He gasped when he noticed his wedding band was missing from his finger. He could only see the dent it left behind on his skin, red and shiny. He searched through the carpet of fallen and rotting leaves, tossing them aside, staining calloused hands with mud again, but he couldn't see the ring anywhere. Where did he lose it? When did he lose it? He dumbly looked back the way he came, at the endless trees and leaves and thickets.

Oh God, did it get buried?! He wanted to go straight back, but he stopped himself, fighting with his own legs. The sky was a grey orange, darker by the second as the Sun settled for the night. Being outside at night in this forest was a very bad idea. With gritted teeth, he headed to the house and carefully locked the door.

Their wedding took place on a hot summer day. He could feel sweat dripping in ripples between the skin of his back and the silk suit. She was radiant as always, the glossy, reddened cheeks suiting her wide smile and pearly teeth. She forgot to carefully pose in her joy, letting her lips curl up and gums to be bared without inhibitions. Even as he put the ring on her finger and she put it on him, and they kissed, and everybody cheered, he could not believe it was happening. That this beautiful woman chose him as her husband.

The grass was soaked in morning dew when he headed out the next morning. He could feel it dampen the ends of his pant legs as they brushed him, but he didn't care. Sooner than he expected he arrived at the mound of dirt. It was a patch of brown earth in between wild grass and weeds, but irregular enough to not raise too many eyebrows. He had a moment of doubt if he arrived at the correct spot, then he mentally slapped himself. Of course he did. Not even he was so dim as to forget something from a day ago, let alone this.

He crouched down and dug with his bare hands, parting the dark and cool soil to the side. Soon enough he dug a bowl into the ground, and on the bottom of it, right in the center, peeked out the white tip of a nose. Brown earth gathered around her eyelashes like smudged mascara and at the corners of her lips like chocolate. Some specs could have passed for beauty marks. She looked so perfectly serene, smiling almost wistfully, cheekily. He shuddered and covered her face back up.

Her husband searched around the dirt and her body, but he could not feel or see his ring anywhere. He frowned. Where else could it be? He really dreaded the thought of it being somewhere in the endless forest, somewhere on the floor covered in plants and mud. For all he knew somebody's boot already pressed it into the earth, turning it into a needle in an endless haystack.

With this bad mood, he went back to the house, washed his hands and picked up his things. He glanced at his reflection in a mirror before leaving again. He looked like shit. He left, locking the door.

The slaughter house was a way's away from most human establishments in the forest, so he had to walk for a few good minutes. He wasn't particularly excited about working there, but he was running out of options. Thankfully, it was another sunny day, light filtering through the leaves like ribbons. The slaughter house was hard to miss - a great, big, gray block in a sea of green. Even if you somehow didn't see it, the smell of meat and blood guided one to it like a path between trees. A gust of wind slapped a whiff of viscera right into his face as the building came into view.

The front entrance was plain, clean and utilitarian. The receptionist, a small and young woman in a cardigan, was visible through the glass doors.

"Good morning, Sir!" She greeted him with a mousy voice.

"Good morning, Miss." He said, coming out phlegmy, so he awkwardly cleared his throat. "I am here for the, uh, interview at 9 am."

"Your name, please?"

He told her.

The receptionist typed on a plastic-y keyboard, pressed 'enter', waited for a moment, then furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry, Sir, I can't see any interviews scheduled for today under this name."

"That's odd..." He frowned. "I was called yesterday and told to come in this morning."

"Who called you, please?"

He told her.

She wrote a message to her coworker. While waiting, at his insistence, she searched his name again, then his surname alone, then just his first name. 'No results found' every single time. Even she looked surprised. He started to feel cold pinpricks in his chest.

"Ah, she answered." She said, read, then squinted and furrowed her brows even more.

"What is it?"

"She says she didn't schedule any interviews for today. She, uh, she says she never heard your name before."

"What?! W-We met in person in the village square, she shook my hand and gave me her number!" He searched his pocket, more frantic than intended, and pulled out a business card.

"Yes, it's hers. This is so strange... I'm sorry, Sir. There must have been a mix-up with your application. Would you like to submit it again?"

He sighed. "Alright."

"I'm very sorry for the trouble."

"It's fine."

He wrote it down at her desk while she continued working, then left. He eased up the tie around his neck, birds chirping in the trees above him, but the feeling of discomfort was still very much there, cold and painful. What on earth was that about? The manager enthusiastically told him to come work for them, they needed a new butcher, now she was saying she didn't know who he was? Why would somebody do that?

As soon as he arrived at the house, as if sensing his presence, the phone started ringing.

"Hello?" He answered.

"Good morning, darling! How are you doing?" The voice of his mother-in-law rang out.

"I'm good, thank you!" He forced away a grimace. "And you, mother?"

"Oh, I've been better. I could barely sleep last night! It was like I drank five coffees, yet I never touch that thing. I told Lily, you remember the girl, to make me some valerian tea. Ah, all morning I've been using every trick in the book to get rid of my eyebags."

"I'm sorry to hear that, mother. Was something bothering you?"

"I have not a single clue! It was like my body refused to rest. I hadn't felt like this since my sister died in that skiing accident. What a dreadful funeral it had been. But alas, I will go to sleep earlier tonight. How is my daughter doing? Is she well?"

"Yes." He stiffly replied. "All good."

"Oh, you simply need to visit one of those days! I finally convinced her father to renovate the master en-suite bathroom. You remember how garrish it used to look, all those purples and oranges. I have no idea what papa was thinking when she built it like that. Ugh. Anywho, give us a call before you come so I can get everything ready!"

"Certainly."

"Have you found a job yet?"

"N-No, mother. I'm still looking."

"Ah, good luck! It's really hard to find good, reliable servants nowadays, but you understand I feel awkward hiring my own son-in-law, don't you? I'm sure you'll find something soon! You're a good man. I wouldn't have given my daughter to you otherwise, ohohoh! I could recommend you to one of my friends as a bookkeeper-"

"It's alright, mother. I'll figure something out soon. I-I actually have an interview lined up."

"Wonderful! Give us a call as soon as you're hired, so we can celebrate!"

"Yes, of course, goodbye!"

"Have a good day! Smooches!"

He put the phone down and let out a sigh that shook his body. Every time he talked to that woman he felt worse about himself. A few hours later the receptionist herself called to inform him of his new interview date, which lightened his mood a bit.

Their first year of marriage passed in a blur of dinners, parties, champagne and silk sheets. He had never been happier in his life. She looked happy too. Her parents were unbearable in the rare moments they met, but there was enough distance between the houses that he needn't worry about them. Their daughter was married, she ought to stay with her husband and be taken care of by him. They finished their job, in quite a splendid way too. And he didn't entirely dislike them. They welcomed their daughter's husband with open arms, did their best to integrate him, dull and quiet and reserved as he was. He often had no idea what he was doing, but with her at his side, he felt brave. It felt like everything would be alright in the end.

He left the house and, as he locked the door, he thought he saw a glint of something shiny between the floorboards of the front porch. He got down on all fours, looking with bated breath for his ring, but it was gone. Did he imagine it? He looked around to make sure nobody saw him acting strange, but the forest was empty and quiet.

He went to the slaughter house again. Sometimes it felt far away, taking forever to come into view as he walked; other times it was close, he could reach it in less than a couple minutes. He wondered if the forest somehow shifted during the night, rearranging itself like it was a living mythical being, then he shooed those thoughts away. He didn't want his new employers to think he was one of those mad men wandering the woods.

"Good morning!" He told the receptionist.

"Good morning!" She replied, smiling politely.

"I am here for the interview."

"Your name, please?"

He told her after a slight hesitation.

She searched his name and nothing came up, again. "I'm sorry, Sir, there is no interview scheduled under this name."

"...What do you mean?"

"Sorry, but nothing comes up."

"Is there something, like, wrong with the system? Like a glitch? Can you try again?"

"Sir, I think there is a misunderstanding." She said, cautious. "Your name is not in our system at all. You didn't apply to us."

"But I was here with you when I sent in my application! Y-You called me! Last week!"

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

"Yes, I came in last week with the same issue, the interview I was scheduled for was gone and then you scheduled me again, you told me to come in today! Don't you remember?"

"Sir, please calm down." She said, starting to look frightened. "I-I never call anybody for interviews, my coworker does that. I'm sorry, I don't recall you coming in, but a lot of people pass by. I apologise if I forgot. M-Maybe you confused my voice for somebody else's, but, no, it couldn't have been me who called."

"But..." He looked down, eyes darting around in shock and confusion. "I... It doesn't make sense..."

"What is your phone number? Please?"

He told her.

"Look." She turned her screen around so he could see. She quickly entered some programs he did not recognise until a window opened. It looked like a calendar with multiple time stamps jotted down, and at the top he saw the date from last week. "Look, Sir, this automatically keeps track of the calls I place during the day. I-I never called you that day, or since. I can check with my colleagues, maybe you are right, maybe it's a glitch in the system, but that's all I can do right now."

"It's fine... It's fine... Have a good day."

"You too, Sir."

He felt dizzy as he headed back to the house, the cold from anxiety in chest so strong it threatened to choke him. What was going on? He tried to think of a rational explanation, but found none. He didn't know why, but this whole ordeal filled him with so much dread, to the point it surprised him. Why was his heart beating so fast? Why was he sweating so hard? It's weird, sure, but he felt on the verge of a panic attack without even knowing why.

Her husband walked hurriedly through the trees, looking for her. Where was she? He followed the path from last time, from the left of the house, past this cluster of trees and past that rounded bush. He walked and walked, becoming more scared, then he finally found it. The mound of earth lay undisturbed, save for a couple fledgelings of weeds starting to grow on its surface, like little green sprinkles.

He uncovered her face in the dim light of the Sun covered by a cloud. She lay there exactly how he left her. Her skin was still pristine. Isn't she supposed to rot already? Her husband let out a shuddering sob and lowered his head until they were forehead to forehead. The smell of earth and rot almost calmed him. The freezing ache of fear was gradually replaced by a hollow. His forehead started to itch and his stomach churned at the smell, bringing him back to reality. He hated how much he needed her.

He got up and covered her up again, her smirk hidden by dirt. He went back to the house.

He tried so hard to keep her happy. He really did. They were from two different worlds and he quickly figured out that he couldn't keep up. People could smell it on him, the pig dung and waterlogged hay, and opening his mouth made it worse. Her disappointment after every latest blunder felt like stabs at his heart. He promised he would make her happy, that he would give her everything she deserved, that he would give her the world if he could, that he would make her proud, that he would be the husband a woman like her deserved. He watched her disappointment be replaced by pity, then by a similar exhaustion.

He went into the village in the afternoon. He usually avoided going there. He didn't like being reminded of the squalor he tried so hard to run away from, the small and dingy houses, the muddy gardens, the chicken running and shitting around however they pleased, the nosey hags not unlike his mother-in-law, just poor. But, like anybody else, he needed to eat.

The market area was a corner with a few tables. He made a beeline to the young woman he bought fruit and vegetables from for years. She was pretty, far too pretty for this place, and if he weren't married, maybe... He banished those thoughts.

She looked up at him and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear, which weirded him out, but he decided to ignore it.

"Hi, I'd like some carrots, please." He cleared his throat. "And lettuce."

"Right away, Sir." She said with a voice like silk.

He rubbed his eyes. Lately, he's been getting no rest out of sleep. He felt just as tired when he woke up as when he went to bed. As he pulled his hand away, he saw dirt under his nails. Didn't he wash enough last night and that morning?

"So..." The young woman purred. "You come here often?"

"What?" His head snapped towards her.

"I asked if you come here often." She said, all playful. "What's wrong? Something on your mind?"

"Wh-Th- What?"

She giggled. "Did I make you nervous?"

"Uh, I am married. Remember?"

"You are? I don't see a ring on your finger."

"What..." He frowned, then started laughing. "Is this some sort of prank?"

"Hmm?" She intoned.

"Damn, you're a better actress than I pegged you for, Betty."

Her face became concerned. "How do you know my name?"

He blinked. "Wh-What do you mean? Of course I know your name. We, hah, I was your neighbour for years!"

Betty slowly shook her head. "Nnnooo, no, I... I don't know you."

"What? Come on! You can drop the act! We went to school together! I helped your dad plant those cherry trees - you were there too!"

"Sir, seriously, I don't know you. Please stop, you're freaking me out."

"I-I am serious! Why-"

"Do we have a problem here?" Betty's mother came out of his yard, an elderly woman who used to feed him cherry cakes. Betty instinctively stepped away, half-way hiding behind her.

"N-No, ma'am. Everything is... fine."

"It fuckin' better be." She spat a yellow phlegm on the ground. It landed on some dry chicken shit. His chest hurt again.

He didn't know anyone important until he got married. Richness was hard to define within the forest. Generally, it meant big houses, factories like the slaughter house, vast gardens and orchards, influence over villages and even towns. He quickly realised he bit off far more than he could chew once the bliss of honeymoon settled down and he had to live up to his promises. Who was he, really? What could he do? What was he good at? Nobody knew him until he married her. She made all the introductions, encouraged all the friendships, suggested all the ventures. Everybody knew him as Her Husband, and that was what he was good at. Or at least tried to be. He couldn't keep up. He knew she knew and her smile while telling him it was all fine, they would try again, she would fix it for him, her smile was so fake that it made him nauseous.

It took an hour to find the house again on a path that was less than 5 minutes long. He told himself, yelled at himself, then begged himself not to panic, but he did anyway. The forest stretched on and on and on and on, and he could not see it anywhere. He passed by her, which should have been impossible. There were flowers starting to bloom, white and pink like love. Bile was rising in his throat. He ran and stumbled, and when he turned his head around, there was the village again, the one that should have been miles behind him. He made a sound like the wail of an animal and dashed, then there was the house, perfectly still in front of him. He ran inside and wept against the door.

As he paced around the house, her house, the one her parents gifted on their wedding, he racked his brains trying to understand what was happening. He had no time or mental fortitude to understand the forest - it was not something someone like him could understand, and smarter people than him went mad trying to do it. Start small. Start manageable. That was what she told him once. He hated her. Some random receptionist he met twice, sure, fine, maybe, but someone who had been in his life since he was a toddler?! How?! He had become a bit of a recluse, sure, but he hasn't been away for that long. He looked at the calendar in the kitchen and saw whole months had passed. What pen were these days crossed out with? He couldn't recognise it. He couldn't recall doing it. Was there somebody breaking into his house?! Was this all some sort of prank? Did Betty do it? Her mother? Was the entire forest in on it?

He breathed hard through his nose, staring at the cursed piece of paper on the wall. Then a thought broke through to the surface. When was the last time his mother-in-law called? They met in person a few times a year, but she made sure to call and talk their ears off at least once a week. Did something happen while he was out here spiralling? ...Did they figure something out? Were they preparing to catch him and ruin him?

He ran to the phone and dialed their number. The beeping as it connected felt like eternity. It was already late and getting dark, but he did not care, he needed answers.

"Hello?" His mother-in-law answered. He never thought he'd be grateful to hear that grating voice.

"Hello! Mother! How are you?"

"Uhmmm, who is this?"

"It-It's me! Your son-in-law!" He said, hands shaking so hard the phone was tapping face.

"What are you talking about? Who is this?"

"Your daughter!!" He cried out. "I'm her husband!"

There was a long pause from the other end.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?!"

"Young man, do not raise your voice at me! Either you've dialed the wrong number or you are clearly not in your right mind. My daughter never married. Do not call this number again or I will contact the authorities! Good evening!"

The call was cut off. He stared at the wall behind the phone, feeling like his skull was going to burst. No, no, no, no, no, this was not possible, none of this was possible, none of it was real.

He burst out of the house and ran like demons were after him. He broke his rule about going outside at night, but he couldn't stop, he couldn't think. The world was spinning around him, dark greenery and apathetic tree bark, sticks and mud and God knows what under his shoes.

God knows when he found her grave and lunged for it. His chest and stomach cried out in pain at the impact, but he pushed through it and clawed the earth away, tearing the flowers and the worms and roots. He begged her for forgiveness, promised again so many things and again she looked at him like he was pathetic. He could not take it anymore, it was too much, he was tired, and he was done, he knew it, he saw it coming and hoped like an idiot it wouldn't happen. She was with her back towards him next to their bed in her silk robe and her arms bent up. He couldn't see it but he knew, he knew one hand was reaching for the other to take it off, he could barely breathe or see or think, she fell down so fast, not even making a sound, hair sprawled over her face and around her head on the carpet. He heard her still breathe for a minute, but she wouldn't even turn around to look at him.

The husband dug and dug and dug and dug, until his nails were ripped and caked with dirt, until his wrists were on fire, until it was a hole big enough for an actual coffin.

She was not there.

He stumbled back towards the house, feeling dirty and weak and lost. Ironically, almost like a cruel joke, he found it very easily on his way back. The house looked like shit. Dirty windows, peeling paint, bent wood. For how long had he been digging?

He fetched his key and reached for the door. It wouldn't go in. He tried again. It wouldn't budge. The lock was different. He almost fell to his knees in despair when he heard noise from the other side. Quiet footsteps came up to the door and unlocked it. He watched breathlessly as the door opened and on the other side was a girl. He had never seen her in his life. She didn't look all there and had some sort of scar on her face, making it very red in comparison to her neck.

"Hello?" She asked, in a tone as if she had asked several times before he finally heard it.

"Who... Who are you?" He finally replied, so quiet he barely heard himself.

She told him.

"What are you doing here...?"

"I, uh, live here." She said. "I'm a hermit. Sort of."

"B-But... Since when?"

She looked up as if counting the time in her head. "A couple years, now."

He felt he was going to vomit.

"Are you alright, Sir?" She asked. "Do you need help?"

"This is my house..." He said.

"It is?" She gasped. "I'm so sorry! I-I found it empty when I first came here. Well, almost empty."

"This is my house."

"S-Sir?"

He lunged towards her, nails digging into the meat of her scarred face. A punch he did not see coming sent him flying backwards, but when he glanced up through the pain there was just her on a background of darkness. The hermit stared down at him, very afraid, a pale hand reaching up to the scratches on her cheek.

The husband gasped. Her wound, even in the faint light of the Moon, he could see it closing up. The black-red was gone, growing smaller and smaller, not even a scab left behind. He watched it, heart pounding against his ribcage, then he saw the hermit's eyes glaze over. She stared at nothing for a second, then she flinched as if woken up from sleep. She blinked and looked down at the man. Like it was the first time she noticed him there.

"...Sir? A-Are you alright? Do you need help?"

He let out a sob, then another, and another, louder and quicker and louder still. He laughed and tears streamed down his face, through the dirt in his overgrown beard and soiled clothes. Before the hermit could back away and shut the door, he scrambled to his feet and ran into the forest, disappearing into the night. His mad laughter followed suit a few seconds later.