The Smell of Candles
The new wife hated the smell of candles. Her husband had gotten used to the smell on account of his previous bedmate but she could never grow accustomed to the sickly hot smell of old wax. His previous wife had been frightened of the dark, he had said, and would need the candlelight to lull her to sleep. His clothes emanated the scent, so vomit-inducingly potent, that she had not been able to embrace him for months. Her snoring husband beside her, she decided firmly that sleep was not likely to come for her that night. She had taken to wandering the halls at night, refusing to use a candle to light her way, as that was counterproductive to her goal; that is, for the scent to leave her, for her predecessor’s ghostly hand to release her shoulder. And so, she wandered and wondered.
