Fables From Moving in With My Boyfriend

Many years ago, a young boy was wandering through a deep, dark forest. As he trekked on alone, armed only with a small canteen of Mountain Dew Code Red and a careworn book of spells drafted during his biweekly D&D campaign, he stumbled upon a demon most foul. The demon reared its head and snarled, plumes of sulfuric smoke smelling faintly of Marlboro 27’s billowing from its flared nostrils. The boy was frightened but stood firm, ready to fight. He brandished a mechanical keyboard above his head, hoping to deafen the demon into submission. His attempts at banishing the demon only spurred its monstrous ire. Seeing the boy would not back down, the demon cast a curse upon him. The boy collapsed to the earth, his vision blurred and his head howling in pain. The demon cackled as it ascended into the gloomy forest canopy, its raspy voice bellowing through the air. “Someday, young fool, you will meet a woman. You will fall in love, and then and only then will you know what is to become of you. Farewell!”

The demon vanished into the misty darkness. The boy dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his temples. Had there truly been a demon? Was this not some deception of the dark forest? Only time would tell.

Years passed in a relative calm, until one fateful afternoon when the boy, now a handsome young man with a cute tush, decided to wile away the hours on Bumble. There he came upon a passably attractive young lady who tried only a little too hard in her bio, and without hesitation, his hand did swipe right. They met and fell instantly in love, and a year was spent in the most joyous bliss. Until one afternoon when the pair gathered their earthly belongings and moved in together, and thus their fate was sealed.

At first the woman noticed nothing. Small things here and there, nothing to remark upon. Until one evening when the young man was out and the woman had decided to take her third stress nap of the day. She peeled back the comforter and a scream escaped her lips. There, burned into the fitted sheet as though by the devil himself, just below where one of the cats had yarfed in a hot pile for the four hundredth time, was an inscription. Terror rising in her throat, the woman read the hideous message:

“It is I, the forest demon whom you offended years ago. Surprise, bitch! The terms of the curse have come to pass, as follows:

Every time you grocery shop, you must touch and remark upon every object you come across, though they may number in the many hundreds, lest every morsel of food you consume thenceforth be turned to dust.

When you are defrosting a chicken breast, you must forget to check if the plug is in the bottom of the sink before you run water over it. The water shall rise like a demon tide and spill forth from the sink, causing a biblical flood in the kitchen of such magnitude that it shall require your girlfriend’s bath towels to quell the ferocious tides. You shall do this two times within a very short span, forever to be known as The “I Suppose I’ll Shower Later Then” Epoch, which is honestly a lot of times to flood the kitchen if you really think about it. Do so or lose your chicken privileges.

When retrieving items stowed away in your cupboards, you must leave the cabinet doors wide open and saunter blissfully away so that your kitchen looks like the Sixth Sense, to pay homage to the supreme ruler of the underworld, Haley Joel Osment.

When you walk beside your girlfriend, your body will transfigure into the set of Speed 3, and should you slow to a pace befitting a human mortal, your body will explode and all who are near shall perish.

You have been warned!”

Trembling, the woman collapsed onto the bed. How could this be? How could this man whom she loved so much be entrenched in such horrors? Suddenly, she felt her legs begin to burn. Shrieking, she leapt from the bed. Below the cursed message, in letters glowing red like hot coals, a new missive appeared (it was a long bed). She crept nearer and read its ghostly tale:

“A final warning: Should you remain silent during a video game, should your mouth refuse the shouts and yelps and hoo boy’s and what the fuck’s that have pierced the peaceful silence of your shared abode for many months now, your tongue will curl up and shrivel and die and will never again utter for the seventeenth time this hour that your girlfriend’s minor, indistinguishable change in makeup regimen really does look okay, I promise, honey why would I tell you it looks okay if it looks bad, we are late though… yeah, you can change it...

Thus it shall be!”

As if on cue, the front door flung open and the young man emerged from the threshold. Looking her deeply in the eyes, he cleared his throat to speak.

“Red Dead Online dropped today, so there goes my next month!”

She fainted.

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