Creepypasta Stories

Nurse Anne

The sunlight was the greatest insult.

My life was over, and the sun shone, brightly proclaiming its jubilance, sharing its celestial happiness with the world, in defiance of everything I had experienced, everything I had lost.

Her death had destroyed me. She was my world, every ounce of my soul devoted to her, my love for her burning like the sun that laughed at my misery, and giggled at my pain, bright, and fierce, and forever. Her image occupied my thoughts at all times, and her presence was more than enough to stir me from my pensive moods, her lips pressing against mine stirring the strongest of emotions from within my soul. Words fail to describe the emotion that her presence elicited within me, but the closest word in my simple lexicon is bliss.

And now she was gone, torn forever from me by the barrier, the impenetrable wall that is death. I was allowed to see her in her final moments, and, going up to her hospital room, I foolishly assumed that she would be the same happy, carefree soul that had enraptured my attention, and ensnared my love. But my folly was soon revealed as I cautiously opened the door of room 307, and, as the oaken door swung open, I stood, aghast, staring at the emaciated, jaundiced spectacle that bore the name of my love. In this tale, I have told you not the name of my love, through some idiocy of my own. Her name, let the angels hear, was Anne.

Her doctor had informed me of her condition some months before she had passed, thought the exact number I fail to recall. Her liver had failed, he said, looking at me through wire glasses, wearing a look that closely resembled pity, and an unusual blood disorder prevented transplant. Anne's condition had steadily declined over the past year, and she had decided that she no longer wished to continue fighting this "futile fight," as she worded it in her statement to me, in which she first revealed her desires. Despite my vehement protests, for my love, as I have stated, was celestial, she informed her doctor of her decision, simply stating, when asked what led her to this immense epiphany, that "my life is my own, as is my suffering, and I choose to end both."

I recalled the dark day on which the choice was made as I gazed, dumbfounded, at what my lovely wife had become. I had been away from Anne for several months, as I had business abroad. I will not specify my occupation at the time, as it bears no relevance to the tale of wonder that I now relay to you, but I shall simply say that it took me abroad for long stretches at a time.

I had last seen Anne when departing for the last venture before her demise, as I quit the job soon afterwards, as the memories were too much for my broken heart to bear. She had looked her normal self, save for an unnatural pallor and an odd yellowing of the eyes, of which I took little notice, and asked but one question in passing in reference to the phenomenon, which she did not answer, but I soon realized the phenomenon to be the mark of the dreadful illness that took my love from me.

Her appearance now devastated my heart, as the yellow corpse before me resembled not the full, incredible beauty that I had left months before. Her brown hair was barely the color of weak coffee, her hospital robe barely clung to her emaciated frame, and her skin... it was...

Words cannot describe the corpse that lay before me, and I was convinced that I had arrived too late. In my despair I uttered a cry, and that it when my wife, my beautiful, hideous wife stirred, evidently from slumber, and turned to look at me. She opened her eyes, and another knife of sadness twisted its way into my heart. Her sapphire eyes, once jewels beyond value, had now sunken into her skull, the whites of her eyes now the color of sulphur, the radiant blue of her retina now a pale shadow of her former glory. My Anne, my beautiful Anne, was reduced to this, and my heart, my poor, shattered heart could barely contain the grief that I now felt.

She smiled, a thin, gruesome smile, her red-yellow lips painfully contorting into a grin, as the pain was obvious, her advanced stages of sickness making even these small movements difficult for her. But, even through the thick fog of pain, her love for me was strong.