Work Text:
It has been a year to the day since the whole affair last summer.
In all that time, I have not once written a single word. At first, the sanitarium doctors wouldn’t allow so much as a pencil on the premises. Over those dreadful weeks, I would eye the nurses’ writing implements, clipped neatly to their metal charts, with such envy. I think they knew it, too. The way they guarded their papers against me! As if I would reach out and snatch them.
Perhaps I might have.
Then, after my brother and John finalized their dispute over my care, and I was bundled off to my brother’s for safekeeping, I simply had no words in me. The nervous troubles getting worse, John would say, although he didn’t say much to me at all around that time. He had his own ailments to recover from, I was told.
The explanation remains muddled to me, but the physicians and my brother have tried to make me understand so very patiently. It seems there were two women in the nursery the day John was injured. Actually, they claim there was only one, but I have refuted this point adamantly. No one saw the woman who came from the wallpaper except myself. I do not know how they missed her, creeping and creeping like she was.
They say the other woman was me.
Well, one of those women—and I have insisted on my innocence time and again!—did not exercise enough care while passing over John in his fainted state. The damage was not great, considering the woman was slight, but there were several minor injuries to his ribs and face.
I have sent my best wishes to him through Jennie and my brother, but it seems John’s ailments are taking as long as my own to recover, so he cannot take me as a visitor. Although I had no opportunity to see him, Jennie sometimes brought the baby—no longer a baby, but a child with distinct fingers and toes—but still, he made me so nervous.
But back to my point! My time at both those places is now finished, and I’ve settled once again in a new interim home. This time, Cousin Henry and Julia are being so good as to welcome me. They are kind, and I do believe I’ve improved some in these last few months. At the very least, I cry less when left alone. It does me so good to be in the company of Julia, who really is so kind. Her presence does not loom over the house. Instead, she reminds me of a hummingbird, quick and slight, as she goes about checking on her various domestic matters, myself included. Who could begrudge a hummingbird?
Yet, even here, I did not feel compelled to put pen to paper until tonight. I truly did dedicate my energies to focusing on regaining my health.
I think I would continue in my literary abstinence, except the most strange sensation has overtaken me as of late.
I shouldn’t think it, much less write it on this paper, but I have this growing certainty: She has somehow followed me!
I do not want to startle sweet, dear Julia, so I am keeping watch for the creeping woman myself.
I grow more certain that she is here now. This afternoon, I was sitting on the patio with Julia. The children were playing in the yard while she mended, her hands as delicate as a bird’s wings, and I enjoyed the sunlight. My spirits were better than they have been all year, except for at the very end, when she asked if I wanted to go see the baby this weekend. I cannot explain to her how my nerves flutter at that question!
Then, when I returned to my room, I smelled that distinctly yellow smell. Even after a year, I recognized it.
Of course, I rushed to check the walls. The room isn’t wallpapered, but I was frantic. How did she find me? Where was she hiding? I slid my fingertips along the smooth, whitewash walls, searching for any crack she might hide in.
I didn’t find her this time, but now I know that I need to be alert. I just wish I knew why she would follow me here!
I have been thinking about the woman.
There is no logical reason she shouldn’t be pleased at her newfound freedom. After tromping all over my husband, there should have been no reason for her not to disappear into whatever direction pleased her.
If she felt she must come along with me, after all this time, the least she could do is explain herself. But no, she hides, and I have not caught even the smallest glimpse of her. I know she is here only by the yellow smell.
This morning, I turned my head on my pillow and caught a great whiff of the scent! It was so strong, as if she had laid her head right next to mine. The very thought gives me tremors.
Henry is a good man, although a little gruff around the edges. While we were taking dinner, he inquired as to my plans. His question seemed to embarrass poor Julia. I inferred that he wanted to know whether I’ve been in touch with John. I answered that I would draft a letter.
I will need to ask my brother for the address. I am uncertain whether John remains at the hospital or has gone back to the house. Perhaps I could send it on to him in the care of Jennie. My conscience pricks me—she is surely doting on him in my stead!
Still, I find myself reluctant. I am enjoying this borrowed quiet life with Julia and Henry. They do not interfere with me hardly at all, letting me write as much as I please.
Last night, I saw her.
It was very late, and the room was dark. By day, the whitewashed walls appear so plain. However, I’ve begun to notice that they have the most subtle texture. If you study them in the evening, you can find the most subtle shadows, which then shift hour by hour until the morning breaks.
Some noise woke me. Startled, I saw it immediately—a fleeting shadow along the wall. The same silhouette as the creeping woman!
I was very brave. In my most firm voice, I whispered, “Why are you here?”
She paused mid-creep. I think she looked right at me. Then, she vanished again.
I did not think I would be able to sleep again, but I must have. I woke with the morning sounds of the house bubbling up into my room. Afraid, I sniffed my pillow-case. Once again, the yellow smell. It is less yellow than I thought. Of course, it brings to mind the aging, horrid wallpaper from that nursery, but it reminds me of something else that teases at my memory, refusing to be named.
Curious, I investigated the rest of the bedding, carefully lowering my nose to the sheets from the pillow until I reached the foot of the bed. The same smell. She did not merely rest her head, she lay a mere inch away from my body!
I meant to sit down today—a week after I made my promise to Henry—and finally pen my letter to John, but I simply cannot conjure the words.
How could I when the creeping woman has visited my bed three times in those seven days? She has grown bolder, too. I now wake with the sleeve of my nightgown permeated in her scent.
Oh, I wish I could talk to someone about her nighttime visitations. Until they see her, I know they will think it is the hysteric tendency recurring. I don’t need to ask John or my brother or any of the sanitarium doctors to know their opinion.
I did try to test the subject with Julia. I’m afraid I could only get so far by framing the line of questions as a fancy. When she began to look suspicious, I turned the subject to her children instead—a happy diversion she is always grateful to take.
Formulating my thoughts into queries was beneficial. Why would this woman follow me? Why does she come to me at night? Why put her arm around me as I sleep?
It feels hard to believe, but the only answer I can come to is she feels for me. By which I mean, feelings as a man might feel. As a husband should. I spent a summer studying her, then freeing her, and now she has become obsessed with me, confused by my attention.
I must finish that letter to John. I will put it in the post tomorrow.
Julia asked me if I was coming down with a fever this morning. She insisted I lie back down. Pale as a ghost, she called me! I agreed if only to calm her worries on the condition she took care of the letter on my behalf.
Now, I sit writing in my bed, and my heart flutters in my throat.
Last night, I awoke to the moon peering inside the window. It was one of the brightest and largest moons I have ever seen, washing my bedroom until every surface gleamed bone-white. I was groggy, half-thinking myself still at the mansion with John. I must have thought it because there was a weight on my hip that I recognized as a hand. And no hand has ever touched me there, especially not while lying in a bed, except for John.
I closed my eyes as his fingers wandered, drifting along the creases of my thigh, and then drifting toward the hem of my nightgown. It had been so long since he last touched me so tenderly. His gentle fingers petted against my skin. More than anything, I felt such a keen relief to not be alone.
Propriety dictates that I cannot write what happened after, only that I enjoyed it. My eyes were shut, and I believed myself safe with my husband, who I know loves me. How could I have known that the hands that stroked me were not his?
I came to my senses only after the fact. I bolted upright—but she was already creeping away.
Even now, I shudder to think of what I allowed her to do.
Another night is falling. I sit in the center of my bed on top of my eiderdown, back pressed to the bedstead and pillow clutched in front of me. I am positive that if I stay awake, she will not dare come.
I have not slept more than a handful of minutes in three full nights.
Julia is fretting about me, the dear thing! She fussed over me again this morning, unearthing old remedies passed down from her mother for fevers and aches. I have neither, but that doesn’t deter her. I only hope that Henry doesn’t join in the vendetta to ward off my illusory malady.
However, my hypothesis has been proven: The woman has not appeared.
I could not keep my vigil. A fourth night was too many to stay awake again. I fell asleep. In the morning, the familiar scent had returned, but a safe distance across the bed, nearly at the far edge.
Two weeks have passed since I wrote my last entry. Not much has changed in that time.
The woman still visits in the night, but she remains a polite distance away. It feels almost as if we have an agreement.
The only other issue of note is my letter has been returned. The post service must have made an error. I had decided to send it to John through Jennie. Her address is one I know well! But the letter arrived here again, unopened, and marked with a red “RETURN TO SENDER” stamp on the front. I admit that I cried a little when I saw the familiar envelope waiting for me on the mantle. I know Henry saw my tears, but bless him, he did not try to comfort me. If he had, I would have suffered embarrassment the rest of the day.
By dinner, I was able to act cheerful again. I was too tired to stay through dessert, but no one tried to talk me into keeping them company for the evening. I suppose Henry told Julia about the failed correspondence.
I should not think this way, but it is almost a relief to know that I shall have company whenever I descend into sleep. I feel so lonesome.
This will be my last time writing in this journal. After, I plan to throw every page into the fireplace.
Julia and Henry grow more worried by the day. It seems John is not taking their mail either. I am unclear on what will happen to me next—it may be the best I have to hope for is shuffling between the homes of my brother, my parents, and other relations as each tires of carrying the burden.
It feels as if my most reliable friend is the creeping woman. These days, there is not a single night she abstains from my bed. Sometimes, I even see her as evening falls. I can look for her in the shadows and find her dancing along the bare walls of my room.
She has never said a word to me, but I understand her better now than I once did.
This evening, I plan to put myself in bed with the sheet drawn fully back. I will not wear a stitch of clothing.
You see, my early understandings were not far from the truth! I realized it early on that she loves me in the same way John once did. Back then, I wrote “as a husband,” trembling and afraid. I am no longer afraid, although I do not care for her in the same way.
However, I also know now that, unlike John, she will never abandon me. Wherever I go, she will go as well. Even if Julia and Henry send me away, the creeping woman will find me.