Freddy snored, his mouth wide open, a trickle of drool leaking from the corner of his lips and staining his already gooey pillow. The noise was thunderously loud. It shook the bed and reverberated throughout the bedroom. Irma had a sudden impulse: shoving her fist into her husband’s gaping throat to kill that roaring sound. She hadn’t slept three nights in a row and felt tattered and torn.

###

Freddy hummed as he walked into the kitchen. “Up early again, honey?”

Irma felt like throwing something at his ugly face, a kettle… of boiling water. Anything!

“It’s your snoring, Fred,” she said feebly.

“Not this again! Why don’t you ever wear the bloody earmuffs?”

“I know. It’s my fault if you snore like a herd of pigs.”

Freddy shook his head, rose from his chair and brushed a soft kiss across Irma’s forehead. “I’ll be back by noon,” he muttered, before slamming the door behind him,

###

Angela picked up. “How are you, dear?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Angie. I refuse to live the rest of my life like a zombie!”

“What can I say, Irma? Maybe —”

“I wish him dead, sometimes. You’re lucky yours died in his sleep!”

“Ralph’s snoring made my life hell for a long time before he passed. I read somewhere that it’s hereditary.”

“Why doesn’t this selfish animal croak in his sleep like his brother? I feel like crawling toward my coffin, Angie,” Irma wailed.

There was a prolonged silence, then Angela whispered: “Irma, I need to tell you something. Can we meet for tea this afternoon?

“I haven’t the strength to go anywhere.”

“Three o'clock at your place, then?”

“Alright,” Irma said, hanging up.

###

The rumbling erupted around midnight and grew in intensity until it resounded across the bedroom. Irma waited a few minutes, then she took a square piece of curtain lined with rubber backing and placed it gently on Freddy’s face. She had been shocked, but at the same time exhilarated when Angela had revealed what really happened to her husband, Freddy’s brother. “That small piece of cloth did the job?” Irma had asked, an incredulous look on her face.

Angela had nodded. “It’ll do yours too. It’s the release of carbon monoxide in enclosed environment. Took only four nights.”

Irma listened as Freddy’s breathing became ragged, then paused. Suddenly his whole frame shook, and he threw away the cloth, gasping for air. Irma’s heart raced. But Freddy didn’t wake up. He tossed and turned, then resumed his snorting.

“Another try tomorrow,” Irma whispered, hiding the cloth under her pillow.

On the fifth night, Freddy woke up with a start, stared blankly at the cloth on his body and stared at Irma. “What’s this?” He asked.

“Oh! Sorry! Must have fallen off my eyes. I can’t sleep with the streetlight seeping through the broken blinds.”

Freddy sat for a few seconds more, then fell back again. His snore slowly rose to a crescendo, until it rocked the bedroom again.

On Irma’s seventh attempt, Freddy’s snore became softer, and his breathing smoothed out. He had several hiccups, then the room went silent.

“Oh my God, it works!” Irma whispered, tears of joy brimming in her eyes. Before she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, she thought: ‘tomorrow shall be a new day!’

***

Freddy hummed as he merrily walked down the stairs. He smirked as he shoved the square piece of cloth lined with rubber into the garbage bin.

He languidly sipped his usual strong coffee and ate his cereal.

Then he reached for his cellphone and dialled 9-1-1.