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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-10-04 14:18:08+00:00.

Mary and I have been married for the better part of a decade now. She is the love of my life, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. The only problem is, the woman who mothered my son is no longer here. I don’t mean that in a literal sense; she is alive and well. At least, as well as she can be considering the recent trauma she’s been through.  

About three weeks ago, she received terrible news from back home, one that shattered her entire existence. Her parents had died. It was some freak accident, carbon monoxide poisoning. The grief overtook her to the point that she could no longer function. I thought that she would get better after the funeral, but there she was, rocking back and forth in the corner of the living room. I tried to give her as much support as I could, but no matter what I did I could not find a way to quell her pain. It finally got to the point that I feared leaving our three-year-old with her. I needed to get her professional help. 

One day when she seemed in better spirits, I decided to share some news with her. I had booked a therapy appointment at the local counseling center. As she looked at the living room’s blank white wall, I pressed a hand on the middle of her back, jolting her out of whatever fascination she had with its white facade.  

“Honey?” I said in the sweetest tone I could muster. Surprisingly, she didn’t spit fire into my face like the last few times I tried to speak with her. As her eyes looked at me from behind her puffy eyelids, she gave me the first genuine smile in a long time.  

“Hey you,” she said; a loving way she so often addressed me. I took a seat next to her on the ground, crossing my legs as I gathered the courage to send her into an inevitable fury. I took a deep breath and spit out my confession.  

“Honey-- I’m really worried about you.” My voice cracked as the words fought me on the way up.  

“I want to help you but no matter what I do, I can’t find a way to take your pain away,” I said as she tried to process what I was saying. To be honest, after seeing her blank expression I was sure it was falling on deaf ears. That is, until her gaze dropped, and she opened her mouth, giving me a gut-wrenching response.  

“No one can help me.” Her response was monotone and cold. I’ve never seen anyone experience as many contradicting emotions as she did in that instance. Her eyes signaled sadness, her brows anger, and as she returned her stare to the wall, I swear I saw a sense of hopefulness.  

“Only he can help me.” I turned my gaze to whatever her eyes were glued to, but the wall’s empty void did not instill confidence in my wife’s sanity. I knew then that she was far beyond any help that I could render. I took her hands grasping them with love.  

“Honey?” I questioned cautiously, but she did not return her gaze to me. Placing my hand under her chin and tilted her face back over to me, cautious, almost timid that she would chomp down on my fingers if I strayed too close. When her face was pointed towards me, but her eyes remained glued to the white walls, twisted, her irises half hidden behind the edges of her eye sockets. The sclera of her eyes webbed out with long skinny streaks of blood vessels. No matter what I said to her now it would not be registered, she had retreated into her state of extreme grief. My heart filled with dread, but for what it was worth, I was going to vent my concerns, even if they would go unacknowledged.  

“So, there’s this doctor that was recommended to me by a friend, down at the counseling center.” As expected, the words just decorated the air around her, but I pressed on anyway.  

“He specializes in grief counseling, and-- I-- think he could help you.” Once again, the words did not register, or so I thought until I saw her eye twitch. I took that as a sign of piqued interest.  

“His name is Dr. Robinson. I-- I know this is out of the blue, but I need to get you seen by a proper professional. You need help. Honey, this-- this isn’t normal.” Her eye gave another twitch, only I finally noticed that it wasn’t her eye, but something swimming around behind the little blood vessels that gave the impression of an eye twitch. 

‘What the hell’ I thought to myself, taking to my knees and inching my face closer to whatever was crawling inside her eye. Upon closer inspection, something wiggled in this grotesque fashion, burrowing a path through her eyeball.  

The little figure inside crested its tiny little head and began chewing towards the surface of her sclera.  

‘Wha-- what the fuck?’ The little voice in my head said, trying to comprehend what it was seeing. A little white insect poked its head through the newly dug hole before it fell completely out of her eye like a fallen tear. It now lay on the fabric of her jeans, flopping about like a creepy crawler from hell. I pinched it with two fingers and held it up to the light. It was a maggot.  

I jumped back in disgust. Falling back onto my palms, the bug flung to some far-off corner of the room. In shock, my eyes were planted firmly on my wife. Just then my son called out.  

“Daddy?” This wasn’t the time to indulge my son, so I returned a dismissive statement.  

“Not now buddy,” I responded in a shaky voice, still in shock of my wife’s eye maggot. Retaking to my knees I reexamined my wife’s face, the little hole the maggot had crawled out of was no longer there. Regardless, I kept my eyes planted behind the little red blood vessels in anticipation of another wriggly figure swimming about.  

My wife suddenly darted her face towards mine at lightning speed, chomping her teeth onto my cheek. I felt my skin give way until the flesh freed itself from my identity. The shock of the ordeal made me wince in pain, forcing me to close my eyes. When they opened, my hand draped over my fresh wound. I held my palm out in front of me examining the blood.  

“Daddy!?” My son signaled his growing impatience. I ignored his whining, returning my eyes to Mary. A trail of blood dripped off her chin as the wall continued to hypnotize her. 

“Daddy! Can I eat this little jellybean!?” Tommy blurted out his question.  

“Yes, yeah whatever you want buddy,” I said. He returned with an excited,  

“Yay!” I sat there for a split second before the realization hit me. 

'Little Jellybean?’ The fucking maggot. 

“NO! STOP!” I turned to see my son dropping the slithering insect down into his gullet. Running over to him I clutched him by the cheeks, forcing his mouth ajar. 

“Spit it out,” I commanded, and so he did. The maggot now lay in the center of my palm, its body cut in half by my son’s milk teeth.  

“Aww, Dad.” My son whined.  

“But mommy lets me have all the little white jellybeans I want when you’re at work.” My skin broke out into pimples, borderline hives, as the words left his mouth. Just then I heard my wife mumbling something with a steady cadence.  

“Little white jellybeans, little white jellybeans, little white jellybeans.” She repeatedly rocked there singing the same song. 

“Little white jellybeans, little white jellybeans, little white jellybeans.” I knew then that my wife could no longer be left alone with my son.  

I had no choice but to send my wife away to an institution; It was too dangerous to have her near my son, and, well, the help she needed would be given to her around the clock at this mental hospital. She, however, did not go quietly. I told her about the reasoning behind why the men in scrubs were wrapping her in a straitjacket. Her sickly mind could not comprehend the logic.  

“So, you think I’m a bad mother! How dare you. I hope they come for you. I hope they choke you in your sleep. I want you to know that I traded you for them. He can have you I don’t give a fuck!” Mary blared out as they carried her off, at the time I thought it was all nonsense, but now I wished her words were some psychotic delusion.  

The coming days were seemingly calm. I had taken a few days off work to care for my son while I arranged for someone to babysit Tommy. For the most part, I just scrolled through my phone while my son watched cartoons. But everything changed when I saw my son whispering to the wall. The same wall my wife had prayed to for weeks on end. I shot to my feet in a slight panic.  

“Buddy? What are you doing?” I called out but he didn’t answer, he just kept talking to the wall in a hushed tone. I took to my feet and slowly made my way over to him. When I was inches from him, I could finally hear what he was saying.  

“Yeah, they’re really good.” He said with a chuckle. His eyes trained on the wall as if it were speaking to him. He produced a response to a seemingly one-sided conversation.  

“I don’t know if he likes them. I can ask.” He looked over his shoulder and posed a question with a grin.  

“Daddy, do you like jellybeans?” My heart dropped as my gaze crested over his shoulder. In his little hands, were palms full of squirmy little maggots. He finally spun around and offered them up to me. I slapped the bugs out of his hands.  

I grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to force him to answer my questions.  

“Where did you get these? Where did you find the little jellybeans?” He wiped away tears and pointed at the wall.  

“The man told me that they were from grandma and grandpa.” I looked over at the white wall.  

“What man Tommy? There is no man.” I said almost trying to convince myself that there wasn’t something nefarious happening here. …

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