Nicki didn't go to Heaven (Subreddit Real life Story)
Nicki didn't go to Heaven
*One day, there’s no more room in heaven*
*The pearly gates are closed.*
*All the angels come on down.*
*Come on down.*
It was just a nursery rhyme my grandfather used to sing. A reminder to be good, and to accept things for what they are instead of needlessly holding on to the superficial. A story of heaven being closed, and even the angels being left outside. I remember asking him, once, what that world would look like. He stroked my hair, held me tight, and sighed.
“You’ll see, dear boy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but you’ll see.”
My grandfather has been gone for a long time now. His ashes were spread on the lavender fields outside Tomskog, Minnesota. Part of me still get this sinking feeling when I think of him, and another part of me just hopes he made it through the gates.
No, I’m not a very religious person. But a sentence can paint a concept, and a concept can be a powerful thing. Maybe there is no pearly gate in the sky, but maybe there is a sense of peace to experience in our final moments. That’s all I can hope for; both for him, and for me.
All throughout my life, I’ve had this idea lingering in the back of my mind. It hasn’t really affected me in any particular way, but it is something I haven’t been able to forget. But some time ago, it became relevant in a way I would never have imagined.
I was working at a café at the time. Nicki was my closest coworker. We shared every shift, and she was just a beam of light wherever she went. She was half the reason we had as many customers as we did; she was simply a delight, and she made every regular feel seen. She was kind, honest, and genuine. At the end of every shift, she’d ask me not just to have a ‘good one’, but to have the ‘best one’. A quirk of hers.
Then, she had a brain aneurysm.
Most people don’t survive it, but Nicki did. Maybe it was a mild one. We were all waiting anxiously for an update, and eventually, word came down. Nicki was going to be alright, with little to no permanent damage. She was going to return to work once her recovery was done. There was a palpable sense of relief in the air both for us and the regulars – everything was going to be okay.
Of course, that’s not what happened.
When Nicki came back, she had visibly changed. It wasn’t much of a surprise, given what she’d gone through, but it was clear that something drastic had happened. Even at a glance, she’d lost about 20 pounds, and must have shaved her head at some point – it had just started to grow back. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days, and there was a tilt to her stance. She was hunched over, as if needing to lean on something for support.
Still, it was Nicki, and we were all relieved to see her back behind the register. Even if her smile was a bit crooked.
But there were many changes. They were subtle at first. She would forget the occasional name or spell something wrong. I figured it was just a leftover from her aneurysm; something that would go away over time. She was supposed to make a full recovery, after all. But seeing the way her eyes glazed over as she talked to other people made me wonder – was she making an honest mistake, or had she stopped caring?
I remember ending a shift with her, and as we closed shop, I waved goodbye. I was expecting her to say something back, like she always did, but she didn’t. She didn’t ask me to have a ‘best one’, or even a ‘good one’. She just stood there in complete silence, her eyes a thousand miles away. So instead, I took the initiative. I got back in the café, walked up to her, and cleared my throat.
“You alright, Nicki?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m good. Great.”
“You seem-“
“Seem what?”
She turned to me, clearly not interested in discussing the topic further. Expecting an answer, she went quiet. I shrugged it off.
“Nothing,” I smiled. “You have a good one.”
“Yeah.”
And that was that.
Over the next few days, I noticed more and more things that were off about her. She would not only forget her regulars, but actively snap back at them. She’d mess up her orders. At one point she almost broke the microwave in the break room. She just stood there, watching the plate spin as the spoon she’d left in her cup sparkled. She knew it was wrong – she just didn’t care.
But I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t step in. Not until I noticed her short-changing an older man. He owed $6 and handed Nicki a fifty. She gave him $34 back, trying to pocket a ten. Skim a little off the top. It was pretty smooth, really – she counted $44, but left the ten out when she handed the money over. That’s when I stepped in, trying my best to make it look like an honest mistake. The old man didn’t seem to mind, he’d always liked Nicki.
She turned towards me and gave me this look. I’d never seen it before. A joyless smile behind darkened eyes. A look that said she would do her best to ruin my day.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “I would’ve felt awful.”
She wouldn’t. I don’t know how I know, but I saw it. There was no hint of regret behind that smile.
I tried to be sympathetic. I’d heard about people having personality changes after massive personal trauma – it’s to be expected. But Nicki hadn’t just changed, it’s like I was looking at a stranger. None of her enthusiasm was there. There was a callous disregard, and even disgust, towards the things that made her so wonderful to begin with.
But that also gave me a frightening thought.
From all the things I’d seen her do – what else was she doing when no one was looking? How far would she go, given how she’d been ready to scam that old man? Did I even want to know?
During our next shift, I tested her. I’d come back at irregular times, checking in on her when she thought I wasn’t looking. She’d be on her phone. Leaving the freezer open. Forgetting to lock the back door. And, strangest of all – smoking. I’d never seen her smoke, and all of a sudden, she was doing it in the break room.
But the final straw was at the end of the workday, when I saw her pocket money from the register. It was a complete accident that I noticed. I’d gone back to get a napkin and caught her red-handed. We looked at one another across the room. Her face was like a brick wall, but I could see it tremble. It cracked to reveal that joyless smile, and those unblinking, dark eyes.
“You didn’t see what you think you saw,” she said.
“I think I did,” I answered.
“No, you didn’t see shit.”
She approached me. Even her walk was different.
She got within an arms’ reach and put her hands on her hips, tossing an apron over her shoulder.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” she smiled. “You think you know me? You think you know this person?”
“Nicki, you gotta stop,” I said. “This has to stop.”
“This has to *nothing*,” she laughed. “And you know why?”
She leaned in close. I could hear her bite down, as if forcing her jaw shut. Her voice was spiteful – angry. Like she was holding back something terrible.
“…because if I hear that you’ve said anything, to anyone…”
Nicki took a step back, letting her cheerful façade fall back into place. And with the same joyful smile as ever, she put up two fingers. Playful little scissors.
“…snip snip.”
I talked to the manager the next day.
I hadn’t planned on it, but I couldn’t stay quiet. I told her about the threats, the register, the change, the smoking… all of it. I tried to be clear that I cared about Nicki, but that she was harming the place – and herself. My manager didn’t seem all too surprised. Apparently, others had taken notice as well. She was going to talk to Nicki later that day anyway; I’d just added fuel to the fire.
I felt awful about it. But thinking back on that little ‘snip snip’… yeah. No. I didn’t even want to begin considering what she would be capable of. There was no way to know anymore. Whatever’d happened to Nicki, it had made one thing certain; I had no idea who this person was anymore.
She was let go soon after. I wasn’t there for it, but my manager was visibly upset afterwards. She didn’t want to talk about it, so I can only imagine what’d been said behind closed doors.
I thought that’d be it, but that was only the beginning.
The morning of the first shift without Nicki, I was the first on site. Right outside the door was a pair of scissors neatly laid out. Next to them were a handful of sunflowers with their heads cut off. They’d been thrown to the side and left in the dirt, turning a bright blue in the process. Didn’t know they did that. There was no doubt in my mind that this was a threat, and I could feel an unease settle in my stomach. An ever so light sweat crawled across my skin.
Just as I was about to open the door, a thought washed over me. I checked under the handle, noticing a razor blade taped to the back. Had I pushed down on it, I would’ve cut a gash across my palm. I removed it and told my manager about it, but there was nothing we could do. The security cameras for the back area hadn’t worked for months – something that Nicki knew all too well.
Throughout the day, I couldn’t help but to wonder what she was going to do next. Maybe nothing – maybe something downright violent. A threat could just be a threat, but there was something in me telling me that I should take it seriously. This wasn’t Nicki anymore. If she was willing to do something this demented on day one, what was going to happen on day two?
Of course, there were plenty of regulars who asked about her. Most expressed concern, and a couple of them were heartbroken. But what surprised me the most were the ones who were relieved. Apparently, they’d seen something as well.
“It’s not her anymore,” an older woman complained. “It’s like she never really came back.”
Those words stuck with me. ‘Like she never came back’. It really felt that way. Sure, people can change, but people like Nicki? For the first time in years, it made me think back to my grandfather. The pearly gates are closed. All the angels come on down – *come on down*.
For the next few days, the threats were numerous, and obvious. A pair of scissors left outside my door – this time accompanied by two chestnuts. By lunch we got a remote order for three bagels with the additional comment ‘keep it, it’ll be your last meal’. With every poke and prod I was reminded that there really was no telling with this woman.
So yeah, unsurprisingly, my manager got the police involved. And from there it escalated – fast.
They couldn’t find Nicki. Her place was an abandoned mess. Her car had been impounded after being left in the open street. Her bathroom was spattered with drops of blood – seemingly her own.
And she was nowhere to be found. We managed to convince the local sheriff that a patrol car ought to come by to check on the shop every hour or so, but us who worked there seemed to be fair game. There wasn’t evidence that Nicki was the one behind it, even if everything pointed to it. Still, the threats were real, and treated as such. Mostly.
Three days passed without any incident after that. I was beginning to calm down and, maybe, consider this over. There’d been no word of Nicki, and all signs pointed to her having left town.
I came home from work, dropped my keys in the bowl, wiped my shoes, and locked the front door. I stashed away some groceries and grabbed a coke, leaning against the kitchen counter. It’d been a long day, and I had a chicken salad ready to make everything better. That and a guilty pleasure episode of Love is Blind. Don’t judge.
I stepped into the living room, ready to settle in for the night, when I noticed something. The curtains of my living room window had been moved. I never opened those curtains.
I lived on the first floor.
I was sitting down when I turned my head towards the bedroom door. My phone was still on the kitchen counter. I couldn’t see anyone, but I held my breath. I felt like a prey animal, hoping against hope not to be noticed if I just kept still enough.
But no – Nicki noticed.
The sound gave her away long before I saw her. The ‘snip snip’ of a pair of household scissors, followed by that joyless, dead-eye grin peeking around the corner.
I grabbed a vase from the coffee table and got to my feet. At first glance, I couldn’t tell it was Nicki. She’d not only cut her hair, but parts of her face. There was a long slit in her nose reaching almost all the way up to her eyebrows. A couple more nips in her ears, as well as her lip. She didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it made her smile harder.
“…didn’t you get the message?” she grinned.
And as if to make a point, she snipped the scissors twice – and advanced.
It all happened so fast. She jumped over the couch, stepping on the cushions with her raw, bloody, feet. She threw herself at me with complete abandon, laughing as she tumbled to the ground; tearing the curtains down as she went. I instinctively threw the vase at her and went for my phone, but there was no way I’d get the chance to call for help. She was after me.
Instead, I grabbed the first thing within reach – my salad knife.
It struck her in the throat.
Nicki recoiled, pulling out the knife. There was a spurt of blood cast across the white and sky-blue kitchen tiles. She just got a bigger smile on her face as her eyes locked onto mine.
“…you *still* don’t know who you’re talking to.”
Her voice had turned to a sickening wheeze as air escaped the whole in her throat. She fumbled her way towards me as her body struggled to stay upright. She pointed the scissors at me.
“…you don’t *know*.”
And with that, she collapsed.
I grabbed my phone, stepped over her, and tapped in the emergency service number. I was just about to press the call button when an immense pain exploded in my shoulder. Every nerve in the right half of my body felt like it’d been set on fire. I dropped my phone as my fingers cramped, spinning around to see what’d happened. There was a light drag coming from my shoulder; something was stuck in it.
Nicki was back on her feet, as if nothing had happened; blood still pouring out of her neck.
“I’m Kelly,” she said in a cheerful tone, crossing her arms behind her back. “What’s your name?”
“…what?”
That’s all I had the time to say before she attacked again. The scissors that had been lodged in my shoulder fell to the floor, and I ducked her attack to grab them. As I swung around, pushing myself up against the wall for momentum, I attacked her head-on; digging the scissors into her left eye.
For a second, she was quiet. Her breathing stopped. I could hear my own beating heart and see the pulse rushing through my hands. As a moment passed, she blinked. Her right eye unhindered; her left eye pushing against the steel of the scissors. I pushed her away. She should be dead. I’d buried those scissors deep.
“…now I’m Emmett,” she said. “You should be more careful.”
A completely different accent and demeanor. She stood up straighter. She adjusted herself, wiping the blood off her cheek. It didn’t help – she was bleeding profusely, which seemed to annoy her. She pulled the scissors out, giving me a confused look with her one healthy eye.
“…are we killing one another?”
She came at me again. I cut her with the shards of my broken vase. Then she said she was Morgan. I cut her with the broken glass from a fallen portrait, and all of a sudden, she was Lilian. I don’t know how many times she cut me back. My arms got cut to ribbons, and she managed to get a slice across my cheek that just barely missed going into my ear.
I stabbed her over and over with everything I could find, taking out her eyes, throat, heart, lungs. Her stomach looked like a knife block – and still, she was coming at me.
“…I’m Roy,” she gargled. “…you’re gonna *love* me.”
She seemed to literally grow. Her arms extended. Her legs bending at unnatural angles, snapping to attention as her bones settled into her sockets. She ripped off the power cable from a nearby lamp, biting it loose. She didn’t care that it cost her three teeth. She wrapped the cable around her hands, ready to strangle. Another tooth drooled its way out of her mouth as I was cornered in the bedroom.
I tripped over a chair I kept by the bed, breaking it. An old wooden chair that pretty much came with the apartment. I ended up on my back, looking up at Nicki as she came at me with a childlike enthusiasm. A blood-dripping tongue panting with enthusiasm. I managed to get under the bed, but she wrapped the cable around my foot, dragging me back out – kicking and screaming.
She was squeezing my ankle so hard I thought it was gonna pop off.
Then, a siren. The neighbors must’ve called the police.
As Nicki turned her head, I grabbed a chair leg. Heaving myself forward, I managed to get a solid smack across her jaw, causing her to topple over. Pressing my advantage, I crawled on top of her, smacking her with the chair leg over, and over, and over.
“…I’m Mark,” she’d say.
“…I’m Hanna.”
“…I’m Benny.”
“…I’m Nora.”
I’m. I’m. I’m. I’m. I couldn’t stop, and neither could she. She kept coming back. Even after the structure and musculature of her face turned to mush, she kept going.
Long after her words had turned to sounds, I dropped the chair leg. She was barely even twitching, making some ungodly gagging noise. I didn’t even notice I was screaming. Maybe I had been screaming that whole time. It’s as if a soul settled back into my body, bringing my actions into perspective. I’d been beating her to death, but death just… it wouldn’t come.
I could hear sirens coming closer as I wept. Two of her fingers carefully stroked the palm of my left hand, as she opened her mouth. And with a herculean effort, she turned her blind face towards me.
*“…there nothing,” she gargled. “…there nothing.”*
And as those empty eyes locked into mine, she said her final words.
*“Come. On. Down.”*
The police broke down the door and pulled me away. I barely even remember where they took me, I was so dissociated that I only remember the lights. A dark corridor. A bright ambulance. A flashlight checking my eyes. Distant voices. Introductions. I’m nurse this. I’m doctor that. Officer. Sheriff. All asking a thousand questions at once, and only one stood out.
‘Do you understand?’
And no, I didn’t.
They ruled it as a psychotic self-defense episode brought on by harassment and mania. There were investigations, evaluations, sessions… everything. I think there was a doctor Bogan somewhere in there. It passed in a blur. I don’t think I could think straight for well over a month after that attack, it’s like… it uprooted something deep and disturbing within me.
But over time, well… what else can you do but to live? That’s what I did. Now people know me around town as the guy who survived a home invasion brought on by some kind of stalker woman. I’m okay with that narrative. I don’t want to consider what they really ought to call me. What even am I? What was she?
I have to stop calling her Nicki. Nicki was long gone. Maybe she never came back to begin with.
The scars are still there, but they don’t bother me anywhere near as much as those final words. As that eyeless face looked my way, choosing the words that I know only one person would pick.
*Come on down.*
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