there on the carpeted floor, adjusting to the feeling of being in contact with the ground after what felt like years, though now wasn’t a time to reevaluate.
The bed was soft. It was hard not to compare it to sinking into quicksand, slowly falling further, and further into the void without the thought to struggle. Charlotte was recalling everything that had happened in the past day. The marsh, Arthur, the sounds of the trees brushing against each other as she looked at him, the sound of the gun cocking into place. Everything happened so quickly, it just mixed together into one muddy color.
***
Choosing to marry at nineteen and twenty one was impulsive to say the least. Being young, in love, and just out of a war led to emotions running high and the temptation to start a family to run higher in 1950s rural America. Charlotte’s family was a small traditional American family from North Carolina. They made the most of what they had, and valued what they got. Her mother and father started out the same. It’s a shame for them not seeing any of this sooner. Arthur’s family, on the other hand, were pompous and flashy. They were the type of people to buy a boat for the hell of it, and drive it around the marsh just to say that they could do it. Charlotte and Arthor’s marriage was the pinnacle of the failures of the American Dream. It was a recipe for disaster.
When Charlotte found out that her mother was sick, she begged her to go to the doctors. This was after her marriage, and the peaceful mirage of love slowly withered away and began to mold like something rotten. It was the kind of discomfort that reminded Charlotte of the story of the Princess and the Pea. She was laying on a bed with a pea that’s hitting right at her spine, like sharing a bed with a stranger. Tensions were already high between the newlyweds, and Arthur began to take up his new hobby, drinking. The money was running low, and so with the man’s temperance.
“I don’t see the need to give them some money; we can barely hold our own here,” Arthur began, as he lit a cigarette on the patio. His wife was sitting beside him, pretending to listen, but in reality just forming her own argument in her mind. The evening was cool and humid. Water in the air would stick to skin like a heavy syrup. This scene would be an almost nightly occurrence. They’d go outside, he’d get drunk, and Charlotte had to just sit there and listen to complain about his own life while never getting a say about her’s.
“She’s my mother for God’s sake!” she cried, while standing up. “I can’t just sit here, and watch her go through this by herself.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she’s not by herself. George is doing a fine job taking care of her himself,” he argued back, condescending. This had been his argument since the beginning of her mother’s medical issues. God she was getting sick of it. His voice, his drinking, the nights he would come back just a little too late to keep her wondering where he was, and now he was trying to take away one of her only comforts since childhood. Never before did she feel so isolated. This house was a cage, and he was the lock that stood in front of her.
“Arthur, you’re not listening to me. Maybe we’d have the money if you stopped drinking. But can we at least just be there?” she pleaded, as she stepped over to him. Each step felt like her feet were chained to the floorboards she walked on as she approached him.
“That’s enough of this, Charlotte,” he stated, firmly, and left no room for argument. “Now, get out of here. I don’t want to hear another word about this, am I clear?”
Without another word, she left the patio, and made her way to the bedroom. The weight of everything crashed onto her in waves, leaving her hyperventilating and sobbing into the mattress. She looked up to see the window streaming in moonlight from outside, making her pause. That’s when a thought came into her mind. No, the thought was already there, ever since the love slowly died out, but now it swelled in her mind as a boil. What if there was a way to get out of this? There’s no way she’d be able to get a divorce, not in this town. Maybe an accident could happen, while she was away. Like nothing happened at all. And so, her mind ran as she indulged in the thought. He had a simple enough schedule. She could make it work. Like nothing happened at all.
A week later, Charlotte asked her husband to go with her on a walk near the marsh. They’d used to do this when life hadn’t yet warned them down into the husk of a marriage they now had. Back when life was simpler. Surprisingly enough, he agreed to the stroll, and they walked along their normal path in a tense silence. Arthur was wearing his glasses, and seemed too lost in his own thoughts to seem as though he noticed the tension.
“Darling?” Charlotte inquired, while looking at her husband. He responded with a grunt, and kept his eyes on the muddy water beside them. “How are you feeling?” she asked, in a sickly sweet voice. This earned her a glance from Arthur as they continued to walk.
“Fine, I suppose,” he half mindedly mumbled. The muddy ground underneath his boots gave way slightly under his weight as they walked.
“I’d like to apologize for the way that I’ve been acting,” she added, while keeping her sight in front of her.
“It’s nothin’.”
“It ain’t nothin’ to me. I miss you,” she said as she looked over at him. He didn’t respond for a while, and kept walking.
“Yeah, me too,” he responded back after a while.
“This really what you want our lives to be?” Charlotte’s voice became harsher, and she stopped in her tracks. She needed his side facing him.
“I don’t know how you want me to respond to that, Charlotte,” he spoke with a weary sigh. “Like I wanted any of this to turn out this way, either.”
“I wanted to help my mother,” she pushed back.
“Yeah, but the money-” he was cut off by her voice once again. She figured he’d say that. It was always about the damn money.
“Yeah, the money. The same money you spend on that beer, more than our home. I wanted to have a family, but I pity the child that has to call you a father,” Charlotte raised her voice, while taking a step further. Like nothing happened.
“Oh, back to this nonsense,” Arthur threw his hands up in frustration, and faced away from her again. That’s when he heard the sound of a gun cocking into place. He just wasn’t able to turn around in time to see her holding it up to fire. The shot echoed around Charlotte, and everything fell into an eerie silence.
Her letter to her parents should have arrived a few days ago, telling them about her and her husband’s fight. She said that she’d be taking a break from him that same week, and staying away at a motel for a while. After she was able to shake off the ringing in her ears, she looked down at the corpse in front of her for a moment. He almost looked peaceful. The next part would be simple. Place the gun in his hand, drag him into the marsh, and let nature run its course with him. It didn’t even take the afternoon, and she was finished before lunch.
Once the shock set in an hour later, her hands couldn’t stop shaking. That’s when the paranoia hit. What would happen if someone were to walk by? Then they’d call the police. What would the police do? Rule it a suicide? What if she left something there? Oh, he was just in grief of his wife leaving him. How could he not bring a reminder of her with him, right? Right? What kind of a woman would murder her own husband. Well, she was already in the motel when it happened. That’s what her parents know. Right? Oh, God, what did she do? She needed to pull over. The tears couldn’t stop themselves from pouring down her face, and the rain didn’t help much either. She just needed to lay low for a week. Just a week, and pretend like nothing ever happened. Why would she need to pretend? Nothing happened.
***
The rough bed sheets were like sandpaper against her skin. Insomnia plagued her mind, causing her to toss under the covers. It still had been just over a day that she had been traveling on the road, and it was getting to her. She needed a shower-at least to wash off the feeling that was clinging onto her skin, weighing down on her.
Charlotte finally climbed out of bed to head into the bathroom to wash up. Luckily enough, the motel was generous enough to provide toiletries and a robe. Cold water poured over her skin while she sat down in the tub with her eyes closed. Being numb was her escape. It reminded her that her blood was alive, retreating from her appendages, and hiding in the center of her being. It was a nice distraction.
After a while, though, she felt the temperature change. Boiling hot water sprayed onto her sensitive skin, reawakening her consciousness. The uncomfortable reality grounded her in the realization that her husband was gone. Whether that was a good thing or a bad one, he was gone. Her skin burned. She got onto her feet and reached around the water to turn it off. Only after it was off, she put on the robe before getting out of the bathroom. The entire room was filled with steam, clouding everything in a veil of fog. It reminded her of the night she and her husband had argued. The water in the air stuck to her skin, coating her in the same sticky and sweaty feeling.
The unsettling reminder made her hair stand on end, while panic began to settle in. With eyes glancing around the room in paranoia, a pressure on her chest suddenly weighed her down, causing her to collapse on her knees. The room felt alive, watching her, judging. It awakened something primal in her.
Charlotte couldn’t catch her breath. The room became her executioner, after judging her already guilty sentence. Fragments of a face crawled into view in the ornate wallpaper. It wasn’t until now that she noticed the tone of the yellow wallpaper, a revolting puss yellow with intricate black swirls. The black lines then began to move, and formed eyes. Arthur’s broken face stared back at her, unblinkingly. Maybe it was her mind just filling in what wasn’t there. Almost like the glasses case without her husband’s glasses in them. The same pair he was wearing when it was too late to see the gun before she pulled the trigger. She needed to get a hold of herself.
Charlotte caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the wardrobe. Her legs felt like they were lifting a truck as she tried to walk over to her reflection. It was too much like dragging his body deeper into the marsh. What was looking back at her was a gaunt thing. Dark tendrils of hair pouring down from the scalp-wrapped in a white robe. Its face showed fear, and dread. The smudge on the mirror gives the creature an uncanny look of being almost human. She couldn’t tell anymore.
The woman slowly reached a trembling hand into the mirror, finally touching it, shattering it into large pieces. Charlotte picked up a piece to look at herself again. It was her. Arthur was behind her. He was happy. She then fell into an inky dark abyss.
