Look at Me

"Look at me."
He ignores my command, sitting still by the sill, from where he used to watch her every evening as she cooked.
He feared her presence as much as I had, not without reason. To the public, she was an angel - oh yes, indeed - but once the doors shut, her malevolence arose. Her disappearance had raised a few questions but I had sold the tale convincingly. She had left us and gone.
The public believed it. And in saying it over and over again, the two of us too had begun to believe the lie.
Until tonight when I returned home and he was sitting by the sill once more, his hair on end, staring beyond me at the empty chair she had always fancied.

"Look at me." I plead. He does not acknowledge my words; does not make any motion to come towards me. I hear the wooden chair creak and the cat's eyes bulge in fright before it scampers out the window.
I refuse to look back. It is just the winter. It is just the winter and I am alone in this house and she is gone and I alone know where she lies buried and nothing can harm me and...
I hear her breath beside me, wet and guttural, and a tear starts to fall down my cheek as she whispers three words into my ears.
"Look at me."

Author's note:

The above short story is based on the image prompt provided by Magpie Tales (Mag 294).