It took everything I had, but I finally married her. She could be sweet as pie one minute and fierce as a mama bear the next, but I loved every bit of her. Then one night, I found my wife, eyes glowing red, gulping down a bowl of… goat blood? 1 "I don't care! You don't cough up sixteen grand for the bride price today, you can forget about marrying my daughter!" Watching my future mother-in-law practically spit nails, I felt cornered. My relatives who came with me to pop the question were all shifting uncomfortably. Ashley just kept her head down, silent. She couldn't help me here; she’d warned me it wouldn't be pretty today. We'd secretly agreed on $8,800 before. I never expected her mom to double it today and basically block the door. "She's my only daughter! And you won't even move in with us, so why shouldn't I ask for more money?" I'm the only son in my family; moving in with her family was out of the question. Things were getting messy. I tried to smooth things over with her mom. "Ma'am, look, all our relatives are here. Let's just stick to what we agreed on. I promise I'll take good care of you and your husband, and I'll always treat Ashley right. You don't have to worry." I'm just a regular working guy. I couldn't pull that kind of cash out of thin air, especially after already putting a down payment on a house. "I don't care! Money talks!" The old woman wouldn't budge. That's when Ashley, usually so gentle and shy, suddenly dropped to her knees. "Mom, I'm pregnant. We have to get married. Or else." Ashley pulled out a pair of scissors and, looking dead serious, aimed them at her own arm. I lunged forward, grabbed her, wrestled the scissors away. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Her mom's face barely flickered. Then, cold as ice, she said— "Buy one, get one free. All the more reason you should pay up, Kevin! Fine. Twelve thousand. Not a penny less. Otherwise, you don't get either of them!" "Deal!" I was set on building a life with Ashley. Her mom only cared about money; we could just keep our distance later. "And one more thing," her mom added. "You two are paying for the wedding reception yourselves. I don't have any money for that." Looking at Ashley beside me, I gritted my teeth and agreed. Half an hour later, a buddy brought the cash over from the bank. Seeing the greenbacks, my mother-in-law beamed and welcomed us in. Everything went smoothly after that. The wedding was set for a month later. Even though it was more of a country wedding, my family made sure it was respectable. We each invited our own friends and family, plus booked thirty tables at a hotel in the city. That day, Ashley walked towards me in a pure white gown, her eyes shimmering with tears. I was a bundle of nerves myself. But for a split second, the woman walking down the aisle looked uncannily familiar. Like someone else. Someone who should have been at the wedding, but wasn't. An old friend I'd lost touch with. Married life was mostly peaceful. My parents weren't thrilled that Ashley didn't have much book smarts, but they didn't give her a hard time. While she wasn’t educated in the traditional sense, she was sharp when it came to managing money and making deals. "Kevin," Ashley said one day, "we bought the house in town, but Mom and Dad are still out here. Why don't we build them a new house here so they can retire comfortably?" I was surprised. I hadn't even thought of that. My folks would definitely stay in the countryside, and our place would be too small when we eventually had kids and came back to visit. Soon, we started construction. I bought a used pickup truck for two grand to haul materials. We hired a crew for the main construction; we just handled the supply runs and support stuff. But before the first floor was even finished, weird problems started popping up. First, a main water pipe joint cracked. Then, workers started calling in sick one after another. The project ground to a halt. We were scratching our heads, wondering what was going on, when the culprits basically showed up on our doorstep. 2 The cement delivery guy called, saying the road was blocked. He couldn’t get through. My whole family rushed out to check. There they were: the Miller family, lounging by the side of the road like they owned the place. They’d hammered seven or eight wooden stakes into the ground, blocking the driver's path. My family and the Millers had bad blood going way back. I couldn't believe they'd stoop this low. They must've been behind the busted pipe and the workers skipping out, too. The Millers had a bit of money and some connections in town hall. "Mike Miller! This isn't your road! What gives you the right to block us?" I yelled. As soon as the words left my mouth, his whole family burst out laughing. "Kevin, this used to be our land right here. Sure, other folks can pass, but you definitely can't!" "You pull this crap, you think I won't make a bigger stink?" It had to come to this eventually. We needed to settle things with them before the house was finished. I moved to pull out the stakes, but Mike and his brothers immediately rushed me, shoving hard. They were built like linebackers and knocked me flat. Forget keeping cool; I started swinging back, and we were all rolling in the dirt. Suddenly, I heard the piercing honk of a car horn. I looked up – Ashley was flooring it in my beat-up pickup, heading straight for us! I scrambled out of the way. The Millers, terrified, jumped back, screaming. CRUNCH! The truck slammed into the stakes, shattering them all. My jaw dropped. Ashley had never driven before, only watched me from the passenger seat. Silence fell over the crowd. Everyone was stunned by my wife's insane, bold move. Ashley opened the truck door, got out, and flung a gleaming butcher knife. It landed point-down in the dirt right in front of the Millers. "Wanna see who's crazier? You keep messing with us, and Ashley Carter doesn't mind doing some jail time!" Everyone froze, shocked by Ashley. The Millers just stared at each other, speechless. I scrambled to my feet and stood beside Ashley, pulling the hunting knife I kept clipped to my belt and flashing the blade. "Mike, the Hayes family isn't some pushover you can just bully! If you're gonna act like this when you know you're wrong, I'll fight you to the end!" Might as well fight fire with fire. God knows how they hassled my parents when I wasn't around. It was time I stood up like a man. Before I could react, Ashley snatched the knife from my hand, rushed forward, and quick as lightning, held the blade to Mike Miller's throat. "You gonna try anything else?" I held my breath. The Millers were in chaos. "Crazy bitch! Crazy bitch! Let's go!" The Millers scrambled away, looking pathetic. We got back to work. After that incident, the Millers didn't dare bother us again. Sometimes, you learn the hard way: nice guys finish last, and you have to get tough with bullies. Ashley became notorious in the village. Most people whispered about the fiery temper of this outsider wife, someone you didn't want to cross. My parents, though? They actually liked Ashley more after this. Only I felt this strange, unsettling feeling whenever I looked at Ashley. When I first met her working out of state, she was shy, quiet, hardly spoke. But she was gentle, always spoke softly, rarely got emotional. We fell in love, and I adored her calm, soothing nature. After we got married, she seemed different. I couldn't pinpoint it. Her temper flared hot and cold. And sometimes, I'd catch this look in her eyes... it wasn't the same Ashley I knew. 3 Six months later, the house back home was finally finished. Mom and Dad moved in. Ashley and I went back to our place in town. She kept her job as a front desk clerk at a hotel, and I used the wedding gift money to start a small business. One night, I woke up needing to pee. There was a faint light coming from the kitchen. I tiptoed over, peeked around the corner. There was Ashley, gulping down… something. In an instant, bright red liquid trickled down her neck. She looked like she was savoring it. Suddenly, she whipped her head around to look at me. Her eyes glowed red, blood smeared around her mouth. Like a vampire. "What are you doing?" She had just chugged a bowl of goat blood. Just like that, Ashley seemed to snap back to herself, dropping the bowl in panic. "I was thirsty, just getting some water. Go back to sleep, honey." I didn't sleep a wink that night. The next day, Saturday, I followed Ashley on her grocery run, all the way to the farmer's market. She chatted and laughed with the vendors along the way, totally normal. Until she reached the butcher stall selling live poultry. What I saw next, I couldn't believe. Ashley grabbed the butcher's cleaver, and with a swift chop, killed a chicken. Then she immediately held a large bowl under it, collecting the gushing blood, and drank it down in one go. Then a second chicken, a third. Bowl after bowl of chicken blood, she drank like she couldn't get enough. People in the market stared, mouths open, speechless. They slowly backed away, whispering among themselves. Soon, Ashley had the butcher pack up some more blood to go, and walked away calmly, ignoring the stares. Back home, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Honey, have you been feeling sick lately?" "Nope! Healthy as a horse! Eating great!" Ashley looked so innocent, didn't seem like she was lying. "Do you have... maybe a weird craving? Like, for drinking blood?" I watched her closely, but couldn't find anything off. She was acting completely natural. "Oh, that? Yeah, just been feeling really thirsty lately. Goat blood and stuff seems to quench it better." The conversation died there. I went to see a therapist myself. The doctor said I was probably just overworked and stressed, letting my imagination run wild. He prescribed some meds to help me relax. Less than two weeks later, Ashley started acting jumpy, looking worried all the time. I asked her again and again what was wrong, but she wouldn't say. And then there was the fridge – it was filling up with containers of different kinds of animal blood. Her need for blood was growing, like a bottomless red pit. I even got a call from a guy at a pig farm, saying my wife had made an appointment to buy a pig… for slaughter. I secretly followed her there once. Again, Ashley wielded the knife herself, collecting basin after basin of pig blood. She drank her fill, then packed the rest to take home. The guys at the pig farm were seriously freaked out. They refused to sell her any more pigs. But what about all the times I didn't see her? How much animal blood had she really drunk? Or maybe… maybe it wasn't just animal blood? The thought terrified me, sent shivers down my spine. To test my horrifying suspicion, one afternoon when Ashley came home from work, I poured her a glass of watermelon juice. She took it happily, but the moment it touched her lips, she spat it out violently, then ran to the bathroom and threw up. She poured the rest of the juice down the drain. Mixed into that juice was blood from a small cut I’d made on my own wrist. Thank God. She didn't drink human blood. But what was happening to her? What would she become? I felt like I was losing my mind
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