**Episode1**
I swear I saw him. I felt his skin, I tasted his kiss, I breathed his warm breathminty as always. He wore that oversized grey hoodie he loved to mock me about, the one that made him look like a gentle bully. He was real. He held me through the night, whispered I love you into my ear, promised wed marry next year. I can replay every second: the way his fingers slid down my arm, the way his tears fell whenever I wept, the way he made love with such ferocity I thought my soul would split in two. And then he vanished.
I woke alone, but fear didnt seize me. I told myself he must have gone for a jog, as he sometimes did. His cologne still lingered on the sheets; my skin still smouldered where his hands had been. Something didnt fit.
I called.
Again.
And again.
Then my best friend, Clare, slipped into my room, her face pale, eyes rimmed with tears.
Ethel you dont know, do you? she whispered.
I laughed. Know what?
James is dead.
My heart stopped. Dead how?
She sobbed harder. He died two days agoin a car crash on the night the storm hit.
No. No. No. I shouted, shoved her away, accused her of cruelty. I showed her the text James had sent the night before: a voice note that said, Im on my way. I miss feeling you next to me. She stared at the phone, trembling.
Ethel he couldnt have sent that. Hes already in the mortuary.
The world tilted. My knees gave way. I bolted to the bathroom, grabbed the damp towel hed used, the hoodie hed left on the floor, the bite mark still etched on my neck.
He had been there. He had to be.
But the truth was James had been buried yesterday.
And somehow, I had made love to him last night.
Days passed. Nights grew unbearable. I couldnt sleep; every time I shut my eyes his silhouette appeared at the foot of my bed, his voice murmuring, Dont cry, love. Im still with you. I tried to record it, but all I caught was static and my own terrified breathing.
Then my period missed. Twice.
I blamed stress, grief, traumauntil I vomited for the fifth time in a single day. I took a pregnancy test. Two pink lines. Positive. I collapsed.
The only man Id ever been with was dead. Buried, rotting, gone. Yet something was growing inside mea kick in the night, a faint glow beneath my skin when the lights were out. And every time I sobbed, I heard a whisper from the shadows:
Youre not alone. Our child is coming.
**Episode2**
I dont remember falling asleep. The first thing I recall is waking in the bathtub, the pregnancy test clenched in my hand, those two pink lines mocking my sanity. I hadnt spoken to anyone for daysnot even Clare. My phone rang dozens of times, her name lighting the screen, and I ignored every call.
How could I explain I was carrying a baby fathered by a man whod been six feet underground for weeks? Who would believe me? Not even I believed ituntil that night.
Just as I was drifting into sleep, a pressure pressed against my belly from within. Not a normal kick, but a deliberate, intelligent tap, as if trying to get my attention. I sat up, gasping, hands cradling my stomach, and heard his voice againinside my head.
Dont be afraid, love. I chose you.
I screamed, leapt out of bed, and stared at my reflection in the mirror, lifting my shirt. I could swear I saw a faint blue pulse beneath my skin, flicker, then vanish. My legs gave out; I collapsed, sobbing.
The next day I forced myself into the A&E at Leeds General Hospital. I told the doctor Id become pregnant after a visit from my boyfriend. I lied about dates, about everythingexcept the symptoms.
Strange dreams, skin that glows, hearing voices of someone who isnt there, I recounted.
The doctors expression shifted from concern to cautious suspicion.
Well run some tests, she said softly. Stress can do a lot to the mind, especially when mixed with pregnancy hormones.
She pressed her stethoscope to my belly. Her face went ashen.
I cant hear a heartbeat. Something is moving.
She ordered an ultrasound. While I lay on the cold metal table, the sonographers eyes grew wide. She adjusted the scanner, silent until I asked what was wrong.
Theres a fetus, she whispered, but its glowing.
I left the hospital without waiting for the results. That night, I dreamed again. James stood by the old pond behind our cottage, the wind ruffling his hoodies hood.
Our child isnt like the others, he said, his voice softer than the breeze. He is me and something more.
What do you mean? I asked.
He only smiled sadly. Youll understand soon. You must protect him.
I awoke to find the curtains flung wide, though Id locked every latch. The hoodie from my dream lay neatly folded at the edge of my bed, still warm to the touch.
Thats when it hit mewhat grew inside me was real. It was his. It was changing me.
The following day I finally called Clare. She arrived breathless, threw her arms around me, and listened as I showed her the luminous spot on my belly, recounted the dreams, the voice, the baby.
She didnt laugh. She didnt scream. She whispered, We need to get you somewhere.
She led me to a crumbling cottage hidden behind her grandmothers church in a Yorkshire village. Inside, an elderly woman with long silver braids and pale eyes stared at me once, then said,
Youre 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 soul. That baby is both a blessingand a warning. Its father should never have returned. The door is open now, and others are crossing.
For what? I asked.
To take you.
The lights flickered. A cold draft swept through the windows. From the shadows, Jamess voice echoed once more:
Run.
**Episode3**
The room turned icecold. The old womans eyes widened with terror as inhuman shadows stretched along the walls like claws.
Hes here, she whispered, clutching a rosary made of twisted oak and bone.
Clare shoved me behind her, but fear of James had fled; now I feared the things the old woman warned aboutthose who came because hed broken the rules.
She scattered ash in a circle and commanded me to stand inside.
Dont step out, no matter what. Do you hear me? she warned. You are a bridge now, between the living and the dead. Bridges are crossed both ways.
I stepped into the circle. My belly glowed with that unsettling light. The baby kicked harder than ever.
Then the voices camedozens, maybe hundredsshouts, moans, pleas, laughter, all emanating from the darkness.
James, please, I begged, whats happening?
He appeared, but not as I remembered. His eyes were empty, full of sorrow and fear.
Im sorry, he whispered. I never meant to drag you into this. I just missed you so much. I wanted one more night, one more moment. I didnt know I was opening a door.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. Why me? Why the baby?
He looked at my belly, then at me. Because our love was stronger than death. And love like that shatters the laws.
A grotesque, twisted figure emerged from the gloomhalfface, eyes blazing. It hissed at my sight.
You cannot have her! it roared. You cannot take our child!
James lunged between us. No! he shouted. You wont have her!
The monster laughed. You broke the rule, spirit. You touched the living. Now we feast.
The walls trembled. The old woman began chanting in a language none of us knew. Clare clutched my hand, sobbing, Ethel! Dont leave the circle!
I screamed as the monster hurled itself at me. James thrust himself forward, throwing the beast into the air. The old womans chant rose to a scream.
NOW! Choose, girllife or love?
James, bloodied and fading, turned to me. You have to let me go, love. For our child. For you.
I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. I cant lose you again!
You never truly lost me, he whispered. I live in him in you. But if you cling, they will take everything.
The lights burst. The floor cracked. Shadows shrieked. With every ounce of anguish in my heart, I shouted his name and said goodbye.
In that instant he smiled, and then he was gone.
The darkness receded. The monster shrieked and dissolved into smoke. Silence fell like a heavy blanket.
I collapsed. The circle dimmed. The baby inside me gave one kick, then another, then settled.
Nine months later I gave birth to a boy. He didnt cry like other infants; he stared into my eyes, quiet and calm, as if he already knew everything. His skin glimmered faintly in the dark. And sometimes, when I sing to him at night, I swear I hear a second voice harmonising with mineJamess voice.
I named him Jameson, meaning son of James. It was never truly mine.
Before he crossed over, he left me one final gift.
A fragment of himselfsomething no shadow can ever take away.
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