The Wreath
Clean horror short story
Here’s a new horror story I wrote for Reddit’s NoSleep page. If you enjoy it, be sure to click the link at the end to read the whole thing for free!
The Wreath
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
Even as I’m writing this, I can hear the wreath moving against our door. I hear it night and day. Scratching, gently scratching. Nothing more. Just a normal wreath, moving gently in the breeze. At least, that’s what it wants me to think.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
It wasn’t so bad at first. Shortly after Thanksgiving, I came home to find the wreath hanging on our front door. My wife, Sarah, loved decorating for Christmas, and it wasn’t surprising she’d found something like this.
“Hey, honey!” I shouted as I took off my boots. “I saw the wreath, it looks really nice! Where’d you get it?”
She came bustling out wearing a wide grin and an elf hat. “I got it at the farmer’s market today, along with this hat! Isn’t it cute?”
I laughed. “Sure, but you’re cuter.”
We busied ourselves with some chores around the house, and then Sarah went to bed early. After I finished washing dishes, I plopped down on the couch to watch TV.
At first, I thought there was something wrong with the show, and then I thought it was the TV itself. Every time I played my show, I heard a faint scratching sound, barely audible over the dialogue and explosions. But putting my ears close to the speakers just made the sound quieter; it wasn’t coming from there. And every time I paused my TV, the scratching went away.
Finally, I paused the show and sat there in silence, ears straining for any sounds. I was just starting to think I was imagining things, when I heard it again! I leaped up and quietly followed the sound to the front door. I paused, listening carefully, and heard it a moment later.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
I yanked the door open, expecting to find a neighborhood cat or maybe even a mouse. But there was nothing. I stomped out onto the porch and looked in all directions, shivering slightly in the chill air.
But there was nothing.
I turned to go inside, when a slight breeze stirred the wreath on our front door. Scritch. Scritch. I chuckled and tapped the wreath, listening to its branches scratch gently against the wood. Should’ve remembered that thing was out here.
I yawned and went back inside, locking the door for the night. There was a sniff right behind me, and I whirled around. Sarah was standing right there, with a too-sweet smile plastered on her face and eyes that didn’t quite seem to see me.
“What are you doing to the wreath, sweetie?”
I stared at her for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. “Nothing. I heard a sound, but it was just the wind knocking the wreath against the door.”
“Okay.” She stood there for a moment, then jerkily motioned down the hallway. “Why don’t you come to bed?” Her movement looked unnatural, like she was a robot, or maybe a puppet guided by invisible strings.
We stood there for a moment, and I groggily tried to figure out why she seemed off. Was she sleepwalking? Finally, I shook my head and shuffled down the hall. I’d figure it out in the morning.
“You’re right. Let’s get some sleep.”
She followed me, and we both crawled into bed. The next morning, I awoke feeling grimy and tired, and I had a headache forming. When I asked Sarah about the night before, she just looked at me in confusion.
“I don’t remember getting up at all! I went to bed while you were watching TV, and that’s the last I remember.”
“You don’t remember scaring me when I went outside?” I asked, feeling slightly nervous. “You really spooked me. I heard the wreath scratching against our door, and suddenly you were there!”
“The wreath…” her voice became harsh, and her eyes suddenly glazed over. “Yes, the wreath. You should leave it alone. Don’t ever touch it.”
Her demanding words and tone of voice were so different from the chipper, upbeat woman I was used to, I just stood there in shock. She spun and stalked away, and a few minutes later, I heard her singing in the kitchen like she always did. Like nothing was wrong at all.
I rubbed my forehead again, fighting my looming headache. It was just a weird start to the day, that was all. When I got home, I hoped Sarah would be back to normal and this cold feeling on the back of my neck would be gone.
That night, there wasn’t a breath of wind on the air. But still, as I walked up to my front porch, I could hear the wreath faintly scratching against the door. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. I shuddered and went inside, trying to ignore the blasted thing.
Sarah was in the living room, but she wasn’t watching TV. Instead, she was just sitting in our recliner, rocking gently back and forth as she stared at a blank wall. The recliner creaked with a regular rhythm. Creak. Creak. Creak.
She didn’t even turn around to look at me. She just kept rocking back and forth, staring sightlessly at the wall. I cleared my throat loudly.
“Hey, Sarah. How was your day?”
She didn’t answer, and I hurried over to her, fearing the worst. She was breathing, but her sightless eyes stared past me, and she wouldn’t respond when I shouted her name and gently shook her.
Panic gripped me, and I whipped out my phone to dial an ambulance. Sarah still did nothing, and I paced the living room relentlessly until I connected to a dispatcher. I told them what was happening, and the dispatcher said not to move Sarah, and that they’d send medics as soon as possible.
I walked to the front door and yanked it open, wanting to see the ambulance as soon as it arrived. The wreath banged against the door, then slowly settled into swaying back and forth against the wood again. I froze when I realized there was still no wind, and that Sarah was rocking in perfect cadence with the wreath’s scratching. Scritch. Creak. Scritch. Creak.
Just then, there were flashing lights outside our house. In a few seconds, several firefighters with medical equipment ran up our front steps. It wasn’t an ambulance, but they’d gotten here fast, at least.
“What’s the problem here? We were informed of a nonresponsive patient?” The fire chief barked.
“Yes, sir!” I pointed at Sarah. “She’s not responding at all, she’s just sitting there rocking back and forth! I’m worried she had…I don’t even know, a brain aneurism or something.” I babbled anxiously, then stood against the wall as the firefighters hurried over and began examining her. She was still rocking back and forth in time with the wreath.
Fear and anger suddenly warred in my gut, and I glared over at the wreath. That stupid thing was still scratching away in time with Sarah’s rocking chair, and I knew suddenly that I had to get rid of it. I marched over and grabbed the wreath to rip it right off the door. Suddenly, Sarah bolted upright with a shriek.
“Don’t you dare touch my wreath!”
I yelled and whirled around.
“Sarah! What happened?” I looked frantically at the fire chief. “Is she ok? What’s going on?”
Sarah stared at me for a moment, then spoke jerkily, as if she’d forgotten how words worked. “I was…deep in…though. No. Yes. Thought. I was thinking thoughts. I did not hear you.”
She cocked her head, then advanced on me slowly. “I said. Don’t. Touch. My. Wreath.”
I realized I still had my hand on the wreath, and I let go hastily, backing away as I stared at her. What had come over her? I glanced over at the chief, who looked slowly from me to the wreath, then at Sarah. The faces of all the firefighters suddenly stiffened, and they stood up straighter, staring dead ahead without moving. The chief spoke in a low monotone.
“This is not unusual at all. Do not touch the wreath. In the future, there is no need to call for help. This is normal.”
As one, they all whirled around and filed out the door. As they stepped outside, each one relaxed his shoulders slightly and seemed to walk more naturally. The chief was the last to leave, and after he passed through the front door, he called over his shoulder.
“Sorry for bothering you, ma’am! Nice wreath, I have one just like it at home.”
I stared after them in horror and confusion as they left, and then Sarah wrapped her arms tight around my middle and whispered in my ear.
“I am sorry you were scared by my actions. Come into the kitchen, let us eat some food.”
Even if the words were kind, my skin crawled at her unnatural cadence and speech. Even so, I let her lead me into the kitchen and started working on supper. Maybe I was overthinking things. If the firefighters said she was fine, wasn’t she fine? Sure, they’d also been acting strange, but I didn’t want to think about that.
I could still hear the wreath scratching against the door, and it seemed louder now that the firefighters were gone. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. But I tried to ignore it; I didn’t know what else I could do. I’d already upset Sarah and made a fool of myself. And besides, why was I getting so worked up over a decoration? I told myself the noise would soon fade into the background, and I could forget all about it.
Except, it didn’t. Over the following weeks, the scratching got louder and more persistent, and I felt like I barely slept. And Sarah’s behavior just got weirder. Every time I would get near the front door, she bolted upright and stared at me, following me with her eyes until she was satisfied I wasn’t going near her wreath. She claimed she never realized she was acting strange, and just laughed it off as if she was daydreaming or zoning out. But the way her eyes followed me…well, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. And all the while, the wreath continued its persistent scratching against our door.
A few weeks ago, the time for spring cleaning finally came. It’s always my job to inspect the roof and clean the gutters, so I got the ladder out of the garage and went to work. Once I finished cleaning the gutters, I gathered all my tools and carefully set them on our front porch. Sarah was inside cooking, and she wasn’t watching me while I was outside. Now was my chance.
I walked over to the wreath and grabbed it to throw away with the rest of the junk I’d pulled out of the gutters. But as soon as I lifted the bottom of the wreath away from the door, I froze in shock. There was a scream from inside the house, but I barely registered it. I knew the wreath had been scratching our door, but I hadn’t expected this. The paint was chipped and peeled, but it was strange looking, and it almost seemed like the branches had scratched a pattern into the door. I peered closer at the grooves and lines in the wood. Were those…runes?
“NOOOOOOOO!” Sarah burst out the front door, snarling and spitting like a cat. “GET! AWAY! FROM! IT!”
I backed up frantically, trying to ward her off, and she stopped just a few feet away from the door, teeth bared as she glared at me. I stumbled over the ladder and fell on my back. The next moment, she hurried to my side.
“Oh, honey! Are you hurt? What happened?”
I stared up at her in shock. This was the same old Sarah I had known for years, caring for me even if I’d only tripped. Mutely, I shook my head. It was all too much.
“No, I’m fine. Just fell, that’s all. Let me store the tools, then I’m gonna go inside and take a shower.”
As I staggered to my feet and took everything to the garage, my mind was racing. Had those really been runes scratched on our door? And why, why was Sarah so obsessed with protecting that wreath? It was almost as if she sensed when I was near it, even if she was in another room. And her mood swings and forgetfulness were really starting to worry me. Maybe we needed to look into therapy.
I shoved the ladder against the wall and made a silent vow. I was done with the wreath. I didn’t want to look at it, see it, or hear it scratching anymore. It wasn’t going to stay on our front door any longer than I could help. But I would have to wait for an opportunity when Sarah was gone.
That opportunity took a little longer than I anticipated, but a couple weeks later, I got home from work early to find that she’d run to the store for groceries. As soon as I shucked my work gear, I went to the front door, smiling grimly.
“This is it for you, old boy,” I said to the wreath, and I tilted it up slightly, looking at the scratches underneath it. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Sure enough, they really were runes, and it looked like there were more of them this time. My phone buzzed again. Impatiently, I answered it without looking to see who it was, still staring at the strange runes.
“Hel-”
“LEAVE IT ALONE!” Sarah shrieked on the other end of the line. “I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING, DON’T TOUCH IT!”
Startled, I pulled my phone away from my ear and stared at the wreath. This was too much. I deliberately hung up on Sarah, cutting her off mid-shout, and put my phone back in my pocket. It started buzzing immediately, but I ignored it.
“Alright, wreath, you’ve caused enough trouble. You’re going in the burn pile.”
I grabbed the wreath and tried to pull it off the door, but sharp thorns bit my hands. I whipped my hands away and growled an oath, feeling my fingers throb from the small punctures. I didn’t know this thing had thorns. But at this point, I didn’t care.
I gripped it again, ignoring the stabbing pain in my hands, and yanked. But the wreath didn’t come off the door. It must’ve been caught on a nail or something. Frowning, I tilted it up and looked at the top of it, twisting and yanking as I did. But the wreath still didn’t come off. I twisted harder, trying to see what it was caught on, when I suddenly gasped in shock.
The top of the wreath was fused to our door. The branches and cute decorations dug right into the wood, and it was almost impossible to tell where wreath ended and door began. Frantically, I began to twist and pull at it, trying to break the wreath free, but it was like trying to break a strong, healthy branch from a tree. It bent, but it wouldn’t snap, no matter what I tried.
Half-mad with frustration and confusion, I raced to the garage to find a hammer or axe. Just then, Sarah’s car careened around the street corner, skidding across our grass before running over the mailbox. She leaped out when the car was still in motion and raced up the driveway, yelling shrilly at me and bristling with rage.
“STAY BACK! You’d better not hurt it!”
I held up my hands placatingly.
“Easy, honey, I was just looking at it. You’ve really got it wedged in the door, you know that?”
“I don’t care.” She spat. “You need to leave it alone! Get out of the garage, I don’t want you near those tools! Out!”
We stared at each other for a long, long time. Her voice was like the old Sarah I knew, and her cadence wasn’t so strange. But now, even the regular Sarah was obsessed with the wreath. Finally, I nodded. I’d made my decision. I went in the house through the garage door, and when Sarah turned around for a moment, I slammed and bolted it shut, then raced to the front door and locked it too. We had two deadbolts on our doors, so even if she tried the key, she couldn’t get it open.
To my surprise, Sarah didn’t shout or even try to unlock the doors. I peeked out the window, and she’d returned to her car, parking it in the driveway where she could see both doors. And she just sat there.
Almost immediately, the wreath started scratching at the wood again, but faster this time. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. I listened for a few minutes, but nothing else happened. Finally, I decided to eat and try to sleep. I didn’t watch what Sarah did; she could sleep in the car for all I cared, but I wasn’t letting her back inside the house. When I went to bed late that night, the wreath just kept up that incessant scratching. Its grating sound dug deep, filling all my dreams like icy claws slowly skittering down my spine. I barely slept at all.
It's been two days now, and I haven’t left the house since. The scratching sound is driving me crazy, but the fear of what the wreath might be doing is even worse. I’m sitting here in our rocking chair typing this out, but it’s very difficult, especially with the maddening sounds and my pounding headache. But I had to share this.
I don’t know what the wreath’s plan is, but I don’t care. This morning when I woke up, I found small wood shavings on the inside of our front door, and I could see tiny bits of roots poking through little holes. Even worse, when I looked out the window, Sarah had moved from the car to the front porch. She’s just sitting there with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring up at the wreath. Like a little child waiting for Santa.
Part of me wants to take an axe from the garage and smash that stupid wreath to splinters. Even if I have to bust the whole door down, I want to do it. I know Sarah won’t be happy, but I don’t care.
But even the thought of moving is difficult now, and part of me just wants to sit here in this rocking chair. My headache just won’t go away, and I’ve found the only thing that helps is to gently rock back and forth. It’s nice listening to the creaking of the chair, and it almost seems to make the scratching sound less painful.
I know I shouldn’t, but all I want to do is sit here, listening to the gentle sounds of the rocking chair and the wreath.
Scritch. Creak. Scritch. Creak. Scritch. Creak.
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Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, be sure to check out some of my other short stories here!