Episode1
I swear I saw him. I felt his hand, I tasted his mintsweet breath, as I always had. He wore that oversized grey hoodie that made him look like a gentle bully the one I used to tease him about. He was real, wrapping his arms around me all night, whispering I love you into my ear. He promised we would wed next year. I remember every second: the way his fingers slid down my arm, how he wept when I wept, how he made love with such fierce devotion that I thought my soul might split in two. And then he vanished.
I woke alone, yet I felt no terror. I told myself I had simply gone for a run, as I sometimes did. His cologne still lingered on the sheets, and the heat on my skin where his hand had been lingered like a phantom. Something didnt fit, though.
I called.
Again.
And again.
Then my dearest friend, Eleanor, slipped into my bedroom, her face drained of colour. She seemed bewildered by my tears.
Emily she whispered. Dont you know?
I laughed. Know what?
Arthur is dead.
I blinked. Dead how?
Her sobs rose. He died two days ago. A car crash, the night of the storm.
No. No. No.
I shouted, pushed her away, called her cruel for saying it, told her it was a joke. I showed her the text Arthur had sent the night before, the voice note that said, Im on my way. I miss your body next to mine. Eleanor stared at the phone, trembling.
Emily he couldnt have sent that. He was already in the mortuary.
The world tipped. My knees gave way. I bolted to the bathroom, grabbed the towel hed used, still damp. His hoodie lay crumpled on the floor. The faint bitemark on my neck. He had been there. He must have been.
But the truth was Arthur had been buried yesterday. And, somehow, I had lain with him the night before.
The days slipped by. Nights grew unbearable. Sleep eluded me; whenever I closed my eyes I saw himsometimes standing at the foot of my bed, sometimes murmuring in my ear. One night his voice floated to me: Dont weep, love. Im still with you. I tried to record it, but all I got was static and my own terrified breathing.
Then my period stopped. Twice.
I blamed stress, grief, trauma. Until I vomited for the fifth time in a single day. I took a test. Two lines. Positive. I collapsed. The only man I had been with was Arthur. Yet he lay in a grave, rotting away. Still, something grew inside me, kicking in the night, a faint glow beneath my skin when the lights went out. And each time I sobbed, saying I could not bear this, I heard a whisper from the shadows:
You are not alone. Our child is coming.
Episode2
I cannot recall falling asleep. I only remember waking in the bathtub, the pregnancy test clenched in my hand, those two pink lines mocking my sanity. I had not spoken to anyone for days not even Eleanor. My phone rang a dozen times, its screen flashing her name; I ignored every call.
How could I explain that I was carrying a child conceived by a man who had been six feet under for weeks? Who would believe me? Even I doubted it, until that night.
Just as I was drifting off, a pressure pressed against my belly from within. It was no ordinary kick; it felt clever, deliberate, as if trying to catch my attention. I sat bolt upright, gasping, hands clasped over my stomach, and heard his voice again, inside my head.
Fear not, love. I chose you.
I screamed and fled the bed, staring at my belly in the mirror, pulling my shirt aside. I could have sworn I saw a faint blue pulse just beneath my skin. It flickered then vanished. My legs gave out; I fell to the floor, weeping.
The following day I forced myself into the hospital. I told the doctor that I had become pregnant after my boyfriend visited me. I fibbed about the dates, about everythingexcept the symptoms.
Strange dreams. Skin that glows. Hearing voices of someone who isnt there.
Her expression shifted from concern to a calm suspicion.
Well run some tests, she said cautiously. Stress can do a great deal to the mind, especially when hormones are in flux.
She pressed her stethoscope to my womb. Her face went still.
I cant hear a heartbeat, but something is moving.
She ordered an ultrasound. Lying on the cold metal table, I watched the technicians face turn pallid as she adjusted the scanner. She said nothing until I asked what was happening.
Theres a fetus, she whispered, but its shining.
I left the hospital without waiting for the results. That night I dreamed again. Arthur stood by the old lake where we used to meet, the wind ruffling his hoodies hood.
Our child is not like the others, he said, his voice softer than a breeze. He is me and something more.
What do you mean? I asked.
He only gave a sad smile. Youll understand soon. You must protect him.
I awoke to find the curtains flung wide, though I had locked everything. The hoodie from the dream lay neatly folded on the edge of my bed, still warm to the touch. I knew thenwhat grew inside me was real. It was his, and it was changing me.
The next day I finally called Eleanor. I needed help. She came running, clasped me tightly, and listened to every detail: the glowing spot on my belly, the nightly voices, the dreams. She did not laugh. She did not scream. She whispered, We need to take you somewhere.
She led me to an old cottage hidden behind her grandmothers churchyard. Inside sat an ancient woman with long grey braids and pallid eyes. She looked at me once, then said,
You are not the first, but you must be the last.
I asked what she meant, and her answer chilled me to the bone.
You carry the child of a bound spirit. That baby is both a blessing and a warning. Its father should never have returned. The door is now open, and others are crossing.
Take it away? I asked.
To take you away.
Suddenly the lights flickered. A cold draft slipped through the windows. From the shadows I heard Arthurs voice again:
Run.
Episode3
The room turned icy. The old womans eyes widened in dread as shadows stretched across the walls like claws.
He is here, she whispered, clutching a rosary of twisted oak and bone.
Eleanor shoved me behind her. But I was no longer afraid of Arthur. I feared what the old woman spoke ofthe others that had been summoned because he had broken the rules.
She scattered ash in a circle and told me to stand inside.
Dont leave that circle, whatever happens. Do you hear me? You are now a bridge, a crossing between the living and the dead. Bridges are crossed both ways.
I stepped into the ring. My belly glowed with that same unsettling light. The baby kicked harder than ever. Then voices swarmed indozens, perhaps hundredsshouts, moans, pleas, laughter, all emanating from the darkness.
Tari, please, I whispered, what is happening?
And I saw him.
His eyes were empty, filled with sorrow and fear.
Im sorry, he said. I never meant to drag you into this. I just missed you so terribly. I wanted one more night, one more moment. I didnt know I was opening a doorway.
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Why me? Why the child?
He glanced at my belly, then at me.
Because our love was stronger than death. But love like that shatters the laws.
From the gloom a twisted, monstrous figure emerged, halfface, eyes blazing. It whistled at my sight. Arthur stepped between us.
You cannot have her! it roared. You cannot take our child!
The monster laughed.
You broke the rule, spirit. You touched the living. Now we feast.
The room shook. The old woman began to chant in a strange tongue. Eleanor clutched my hand, sobbing.
Emily! Stay inside the circle!
I shouted as the beast lunged. Arthur knocked it aside in midair. The old woman screamed,
NOW! Choose, child! Life or love?
Arthur, bloodied and fading, turned to me.
You must let me go, love. For our child. For you.
I shook my head, refusing.
You never truly left. I live in him now, in you. But if you cling, they will take everything.
The lights exploded. The floor cracked. Shadows howled. With every ounce of pain in my heart I cried his name and said goodbye.
In that instant he smiled. And he was gone.
The darkness receded. The monster shrieked and dissolved into smoke. Silence fell.
I collapsed. The circle dimmed. My baby kicked once, then again, and settled.
Nine months later I gave birth to a boy. He did not cry like other infants; he simply looked me in the eye, quiet and serene, as if he already understood everything. His skin faintly glowed in the dark. And sometimes, when I sing to him at night, I swear I hear a second voice harmonising with mineArthurs voice.
I named him Arthur Jr., for he belongs to the spirit of the man who never truly left.
Before he crossed over, he left me one final gift: a fragment of himself that no shadow can ever take away.
The end.
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