3:00
Pain radiated through my body from my tense thighs to my aching neck as I forced my eyes open. My eyelashes were almost glued shut by heavy sleep; something I had needed for longer than I could tell you.

As far as I knew, I lost my Margaret a week before that night - cancer took her from me and left us longing for a child, but she was unable to bear one - and her smell lingered on.

From my place in the kitchen, I could hear firewood crackling in the living room as a reminder of my moment of reflection before I hit the floor. All I wanted was another pour of moonshine and it was like she hit me from behind to stop me from further harming myself.

I used what little strength I had to push against the linoleum and hoist myself to my feet. I staggered like a child learning to walk and fought with my knees not to buckle.

After a few days, I grew numb to the smell of sweat, urine, and the alcohol overpowering them which turned my stomach less. I also hadn't seen my folks since the burial, and I knew my disposition would break my mother's heart - so I suffered alone.

I trudged away from my puddle of urine, leaning against the wall and the Victorian furniture she inherent when her grandmother passed away from the same disease.

The fire's glow and warmth drew me in like a moth as I made my return to her favorite rocking chair. I made it for the nursery when we first tried for a son.

As I dropped myself in the seat, a pained and weary groan escaped my nostrils, and my heavy eyes drifted to the front door across from me.

Every night, I watched that door and the memories I was forced to relive, brought me more pleasure than the radio once did.

I remember walking hand in hand with her to the door, stepping in, and showing off each room I alone built. Ours, our child's, and a guest room.

Thankfully, she was much more imaginative than I was, so I merely beamed at her excitement as she proclaimed where she wanted what to be. Honestly, I wasn't listening after the mention of drapes and doilies.

We were courting then.

I recalled carrying her in her long white wedding gown, decorated with lace trim on her puff sleeves and the end of the dress. Her mother - Lord rest her soul - had taken inspiration from the many Disney princesses her daughter admired as a child, and gave her to me as she wanted to be.

The house became a home after the wedding.

My body jerked forward when I heard an owl hoot nearby. I gripped the curved edges of the armrests as the drowsiness was lifted from my body.

Not only did that door provide me with memories like a motion screen, it filled me with hope that one day she'd return, this would be another one of my episodes, and I could give her the letter I wrote after she died.

I felt a chill rush across me like a blizzard breeze from above and I raised my eyes to the ceiling, but just as I suspected, there was nothing.

I scanned myself and near my feet for what was once her blanket but only bottles of beer were around me.

The chill turned into goosebumps prickling at my arms and my back.

I trembled to my feet and staggered down the narrow hall of rooms. My eyes, with no control, bounced and flickered, making it almost impossible to find my way to our room.

My desire for warmth shifted to the desperation of a starved man, but despite my best efforts, I never found it.

I was back in the rocking chair, watching the door. Either I decided to wait for the fire to help me, or I plum forgot what I was doing. That happened a lot too.

As my eyes grew heavy was when I heard a knock and that time, I sat up straight. My heart began beating in my chest, and I imagined it to be like an energetic dog because that's how I felt.

Most won't understand, but I knew that knock was hers. I can't even remember how I knew but I did.

If my legs weren't weak, I would've run to let her in, but I could only stammer in that direction, and each step worsened my nerves.

Though it felt like forever, with multiple more knocks in between, I stood at the door with a smile. I imagined her eyes, hair, and youthful glow and it gave me the courage to set my hand on the knob.

Maybe it was God...or her, but someone or something stopped me. I sat there squeezing the cold knob and it wasn't until it was warm that it dawned on me - I didn't remember her name.

I scoffed at myself. How could I face her if I didn't know her name? What would she think?

The tug and push away from the door weakened as if whatever was protecting me gave up, and when I opened the door, I wished it didn't.

Her eyes were almost completely white, making it difficult to distinguish her irises from her eye bulbs. Her skin was ghostly pale but around her gaze were dark circles similar to mine.

I looked at the dirt under her nails and on her wedding dress. She wasn't wearing her heels and what few pearls were left, hung from her neck by a thin string.

Most would've hugged and kissed their spouses regardless, and I imagined myself doing the same, but in my dreams, she was as she was when she lived. This person at my door, on our welcome mat - she wasn't my Margaret.

I still held the knob and I wanted to lock her out there in the snow, but I couldn't move. It was like the sight of her left me frozen and in a way, I'm grateful for that bit of closure. If I had more time, I would've rejoined sobriety but my jittery eyes slowly faded to darkness.

Before there was nothing, she outstretched one hand with her palm downcast, and I heard my body drop to the floor.

I caught a glimpse of a dark figure wielding a scythe; it took her position and was looking at me. I could only watch it wave the scythe in the air with one motion before I was gone too.

Reunited with my Margaret.