My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 2)

Proverbs 27: 15-16

15 A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping

of a leaky roof in a rainstorm;

16 restraining her is like restraining the wind

or grasping oil with the hand.

Breakfast, Bacon, and a Monster in My House

I was wrenched from sleep by the relentless ringing of the doorbell. My head throbbed. Too much Jack.

Shit.

I rolled over and fumbled for my phone—1:03 PM. No excuse. I should’ve been up hours ago, but the whiskey and my dread about Claire’s return had done me in.

The doorbell kept going, but now the cadence had changed. Whoever was on the other side was… playing something. A rhythm.

It took me a second, but then I recognized it. Claire’s favorite song. I couldn’t remember the name, but the pattern was unmistakable. Tap-tap-tap… pause… tap-tap.

My skull felt like it was hosting a drumline. I muttered a curse under my breath and dragged myself from bed.

Who the hell was at my door? Some kid? I was going to kick their ass when I opened the door! Though at this rate, they’d have five minutes to escape while I went blind from the sunlight.

I staggered to the door, shielding my eyes like a vampire, and shouted, “I’m coming!” The doorbell stopped—Hallelujah! I cracked the door open with a groggy squint.

“Who is it?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but irritation seeped through.

And there she was.

Claire.

Sort of.

She was smiling. Not the sarcastic, dismissive smirk she’d worn the past few years, but a real smile. Soft. Bright. The kind that once made me believe in things like fate.

“Hi, Hubby,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

Hubby? Where did that come from?

I instinctively moved to shut the door but paused. If I didn’t let her in, I knew I’d be dealing with another rendition of her doorbell symphony.

So, I opened the door wider.

She’s Not Claire—But She’s Perfect

She looked just like Claire had before the wedding. Not younger, just… lighter. Her eyes shimmered with warmth I hadn’t seen in ages. That glow reached into my chest and touched something brittle and forgotten.

It wasn’t Claire, but what the hell was it?

And it pushed me inside, gently guiding me backward, and closing the door behind us with a quiet click.

Alarms screamed in my mind. This is not Claire. This is something else. What did it want? What had it done with her? What was it going to do to me?

But before I could act, it ushered me to the couch and began massaging my shoulders.

“My poor Hubby,” it crooned. “Did you drink too much last night?”

I turned to look at it. The concern on its face seemed genuine. I nodded, doing my best to mask the fear prickling my skin. I needed to play along—at least until I figured out what it was.

“Don’t worry,” it said, gliding toward the kitchen. “I know just the thing for hangovers.”

I listened to the fridge open, the shuffling of containers, her voice softly humming with indecision.

I tried standing—bad idea. The room spun, and I collapsed back into the couch with a groan.

“Don’t move a muscle, Mark,” it called sweetly. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Like you took care of Claire?

My mind spiraled. Until something pulled me back.

Hash Browns, Bacon, and Unsettling Smiles

The smell.

Butter. Onion.

My stomach growled. I looked up and saw her at the stove, a skillet already sizzling. I hadn’t heard her chop anything.

I watched her like a hawk.

“No peeking, Hubby,” she said with a playful glance. She pulled potatoes from the cupboard, her movements fluid, practiced.

I turned away, staring at the wall, trying not to blink.

Then: bacon.

My mouth watered. The aroma wrapped around me like a spell. I dared to turn my head toward the kitchen.

“Stop peeking,” she giggled. “You’ll ruin the surprise. A girl’s got to have her secrets.”

Her voice was so pleasant… unnervingly pleasant.

I couldn’t forget what she really was. A Demon. A Skinwalker. Something sinister and out of the ordinary.

God—was she wearing Claire’s skin?

A thousand thoughts screamed through me. And then she set the plate down. Bacon, eggs, and hash browns.

“Go on, Mark. Eat up. You’ll feel better.”

She ran her fingers through my hair before slipping away to the laundry room.

Poison? Maybe. Did I care?

Whatever it was—if it wanted to kill me, wear me, feed off me—I was probably already doomed.

My stomach gurgled. I hadn’t eaten since the night before.

I took a bite of bacon.

Perfect. Chewy, crisp, juicy. Just the way I liked it. My God, I’m about to marry that thing.

It was delicious. Everything. I shook my head. It was going to happen, right? I was going to die. There was no escaping that thing… No, it didn’t want me to know it wasn’t Claire. It couldn’t show its hand yet. I had a chance, but could I kill whatever it was?

I glanced back at the laundry room.

The Things That Mimic Love Too Well

She was folding clothes.

Claire always hated how I folded clothes. Said I made it look like they’d been balled up and thrown in the dryer with rocks.

“Are you feeling better, Hubby?” she called sweetly.

Hubby. I don’t know if I’ll get used to that. Claire had never called me Hubby in our marriage. It was weird, but in a good way. This monster certainly knew how to lull a man into a false sense of security. Incredibly dangerous. I had to keep my guard up.

“I… uh… yeah.”

She smiled.

“I’m going to iron your work shirts next. They’re a bit wrinkled.”

“Oh… thanks.” I hesitated. “So… how was your trip?”

She giggled.

She giggled. It was nice. Too nice. Must resist.

“It was amazing, Mark! Thank you so much for sending me—and my friends. It was exactly what I needed.”

“Right. Good. I’m glad you all… had fun.”

She turned back to the clothes, humming again.

I needed to get out. I needed space to think.

“I think I’ll, um, go to the library. Research. A new project for work. New client. Just trying to stay ahead of things.”

She walked over and kissed my cheek.

“I hope it goes well,” she said softly. “I’m making a nice dinner tonight, so no snacking while you’re out.”

I nearly screamed.

She kissed me. It kissed me. It got right up to me and kissed me.

My skin tingled. Pheromones! Yeah. Whatever this thing was, it was working my senses very… very well.

I gulped. “Yes, Claire, yes, I will not… I will not have any snacks.”

“Good,” she said, eyes sparkling as she looked me up and down. “Because I’m dessert tonight.”

I turned quickly, determined not to show my arousal. “Yes, ma’am!” It came out high-pitched. Embarrassingly so.

God damn it!

“Hold on,” she said, just as I reached for the doorknob.

I froze.

“Where’s my kiss?”