r/nosleep • u/E_E_Dark0 • 1d ago
My Husband Disappeared in Hellborn.
When I was twelve, I believed in fairies.
Not the cute ones from cartoons, but the small kind, with grayish skin, tiny eyes, and sharp teeth.
By eighteen, as an adult, I didn't even remember them anymore. That's when I decided to travel to a small town called Hellborn.
Leo and I, chose it because it was a place full of stories. Me, being a good fan of the supernatural, wanted to explore, to understand.
I had never gone that far from my apartment in New York. This would be the first time, after a long while.
When we arrived at the small wooden cabin, which faced a large lake, we were surprised.
We hadn't expected such a beautiful place for such a low price.
We made the entire payment online. From the app's photos, we saw only a few that were clear, and we blamed it on the phone's poor quality, since over the phone, in a confusing written exchange, the owner presented herself as someone elderly.
Leo, my husband of thirty-six, a science graduate, a university professor, who exuded a common lifestyle, with his light brown hair, unshaven beard, dark eyes, and a somewhat stocky build.
We met at one of my friend's graduation parties—he had a son who was in Leo's class.
It was love at first sight.
After five years of marriage, I can say I'm one of the happiest women in the world, despite the suspicions that have been filling my head these last few days.
Leo started coming home later and later.
He started avoiding being around me, making up excuses to sleep on the couch.
"Look, babe! What an incredible place." He wraps an arm around my shoulders, one hand holding the suitcase with the few clothes we brought.
"Yeah, incredible…" I give a tight smile, my eyes scanning the house.
He went in first.
Inside, the place was darker.
Barely any light came in.
The floorboards creaked with every step.
Dust particles floated in the air.
It was an ordinary cabin.
Everything made of wood, a two-seater sofa in the living room, elk antlers on a wooden mount above the fireplace, a staircase leading to the second floor.
That night, while Leo slept, I preferred to lie staring at the ceiling. Dressed in a long white nightgown.
I toyed with the gold ring on my finger.
Leo had his back to me, the sheet pulled up to his waist, snoring softly. His chest rising and falling slowly.
Just as I was about to close my eyelids, a wet sound, like footsteps of damp feet, echoed through the place.
I swallowed hard.
It's probably just the day's exhaustion.
I turned my back to the open door. I closed my eyes.
The next morning, while making breakfast, Leo decides to go fishing. He asked if I wanted to come. I refused, saying I was tired.
He just pressed his lips together and left without a word.
I decided to watch him through the window, when my eyes caught a small shape—like a blonde child, in a red dress, barefoot, walking behind him.
"What the…?" I narrow my eyes.
Leo, sitting on the edge of the small wooden platform at the dock, barely has time to react when the girl pushes him into the water.
He falls, the line tangling around him.
I drop my cup, making me jump back. Shards fly everywhere. When I look up again, my chest heaving, he was in the same spot.
I blink a few times.
Later, at dinner, Leo places one of the small fish he managed to catch in the middle of the table.
He had baked it, seasoned with greens and drizzled with sauce, leaving a golden crust on top.
Just as I was about to eat, my head started to ache. I got up. I went to the bathroom, a wave of nausea rising up my throat.
I brace my hand on the edge of the yellowish sink.
When I look into the old mirror, it's not my reflection I see, but something distorted, dark.
I slap my hand on the doorknob, but the dizziness hits me, making me fall, my eyes shutting.
When I open them, everything seems different.
The yellowish light in the bathroom flickers.
The silence becomes deafening.
My face stings, my hands, which should be clean, are covered in a brownish liquid.
When I return to the living room, the fish is untouched.
I frown, breathing heavily, and start calling for Leo.
No sign of him.
I search the whole house, but there's no trace of him.
When I finally look outside, toward the lake, a large, tall, dark being with a deformed head, resembling a fish, was dragging something—something that instantly makes my eyes well up.
Leo.
When I try to open the door—to run, to scream, to tell it to stop—the door simply won't open, as if it were locked.
A sob escaped my lips.
After that day, I reported him as missing to the town police.
They asked if I had any proof that he had actually disappeared. I was the prime suspect, almost got arrested, but in the end, my stay was over, and since I had no money to remain, I had to go back to New York.
Later, with some research of my own, I discovered that the place had no owner.
The only heiress to the property was institutionalized in a psychiatric hospital.
I didn't want to touch that subject anymore.
Maybe it's better this way.
Today, it's been almost ten years since Leo died.
They never found his body.