My Wife Took a New Designer Drug Called Nocturnalia, Things Became Weird
Channel: Scary Stories
Date: 2022-12-02

My Wife Took a New Designer Drug Called Nocturnalia, Things Became Weird

“Don’t do drugs, kid, unless you want to have some fun.”

That’s the first thing my wife Janet ever said me, giving me a wink. She promptly swallowed a little pill, and without another word, held one out for me. I made a dismissive gesture and off she went, back to the dance floor.

It was at one of those hidden little back alley scene club, the type frequented by the weirder or more alternative parts of the population. You know the type: free spirits, esoterics, soul searchers, musicians, artists.

I could tell right away that the other patrons comprised a group of tightly knit regulars.

Somehow, though, I’d caught Janet’s attention and after only half an hour, she was back by my side.

We ended up talking for hours that night.

I guess it’s because of how different we were and how I clearly didn’t belong in her world. I’m a mathematician, a number cruncher so to speak, and work in controlling. Janet, on the other hand, was a free spirit, a painter, and always willing to explore new and interesting things, including substances.

Somehow, though, we hit it off and somehow we made it work. We got married six months later.

Our relationship was amazing. It felt as if all of our differences only brought us closer to one another. Sure, we had our problems, everyone does, and sure, I wasn’t the biggest fan of her little habit, but I had my own vices. Namely, costly bourbon.

Yet, we made it work, and I often took part in Janet’s ‘special little evenings.’ Janet would get high on acid or other psychedelics while painting, and I’d be with her getting drunk. Say what you want, but things never got out of hand; it was all recreational and nothing more than a bit of fun.

All that changed when Joseph came around.

Janet had her little clique of friends, a group of regulars she’d met over the years at her favorite hidden little clubs and bars. It comprised artists as weird as herself and who shared her interests. I never clicked with any of them, given how different I was, but they were all nice enough.

Joseph was different.

One of Janet’s friends had met him at a club and he’d quickly become a part of their little group. He was a suave guy who seemed to care more about appearances than anything else. I first met him when Janet held one of her group’s meetings in our living room.

I knew right away I’d never get along with that guy.

He had this grating, over-pronounced voice, and called himself a poet in prose, a writer who only bothered with topics of the highest elegance. Thus, his works would never catch on with mainstream audiences, and could only be enjoyed by a few select connoisseurs.

When I heard this type of pretentious bullshit, I almost couldn’t help but groan, and after giving the rest of the group a quick hello, I left them to their own devices.

That evening, I busied myself at the computer while hanging out with my good friend, Mr. Bourbon. Yet, a few times, driven by some strange sense of curiosity, I cracked open the door and listened in on their conversations. It was the usual artists’ talk, the stuff that went right over my head.

Occasionally, however, I caught on to Joseph’s grating voice as he disclosed the topics his art concerned. He’d talk about dreams and what was hidden behind them, things outside our universe, and what lay beyond our conventional, mundane reality. It was nothing but esoteric bullshit, most likely fueled by whatever drug he was on.

Janet and her friends, however, seemed entranced by the guy, and he soon become the center of their little group. This also meant that whenever they’d meet at our place, I’d have to tolerate the guy’s presence.

When I talked to Janet about it, she merely shrugged.

“He’s just an eccentric artist, you know. You’re married to one yourself.”

I laughed and accepted it. At least at first.

The more often I met him, however, the more I couldn’t deny something was wrong with this guy. He had this sort of... aura around him, one I couldn’t put anywhere and that I couldn’t help but be unsettled by.

I wish I’d done something by then, I truly wish, but I guess it was already too late by that point.

It was no other than Joseph who, unbeknownst to me, introduced her to this fancy new designer drug, this Nocturnalia.

I only found out about her using it by chance. One evening, I found Janet painting, while taking a hit from some strange, glistening powder. When I asked her about it, she told me it was nothing but another psychedelic.

I knew Janet was smart, I knew she was a responsible user, and I knew she always did her research.

Yet, I soon noticed the changes.

Janet’s paintings were beautiful, but also of a peculiar kind. Her works were more about colors and emotions than motifs. Yet, they all had one thing in common: they were bright and vibrant.

After she started taking Nocturnalia, her works became different. At first it were slight changes. Nothing but the minutest c