My wife just admitted that she's an alcoholic. And it doesn't stop there...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HorrorJunkie123 on 2024-11-14 17:33:40+00:00.

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“I think I need to go to rehab.”

My heart dropped when I heard that. It came out of nowhere. The woman I was married to - and living with - had been struggling in the throes of addiction, and I was none the wiser? I had never felt so taken aback. 

“Carrie, what do you mean? I don’t understand where this is coming from,” I said, gingerly taking her hand in mine. 

“Exactly what I said. I need help, John. I’ve been drinking again. Like, a lot.” 

My mouth involuntarily fell open. Carrie had admitted to having alcohol dependency after graduating from college, but I had always been under the impression that she’d nipped it in the bud. 

“Honey… How long has this been going on? I never would have guessed if you hadn’t told me,” I replied, taking a step back. 

“I know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s been six months. I’ve been drinking vodka to hide the smell. That nightly glass of wine… it’s actually cranberry juice and Smirnoff. I’ve been throwing the empty bottles in the dumpster behind my work so you wouldn’t catch on. I’m sorry that I kept this from you, I really am. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you over it.” Carrie broke down, tears streaking down her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey. I would never leave you over something like that. You are the love of my life. We’ll get through this together,” I reassured her, gently rubbing her back. 

“Really? That makes me so happy to hear.” She wrapped her arms around me, and she stayed there for a long time, sobbing into my shirt. “Thank you for being so accepting. I needed that,” Carrie said, finally pulling away. 

“That’s what I’m here for. I’ll support you no matter what - but there’s something that I need to know.”

“Anything for you.” 

“I need you to be honest with me. Is that all you’re hiding?” 

Her eyes widened, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “No, this was it. There’s nothing else going on.” 

“Carrie. Don’t lie to me. We’ve been married for thirteen years. I know when you’re not telling the truth.” 

“Fine. I’ve been going to a support group. You know, for alcoholics.” 

My brows furrowed. “Okay? And why did you feel the need to keep that from me?” 

“Because it’s not working. This was a lot to get off my chest. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

“Alright. But we’re going to revisit this later.” 

She nodded, before darting into our room and locking the door. I didn’t know what she was playing at, but I knew that my wife wasn’t telling the truth. Not all of it, at least. And I was determined to find out what she was hiding. 

Now, I wish I would have just left her alone. 

Carrie didn’t check herself into rehab right away. She said that she had to “make some preparations” before being admitted. No problem there. What was an issue was the late nights that she would spend out with people she claimed to be friends, or coworkers, or family. I knew better. 

Each time Carrie would tell me that she was coming home late, I’d check her location. She’s not the best with technology, so I’d wager a guess that she forgot that she shared it with me. And I used that to my advantage. 

Whenever my wife made up an excuse not to come home, her phone said that she was always at one spot - the abandoned church on the outskirts of town. So I did what any suspicious husband would do. I tried to catch her in the act. 

“Look man, I don’t know if this is the best idea,” my coworker, Jeremy, said as I neared the parking lot. 

“Oh yeah? Well, what would you do in this situation?” 

“I’d probably just, like, call the cops or something.” 

“Really? And tell them what? That my wife might be boinking some random dude in an empty church? They’d be more likely to write me a ticket for filing a false report.” 

“Whatever man, I tried to warn you. Good luck.” And with that, the line went dead. 

“Thanks, I guess,” I grumbled, slapping the car in park and pocketing my phone. 

I glanced up at the run-down building before me, steeling myself for what I was about to do. The church was even creepier in person. A fire had left it completely charred, evidenced by the imprints left around the shattered windows. Vines snaked along the exterior, lending to the place’s eerie ambience. I really didn’t want to have to go in there, but I knew that I didn’t have any other choice. 

After reassuring myself in the rearview mirror for what must have been at least ten minutes, I finally gathered the courage to go inside. I crept up to the entrance, my eyes darting frantically around the parking lot. I felt like I was doing something wrong. Like one misteps would have the local police force swarming me in an instant. 

I quietly pushed open the front door, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn’t creak. The church was dark, but I could see a faint light emitting from one of the rooms toward the back. My heart jackhammered in my chest. Was I really doing this? What if Carrie found out? It would break her. 

No. She wasn’t being honest with me, and I had to know why. I couldn’t afford to turn and run. Not after making it so far. 

I pressed forward, following a path that had been cleared through the debris. Aside from that, the interior looked just as I imagine it had the day of the fire. Everything had been burnt to a crisp, save for a marble statue of the Virgin Mary near what used to be a stained glass window. I shuddered when I saw it. It felt as if its eyes were following me around the room, casting judgment on me. 

After a painstakingly long time trying to remain silent, I finally made it to the source of the light. I cautiously peeked my head around the corner to what I assumed was someone’s hollowed out office. What I saw still haunts me to this day. 

Carrie, along with about four other pale figures in hooded robes were gathered around a man’s flayed corpse. His organs had been carved out, and the group was chanting in an unintelligible language. Beneath the body lay what appeared to be a pentagram. 

I ducked out of view, clutching my chest and trying to stifle my breathing. This couldn’t be happening. I began to question everything I knew about my wife. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. 

I did the only logical thing I could do at that moment - I hightailed it out of there. I crept out of the church as quickly as I could without alerting any of those lunatics, and I raced home, going well over the speed limit. 

Once I arrived back at the house, I tried my best to steady myself. Hot tears stung my eyes as I pulled out my phone. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew that I had to. I steeled my resolve, and I called the police on my wife. 

“Hello, 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” 

“I th-think I just saw a cult ritual. There was this guy, and he was-” I nearly vomited just recanting the gruesome scene, but I managed to keep it down. “The man, he was… dead. Please, you have to send someone. It was at the old church on Fifth Avenue.” 

“Alright sir, stay calm. I’m sending a squad car. Are you in the vicinity?” 

“What? N-no, I’m safe. I-” 

My eyes grew wide, and for a moment, I thought that I might pass out. Just then, I received a text from Carrie. My breathing shallowed as I opened it. 

There was a picture. One of my car sitting in the church parking lot. It was followed by a close-up of me in the driver’s seat. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as a text bubble appeared. 

We need to talk. If you tell ANYONE about this, you’ll be next. 

“Hello? Sir, are you still on the line?” the operator asked, pulling me out of it. “What did the man look like?” 

“Uh… I’m not sure. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I hung up before she had a chance to protest. 

I didn’t waste any time. I packed what I could in the few precious minutes that I had, and I left. I have a feeling that I just messed with some very powerful people. I’m going to get as far away from that town as possible, no matter the cost. I’m not sure what’s next for me.  

All I know is that I don’t want to end up like that man with his chest open for all to see, lying on the floor of an abandoned church.