Wandering Heart

I shouldn’t be nervous. I tried really, really hard not to be. The problem was the damn dreams I kept having, going into surgery to get my new heart, only for shadowy figures to bring in a screaming pig. They’d drag it into the center of the room, chanting as they’d jam a dagger into its chest and carve out its still beating heart. The doctor would then sew it into me, cackling with blood splattering his face.

I’d wake up in a cold sweat to dreams like this. My wife would pat my arm, and I’d flinch, apologize, and tell her it was another dream. She’d sigh. I could tell she was as tired of this as I was. I felt guilty having her deal with so many sleepless nights. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I still couldn’t help but feel responsible.

My surgery was in the morning, and we both needed sleep.

I stood.

“I’m… I’m gonna go to sleep on the couch.” I said quietly, hoping she had already gone back to bed.

“Phillip, it’s okay. Please.” She begged.

“You need the rest, Cathy,” I said, looking into her pleading eyes.

I turned away. I knew I wouldn’t be able to go through with it if she kept looking at me like that.

“You haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in three weeks since my nightmares started,” I said, “it’ll all be better after the surgery.”

I watched out of the corner of my eye as she frowned. I knew she didn’t like the idea of me not being in bed with her before this life-changing event. We had a great surgeon. Still, my anxieties couldn’t be quelled about the uncertainty; anything could happen.

I turned to her and wrapped her in a tight, reassuring hug. She shuddered as she squeezed my arm. I could feel that she didn’t want to let go, and I wasn’t in a rush to make her.

“Do you remember how I was after I got my wisdom teeth taken out?” I reminisced, trying to lighten the mood.

She snorted a laugh and slapped my back. Pulling away, I could see her eyes light up in that old humor-filled sparkle I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“You thought I was a random woman who kidnapped you from the hospital.” She chuckled, “You yelled at me the entire ride home, ‘my wife is gonna be so pissed when she finds me, lady!’” She mocked with a laugh.

“What happened after that again?” I knew what happened. I just wanted her to finish. She loved to tease me by bringing up the story to people.

“You made me pull over. Then you threw up on the door, turned to me and said, ‘There you are, I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone with that woman.’ Then tried to grope me like some teenager in a drive-in.”

I smiled as she laughed her way through the story. Fifteen years of marriage, and I could always find a way to get her to laugh, somehow. She was my entire world. I couldn’t imagine leaving her alone in it.

“I’m going to need you to be there for me when I wake up,” I squeezed her hand, and her smile turned to one of solemnness instead of joy, “and I need you to kidnap me when I throw up on the door again.”

With tears in her eyes, she nodded her head, her lip quivering. She threw her arms around me, and I could hear her sobs in my shirt as she held onto me for dear life.

“Don’t you go dying on my Phillip Wilkens,” she sniffled, “I’ll never forgive you.”

I held her as we lay back on the bed until we both fell asleep.

The dreams didn’t come back that night.

The next day, I was sitting in a hospital-issued wheelchair, the smell of antiseptic stinging my nose as I was wheeled into sterile room after sterile room for final checks. Every doctor and nurse made sure everything was as up to date as possible so I was safe for surgery.

Finally, they helped me into the hospital bed covers.

“Are you ready, Mr. Wilkens?” The nurse asked.

I looked at Cathy. Her lips thinned in a worried smile as I gave her hand one last squeeze.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said, turning back to the nurse.

“Please be safe,” Cathy whispered as they wheeled me out of the room. I knew it was more to God than me.

As I watched the fluorescent bulbs whizz by above me, I got the strangest inkling of curiosity. I just hoped the nurses would be able to answer.

“Do you… Who is this heart coming from?” I asked, nervously chuckling, trying to make light of my growing concerns.

The head nurse looked back at me, studying my expression. “Nervous?” She asked.

“Wouldn’t you be?”

She pulled up the files by my bed while the other nurses continued to push us through the halls.

“It says… his name was Adam Flayman and he was a death row convict who murdered twenty-seven women.” She rattled off.

I paled, and she laughed.

“I’m joking!” She playfully tapped my arm, “We don’t actually have any information on the donor; the hospital that sent it over said the donor wished to remain anonymous. I can assure you, though, it’s not a death row inmate. Usually, the drugs they use leave the organs unusable, especially the heart.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally, we reached the surgery floor. The nurses all sprang into action, getting the surgery floor staged. The anesthesiologist stepped over to me, and they placed a breathing mask over my face. I could taste the sweetness in the air coming out of the tube.

“Just relax and take a deep breath for me, Mr. Wilkins, and count back from ten.”

I took a deep inhale of the sweet-tasting air. My throat felt dry as soon as I breathed in.

“Ten…nine…eiiiight…” I started to feel my eyes getting heavy as the doors opened. I turned and saw the doctor holding his dripping hands in front of him. Just water. The nurses pulled a surgery gown over him as he reached for gloves through the sterilized cloth. “Sev…”

My eyes closed as my head spun. I could hear the voices around me, dull and echoey. They were fading out of my consciousness as I fell further into the depths of the anesthesia.

Suddenly, I was fully awake and standing in the surgery room as someone wheeled a red box on a silver cart. I watched from across the room. I saw my body, my bloody chest held open by a silvery tool. On a table next to me were several surgical tools and a bone saw, all caked in small bits of blood. Sitting on the table was my diseased heart; I could see blackened veins from years of strain as it sat on the blue cloth atop the shiny tray.

“The heart is here, Doctor.” One of the uniformed surgeons announced.

“Good, let's get it in there, and then we can close up.” The head surgeon’s monotone voice sounded almost bored.

They opened the box, and immediately my nose was assaulted by a putrid, rotting smell. I doubled over and gagged. I looked up and saw a pulsating, swollen green mass. It was four or five different shades of green and black rotting muck. It oozed and dripped a black grime that splattered to the floor as it pulsated in. It looked far too large to be a heart, but the staff handled it as if it were a normal day at the office.

They handed it off one by one towards my waiting cavity. It dripped its rancid black liquid onto the floor. I could only watch as they shoved the pulsing mass into my chest on the table. I wanted to vomit watching them struggle to fit it inside of me.

As I retched, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. In the dark corner stood a man. His clothes were torn, and he was covered in black muck. He stood there barefoot, watching the same procedure until he noticed me watching him.

The stringy hair hung over his bloodshot red eyes as they turned to look at me. He looked furious, shaking with utter rage.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of me. His face shook in anger as his purple lips peeled back to reveal pocked, orange teeth and black gums. His breath smelled like rotting meat and sewage runoff.

He opened his mouth to speak, leaning close. Maggots fell from his mouth and dripped across my face as he whispered just two words to me, “Bury me.”

I woke up with my wife holding my hand on my left, and the sound of a heart monitor to my right. I turned, and Cathy smiled as she stood up, rubbing my knuckles.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Like absolute dog shit,” I groaned.

We laughed.

I shuddered remembering what I'd seen.

“I had the absolute worst dream while I was under,” I told her, her eyes crinkled in concern, “I dreamed… the heart I got was… rotten."

She gave me a reassuring smile, “The doctors warned me that anesthesia hallucinations can happen when it goes on for a long time.”

“How long was I under?” I asked.

“Six hours.” She sighed, “six… long hours.”

I pulled her into my arms slowly. “It’s over now.”

After years of battling with medications, appointments, denials, specialists, and wait lists, it was finally over. I was going to go back to a normal life.

I was released later that day with a bag full of pain medications and a heap of paperwork for at-home care. I was instructed to take it easy on my new heart for the next few months while it recovers and to come in for regular check-ups to make sure my body was adjusting.

Cathy drove us home. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of us. She even acted like her old self again as we joked and really laughed together like we used to.

“We should celebrate,” she said spontaneously, “What about Astons?” She suggested.

“That’s so expensive.” I groaned. The food was unforgettable, but my wallet could already feel the impact.

“Well, we need something for the occasion,” she said, her eyes beaming with happiness.

“Right now, the only thing I want is to go home with you and maybe order a pizza.” She rolled her eyes.

“You always want pizza, cheapskate.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?” I argued, “Besides, I’m the one who just got cut open; I should get to decide.”

“Fine,” she pouted, as we pulled into the driveway, “the usual, your majesty?” She teased.

“Hmmm. Why yes,” I said in an overly exaggerated royalty accent, “I do believe I’ll have the white sauce with mushroom and bacon.”

“You never change,” she said as we headed inside.

Thirty minutes later, we had the driver knocking at our door and dinner on our table. I took a huge bite out of my first slice and immediately spat it back out.

“Is something wrong?” Cathy asked, looking concerned. She glanced down at my food in case something looked off.

“It uh… tastes strange. You wanna try it and see if it seems off to you?” I offered.

She took a bite of my slice and chewed before saying, “It tastes the same as it always does. What’s wrong?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, “The mushrooms taste awful. Like dirt.” I wrinkled my nose at them as I picked one off and smelled it.

I usually loved mushrooms, but something about them was off now. Picking them off, I took another bite. The rest tasted fine.

“Maybe we should order somewhere else next time,” I grumbled.

“A place messes up one time, and you turn your back on them forever.” Cathy dramatically rolled her eyes and pretended to faint, “My precious mushrooms, never again shall I frequent this establishment!”

We laughed off the strange event and finished our food, getting through the rest of our night before bed.

To say that I struggled once the pain meds started wearing off was an understatement. Everything hurt, especially my chest. Cathy worried about seeing me in pain and set several alarms on her phone to make sure I didn’t miss a dose. She was always so diligent and organized.

I settled into bed, hoping my anxieties would finally settle and I could rest easy tonight. Cathy and I tucked into our blankets, she turned off the lights, and kissed me.

“Goodnight, I love you.” She whispered.

I stroked her cheek and pushed her hair away from her face. “I love you, too. Sleep well.”

My dream that night was not a nightmare; it was something much worse.

The smell of sex and burning oak wood. The hazy sight of a woman I’d never seen before was on top of me, her naked body undulating as she moaned out. Hands reached out to touch, and I felt her chest. She reached up and clenched between my fingers, squeezing herself tighter under my grip.

***

I woke up next to the bed, hunched over on the ground, finger tips pressed into the carpet. I pulled away, hands burning from continuous abrasion on the fibers. I turned to see Cathy, still fast asleep under the covers.

It felt like I was reliving a memory, just not my own. I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face to wash away the memory of the strange dream.

Looking up, the mirror reflected a familiar pair of bloodshot eyes staring at me. I felt the strain of my fragile new heart as my pulse spiked. I stumbled back as the face snarled in rage at me.

“BURY ME!”

I fell back and landed with a thud. I lay there in pain for a minute. Thankfully, I hadn’t woken Cathy. Nervously, I pulled myself up and looked in the mirror.

It was only my own face.

I let out a sigh of relief as I went back into my room to go back to sleep. I would keep the dream to myself, one because I didn’t see any need to worry my wife about a dream that didn’t matter, and two because it was just one dream.

One thing persisted, though.

I’d often wake standing somewhere in my home. The first few times, I shrugged it off and returned to bed. I never woke up in the same place, and the odd behavior was starting to worry me. I made a mental note to talk about it with my doctors on my first check-up.

Of course, I told Cathy about the strange new habit on the way to my first appointment. I was hoping maybe she would validate my suspicions. She said I’d never woken her, and that even if I had, she was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake someone. I bit my tongue about the rest of what was happening.

“Alright, it looks like everything is in order and your body is accepting the new heart just fine, Mr. Wilkins.” The doctor said, pulling away the stethoscope after listening to my chest. “Now, are there any concerns you’d like to discuss?” He scribbled down some notes on his chart as he let me talk.

“Well, I’ve noticed…” I paused, Cathy gave me an encouraging nod, “Some of the foods I usually like don’t taste right.”

The doctor didn’t look up. Instead, he just scribbled down his notes on his clipboard. “Well, it isn’t unheard of that after a transplant, patients exhibit changes in preferences or behaviors.” He explained, “The body is incredibly complex, and a trauma like the surgery we just performed can alter your brain chemistry in ways that are hard for us to predict.”

“So, my sleepwalking isn’t a concern either?” I asked.

He shrugged dismissively, “It’s best not to wake a sleepwalker, they can tend to be unpredictable. As long as you’re not doing anything that is going to endanger yourself or someone else.” He turned to Cathy, “Just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself while walking around.”

I mentally groaned. The last thing I wanted was to be a problem at night again. I contemplated getting something to strap myself down, but Cathy said it was too extreme.

“If you're that worried about it, we can put up some cameras and see what happens.”

Somewhat relieved, I agreed. We installed cameras all around the house to catch my nightly activities. It didn’t take long to catch one of the episodes of what my wife had dubbed The Phil Show. Waking up standing at the front door, I was nervous to see the tape. We watched the camera capture us sleeping for about three minutes before we fast-forwarded through the bulk of the night.

After about six hours, I stood and made my way out of the bedroom and wandered around from room to room. She laughed as I looked through cabinets and drawers, taking time to close them.

“You’re always so considerate,” she joked.

I grunted, watching myself intently. What was I doing?

Eventually, we reached the part where I made for the front door and stood there. For the next hour, I just swayed back and forth. I let it play at normal speed. I could hear myself mumbling on the recording under my breath. It was barely audible, but I knew exactly what I was saying. The words made my blood run cold. Cathy couldn't hear it; she just said it sounded like me muttering gibberish in my sleep. Those two words that kept coming up. Words that I was repeating now in my sleep.

Bury me.

For a few weeks, I repeated the same pattern nearly every night. I’d go to sleep and wake up somewhere else inside my home, looking outside if I was near a mirror. It was as if I wanted to get out but couldn’t quite figure out how. Cathy eventually got bored with watching the recordings, saying that if I were going to do something reckless, I would have done it already.

I couldn’t blame her. It had been weeks of the same routine with nothing obviously concerning happening. I was beginning to believe that this was just going to be my new normal.

It was a month and a half after my surgery when I had a terrifying nightmare. A woman with straight black hair standing over me. The black strands hung inches from my face, and I could feel shame and fear coursing through me. She had a wicked grin spread across her black lips as she held up a glass jar of glowing blue fluid.

With a swift hand, she tilted the beaker and poured it onto my face. It burned. I screamed in agony as I recoiled. My body seized, and my skin felt too tight. I could hear the woman's cackling laughter the entire time.

***

I woke up standing in a hole dug just a few feet into the forest near my house. The hole was up to my knees. I quickly climbed out, throwing the shovel down into the hole and walking barefoot out of the forest. The garage door was open when I finally made it back.

I paced in the driveway for a few minutes. I felt like I was losing my mind. I had to do something. I hadn’t told anyone about the visions, the muttering or the dreams. I was afraid that, at this point, telling someone would leave them thinking I was crazy. I needed to clear my head of all this nonsensical superstition.

At breakfast, I pitched my idea to Cathy.

“A camping trip?” She hid her excitement, but I knew her well enough.

We'd taken many camping excursions in the past. Cross-country, or short stints to secluded areas in national parks. Every time, it was a freeing and unforgettable experience. It had helped us unwind and forget about the troubles of our lives. I was hoping this time would be the same.

“Come on, we really need to de-stress after everything we've been through,” I pleaded, “just the weekend.”

She looked unsure. I’d have lied if I tried to say I wasn’t as well.

“I think it might help with my sleepwalking,” I explained, “a lot of times it can be caused by stress, and I think we can use the break after everything we’ve been through.”

She paused, then slowly smiled and nodded.

“You know I can never say no to another wonderful time with you.” She gave me an egg-flavored kiss, and together we started making plans for what we’d bring.

We rented a cheap camper for the weekend and reserved a spot in a local lot just out of town where the light pollution died off enough to see the stars. In the thrill of all of this, my sleepwalking escapades died down. I was convinced that it might actually work.

I was so excited I practically beamed when we picked up the camper.

It looked like it was being held together with bubblegum and a prayer, but I knew it was our ticket to reliving the days we shared out in the world. We drove it for hours, singing along with every song on the oldies station, watching people hurry past us. Wherever they were going, it wasn’t our concern. Enjoying each other’s company was all that mattered.

As the sun was starting to set, we pulled into the lot and set up a camp stove, heating bagged food while we sat in fold-out lawn chairs and stared out at the sun setting below the horizon.

The oranges and reds cooled into tamer yellows and pinks, finally settling into blues and purples as the temperature dropped. The fire we’d made shriveled into tiny embers that faintly glowed in the camp stove as the final flames died off. It was getting chilly, and we knew we needed to head inside, but the moment was so perfect we stayed until the sky turned black and the twinkling stars glittered overhead.

It had been years since we had this kind of still moment to ourselves. Cathy and I just held hands, while she leaned close to me for what little warmth there was left. Her head on my shoulder. I knew she wouldn’t move until I said something. She probably would have fallen asleep there if I’d let her.

I nudged her and ushered her inside as the full moon guided us. A perfect end to finally chase away the nightmare I had experienced for so long. We curled into bed, wrapped in each other’s arms as blissful sleep quickly washed over us.

My dream brought a new vision, though. The smell of sex, musk, and leather was all I could sense at first. I looked down at myself, thrusting and buried hip deep into a red-headed woman bent over under me as she gripped the animal skin covers on an old down mattress. The foggy, choppy scene confused me. Again, I was a spectator in a memory that wasn't mine.

A screeching wail echoed behind me. I turned and saw the black silhouette running towards me, the wild hair flailing behind as she ran right at me with something bright and glistening in her hand.

I was suddenly so cold. Freezing and alone, I tried to sit up. Something was pressing down on my chest. Pushing harder, the loose dirt fell away as I pulled myself up. I was deeper this time, much deeper. I felt pain in my hands. In the moonlight, I saw that my fingernails were cracked and bleeding. Had I dug this far down with just my hands?

The hole was just over my head. I reached up and tried to pull myself up with as much strength as I could muster. My hands slipped, and I fell back in, knocking the wind out of myself. I groaned as I painstakingly rolled over and pulled myself back up. I was determined to get out. I slipped again, falling on my side. My chest started hurting from the exertion. I could tell my pain meds were starting to wear off.

“There you are,” came the low crackling voice of a woman.

The tone of her words chilled my blood in the already frigid air.

I turned up and saw a hunchbacked old woman looking at me through the hole. She had wrinkly, pale, grey skin, and stringy black strands of what was left of her hair. Her black lips were curled into an impish grin.

“Wh-who are –”

“Shhhh!” She put up a hand to silence me, and my body immediately went limp.

My head lolled back. She laughed as the world was sucked away, and I sank back into the blackness of a dreamless void.

“Always wandering away from me.”

***

I woke up with the smell of dirt and leather straps holding me down to a wooden table as the old woman stared down at me. She grimaced.

“Good morning, little grub,” she cooed, “did you have a nice little walk?”

“Lady, I think you have me confused with someone.” Panic laced my words as I struggled to reason with the old woman.

“Oh, Byre. You think I can’t see what you’ve done.”

Her bare feet slapped against wood with aching creaks as she climbed onto the table and stood over me. She straddled my stomach and settled over me. Her papery skin was dry and cold.

“You’ll never be free of me.” She whispered.

I rattled against the restraints, trying to get free. I tried to scream for help, but she shoved a wooden gag between my teeth and quickly tied it around my head. She ran her cold fingers across my face.

Her nails were long, yellow, and pointed as they scratched down my face. She dragged her blackened fingers down my neck and stopped just over my scar. Her smile fell into a scowl as she glared at me.

“Open wide.”

She pierced my chest with a single finger, then another, then an entire hand. I heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking as she delved into me, wrapping her bony knuckles around my ribs. Then with the other hand, she wriggled her fingers into the hole she’d made and pried the bones apart. My skin tore like paper as she forced me open with an unholy strength. I could only gasp for air as she worked. Choking in agony on the metallic tang, she delved her hands into me.

She pulled out a small, pulsing, bloody lump. I watched my heart uselessly struggle in her hands as it pumped blood from the torn shreds of flesh hanging from it.

It moved, then wriggled. A tiny high-pitched scream reverberated as it uncoiled into a worm-like creature. It had a few jagged teeth, no eyes, and short strands of greasy hair. She held the thing in a vice grip, refusing to let it go.

She stood, and I watched as she went over to a shelf and threw it into a jar filled with some kind of thick brown liquid. She set the jar next to my face, and I could see it struggling to stay above the muck. It would bob below the water and spit out brown water, then sink back down and repeat the process. I watched it struggle for life inside its prison.

She looked at me with saddened eyes.

“I truly am sorry for your suffering,” She pulled off the gag.

“C…” I tried to say, but my words came out strangled and hoarse as I choked on the blood, “Cathy.”

I could feel myself fading, and my last thoughts had turned to her. I’d never see her again. I was going to die in some witch’s home, and I’d never get to see her again. She shushed me, and my body went limp. This was it, this was how I’d die.

“My,” she cooed, resting her face on her blood-covered hands, “she seems lovely.”

The world closed in around me as I stared up at the witch and her oddly warm smile. One that held a joy that I don’t think she’s felt in a long time. I felt lighter as the pain subsided. I closed my eyes to embrace my memories of her one last time. How I wished I could spend another night with her, how I wished I’d held her a little tighter. I wished we had stayed awake last night, watching the stars late into the dusk hours, making up our own constellations like we used to. I wished we had stayed up the entire time until the sun came up and we watched the sunrise together.

Most of all, I wish I could tell her just how much she’d meant to me.

I took solace in the fact that in my final moments, I turned to her as my beacon of strength. I hoped I would find her in the next life. Maybe I would have more time to cherish her.

I coughed on the warmed air of the camper. Cathy stirred in my arms, but she didn’t wake. I stroked her hair as I held her, relieved that it was all just a dream. A terrible, awful dream.

A twinge of pain in my chest made me pull away and reach down in hopes of chasing the ache away. Raised bumps of skin and something flexible and sharp met my fingers. In the moonlight, I braved looking down.

In the center were the looping fiber of fresh stitches holding my chest closed.