Henry came back to bed from the washroom, and lowered himself with a grunt. At their age, getting in and out of bed had become a high-risk sport.

In the dark, he could barely see the outline of his wife Martha under the cover. A warm wave of affection and desire rose, he reached out and pulled her unresisting body closer, savouring her warm softness. He cuddled her. She murmured something and arched her bum into him. He twitched in response. It had been a while- they were always so tired by the evening and all the medications they had to take were no help- but he felt rejuvenated as he tugged at her nightshirt, suddenly eager to get at her bare skin. Her eyes and teeth glinted in the dark, and he realised with a flush of joy that she was just as willing as he was, and within seconds, they were rolling into their familiar beloved pattern and then he was deep inside her.

In the fog of the emotional physical intensity, he realised something wasn’t right- there wasn’t enough flesh, and there was too much hair.

Martha’s body, her skin, all wrong, the textures and shapes – and then a whoosh of hair, soft and silky unlike anything he had touched for twenty years brushed against his face.

“Martha?” he cried.

“yesss honey” she murmured – the voice was right but not right. He squinted in the tar-black darkness– fear overtook him and, still inside her, reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. Harsh light flooded his eyes as he tried to understand the young smiling woman beneath him.

“It’s me, Henry. I just had some treatments done. That’s all.”

Henry shrivelled. She looked like she did on their honeymoon, thick glossy hair cascading down her smooth suntanned shoulders, her eyes bright and lustful, her lips full, her waist tiny. “Martha? What treatment?”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about that my darling. I wanted to be young again. Just don’t check our bank account, ok? Come, my love, don’t you want me? Come back inside me” and she reached out slim arms, trying to pull him back in her.

Agonizingly aware of his sagging flesh, protruding belly and grey hair, Henry reeled back in horror. “No no! I never asked for this-”

She laughed again, sounding cruel. ‘Stupid men, thinking everything is about fucking them. Don’t worry dear heart, I know you didn’t ask me- but now you can have me, like I was, like I still feel myself- aren’t you happy? Don’t you want me?”

Henry didn’t answer- and as he scrabbled frantically trying to get off, Martha became possessed by the dangerous fury of a rejected woman. With a cry of rage, she snatched up the lamp smashed it against her husband’s head using all her newfound strength.

Henry fell like a stone. Martha, panting, stared at the bulky mass of her husband lying on the bedroom floor, blood gathering by his temple.