My wife has been peeking at me from around corners and behind furniture. It's gone from weird to terrifying

My wife "Lynn" and I have been together for six years and married for 11 months. Our entire history together has been very normal and never once have I noticed any weird behaviors or red flags. I can't stress enough how out of character this whole thing is for her. No, I didn't catch her sneaking off to fuck someone else. No, it's not any kind of drug or alcohol problem. There their weird obsession, the weird fixation that's consumed my entire household for the past two months now: She thinks my face is a map. The first time it happened, I was in the kitchen making myself some coffee before heading to work. I was lost in thought when I heard a very faint whisper, barely audible from behind the fridge. I turned to see peeking out from around the corner, just above the line where the counter met the fridge, a pair of peering eyes. My heart leaped out of my chest. My hands began to shake. I turned and looked at the clock. Maybe I had slept in? Could Lynn have gotten up before me? Had she been up all night? I squinted at the clock. 5:03. No, this was not like her. It had to be a burglar. But in that case, why on earth would a burglar be hiding behind the fridge, just peeking out at me? And then again, why would they be so quiet? They had to have heard the coffee brewer going, could see me standing right there. It made zero sense. "Hello?" I said. "Lynn, is that you?" I heard nothing, but the eyes never left mine. Just two piercing, blank stares. Finally, I worked up the courage to slowly walk towards the fridge, saying "Lynn, is that you? What the \*hell\* are you doing?" I rounded the corner just in time to see her scurry out of view. I heard a thud as she fell to the ground, and then the sound of feet pattering as she fled the kitchen. I followed her at a jog, but she had already made it to the stairs. Halfway up, I heard the bathroom door shut. I slowed to a stop in the living room. What on earth had just happened? Had I dreamed it? No, I was positive that I hadn't. And what the hell was she doing? Had she gotten into something before bed? Had she received some kind of bad news recently? She seemed totally normal the night before. I went back to the kitchen, dreading the upcoming conversation that was about to happen. I made myself a cup of coffee with a dash of vanilla creamer, then headed back upstairs. I tapped on the bathroom door. "Hey, you ok in there?" "You look different," was her response, barely above a whisper. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," she said. "Your face looks different." I was taken aback. "What do you mean it looks different?" "I don't know," she said. "It just does." I shifted uncomfortably, shifting the coffee cup in my hand. "Lynn, what's going on? Why are you acting this way? You're starting to scare me." "I think you know what I mean. Your face just looks...different." I heard the toilet paper spin, and the sound of feet shuffling around on the tile. I squinted. I had no idea what she was getting at. Was she hallucinating? Had she gotten into my weed? But it was impossible that she wouldn't have known about it - she had helped me buy the weed mower for the front yard. Finally, the door cracked open, and her eyes appeared. Lynn's face was famously beautiful, and her eyes were its centerpiece: two bright blue marbles that seemed to shimmer in the light. But today, they were different. Today, they seemed to be going in the wrong direction. Like they were too big, too round; too full of \*something.\* "Listen," I said. "I think we need to talk about whatever's going on with you. Ok?" "I think you know what I mean. Your face...it looks different...you know what I mean, don't you?" "No, Lynn. I don't." I heard a scuttling from behind the door, and then her voice came from the floor. "I think you do. I can see it more clearly now." I squinted at her face on the ground. "What do you mean? How are you acting this way? This is just...so out of character for you...I don't know what to say." "I think you know what I mean," she said. I shifted my weight. I didn't know what to say. She seemed to have gone into some kind of fugue state, and I had no idea how to get her out of it. I could call her parents? But what would I say? What would they think? "I want to help you, Lynn," I said. "But you need to tell me what's going on." "I think you know what I mean," she said. "I think you know exactly what I mean." "Fine," I said. "Tell me what you mean. What's going on?" "You face," she said, "looks different...it just...do you ever feel like your face is a map?" I shifted uncomfortably. I had no idea what to say. "Uh, no," I said. "No, I don't." There was a long, drawn out pause. It was probably ten or twenty seconds before she spoke. "I can see it more clearly now. Your face is a map." I shifted uncomfortably. "Map to what?" I said. "I can see it more clearly now," she said. "Your face...is a map...to something important. I know it." I squinted at her face on the floor. "What do you mean it's a map?" "I can see it more clearly now," she said. "Your face is a map. I know it. And I need to follow it." I stood there frozen. She was beginning to frighten me. "I think you need to calm down," I said. "Ok? Let's talk about this after work, alright?" "I \*can\* see it more clearly now," she said. "I think I've been looking for it my whole life." I shifted uncomfortably again. I had no idea how to respond to her. She just lay there on the tile, not moving at all, saying nothing but "I can see it more clearly now" over and over and over again. She seemed to be in some sort of fugue. "I'm going to work," I said. "See you tonight." I walked away from the door, listening as her voice faded into the distance. "I can see it more clearly now...I can see it more clearly now...I can see it more clearly now... " That evening, I got home from work around 6:00, dreading the conversation that I knew I was about to have.

My wife has been peeking at me from around corners and behind furniture. It's gone from weird to terrifying

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