The Woman in the Wall

            Standing out on the front lawn of the house I marvel at its beauty. Knowing that my wife was correct in telling me of its majesty I take a deep breath of fresh air and make my way back inside. It is my hope that the time my wife and I spend here will be of great relief to the troubles of both her mental and physical health. Her increasing breaks from reality worry me and I fear she may drive herself to a point of no return. I glance at my watch and call up the stairs to her.


“Dear, it is almost time for dinner.” At first I receive no response and am about to call again when my wife answers with an, “I’ll be down in a moment John.”

            My sister Jennie, whom we are staying with in her newly built house for the summer, is not only helping me to take care of my wife but has also been preparing most of the meals during our visit, has made a hearty steak dinner for us his evening. As she and I finish setting the table my wife enters the dining room. She looks in better form than I last saw her in this morning but she gives no acknowledgment to either Jennie or I as she takes her place at the table. As I myself sit I ask,


“How are you feeling dear?” She gives a curt nod, “Fine John, just fine.”


I sigh, my wife’s declining health gives often to her already highly imaginative mind and some days she tells me of increasingly absurd things. Since we began our stay with Jennie my wife has been telling me of a “woman trapped in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom.” Being a rational man and a physician I have refuted her wild claims of such things as to nothing more than over-exhaustion and lack of proper nutrition. But what she takes as my dismissal of her has put her at odds with me, made her cold and distant with me. I only wish the best for my wife. How can she not but see the silliness behind her ideas?

            When dinner is finished my wife is immediately anxious to return to her bedroom, I offer to escort her up there but she refuses and races off. I catch Jennie’s eyes studying me.


“I don’t know what to do for her,” I say to my sister.


Her eyes continue to study me a moment longer before she goes back to cleaning up the dishes. It is quiet for a moment before I break again the silence.


“I so hoped this summer away here would ease her mind and her body and help her to come back to us, but summer is almost over and she has not made any substantial progress.” I throw up my hands in exasperation, “I’m simply out of ideas short of sending her to asylum.” My sister begins to say something but her attention then turns back to the table with a confused expression.


“John, have you seen the third steak knife?”


 Puzzled I bend down to inspect underneath the table, “It hasn’t fallen.” Jennie’s eyes quickly examine all the silverware again, rechecking her count.


“Do you think,” her eyes drift towards the stairs.


I begin to slightly panic, “I shall go check on her.”

            The door to my wife’s bedroom is shut firmly when I reach it. I knock softly at first, “Is everything alright dear?” No answer. I knock again, still nothing. “Dear its John, are you alright in there? Please come to the door.” I try the handle, locked. “Dear open the door,” I call earnestly. I begin to pound on the door, hoping she will come to answer it. I hear footfalls behind me and know that my pounding has summoned Jennie.


“John is everything alright?”


I gesture towards the door, “She’s not answering and has locked the door.”


Jennie quickly turns away and races down the hall returning moments later with a key in her hand. She brushes past me;


“I had a skeleton key made for the entire house in case anything of this nature should occur.”


I hear the lock click open and the door swings wide. Stepping into the dimness of the room my eyes take a moment to adjust and at first I miss the huddled mass of my wife in the corner of the room. Jennie gasps behind me and a second later I know why. Almost the entirety of the room has been haphazardly shredded of its wallpaper.

            I cross the room in three quick bounds and kneel beside my wife. Her hands are bloody and clutch the missing steak knife close to her chest. When she turns to look up at me I see the detachment of reality in her eyes, the absolute insanity, but somehow I see relief in them as well, a kind of peace. She smiles and tears prick her eyes,


“I’ve done it John. I’ve freed her.”

About a year later

            My wife has been in an asylum for about a year now. Ever since her break over the past summer at my sisters I came to the conclusion that she was beyond my help. Now I visit her here, hoping she may be able to return home with me some day. I have been informed by one of her nurses that she was recently moved to a new room and as I walk the hall towards it I brace myself for what will inevitably be a short but trying visit. When I come to the room I notice the door is slightly ajar and so I knock once and let myself in. I’m struck speechless by what I find. Yellow wallpaper.