The Dead Wife Return.!

 

The tracking app said my wife’s phone was parked in our driveway.

That was impossible. Elena had been dead for six months.

I stood in the darkness of our living room, staring at the little green dot blinking on my screen. It was 2:14 AM. The house was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic humming of the refrigerator.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I moved to the window, parted the blinds, and peered out.

The driveway was empty. Just pools of yellow moonlight on concrete.

A glitch, I told myself, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. It’s just a server error. Recycled data.

Then, my phone buzzed. A text from Elena.

Elena: It's cold out here. Let me in?

My breath hitched. My thumb trembled as I stared at the screen. This was a sick joke. A cruel hack. I began typing a furious reply, but before I could hit send, another message popped up.

Elena: I can see you through the blinds, Mark. You're wearing your grey sweater.

I froze. My blood turned to ice. I was wearing my grey sweater.

I looked back out the window. The driveway was still empty. Nothing but shadows. But then I noticed something else—the motion-activated floodlight over the garage hadn't turned on. It was pitch black near the side gate.

My phone buzzed again.

Elena: Open the back door.

I backed away from the window, dropping the blinds. My chest heaved. I wanted to run, to scream, to call the police, but terror had locked my joints.

From the kitchen, at the back of the house, came a sound.

Click.

It was the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt sliding open. I had forgotten to lock the back door after taking the trash out.

Creak...

The floorboards in the kitchen groaned under a slow, heavy weight. A wet, dragging sound followed, like soaked fabric being pulled across the hardwood.

I retreated into the corner of the living room, pressing my back against the wall, wishing I could dissolve into the drywall. I stared at the arched entryway that led to the kitchen.

The dragging sound grew louder. Closer.

Then, my phone illuminated one last time. I looked down.

Elena: Turn around.

I froze. The dragging sound wasn't coming from the kitchen anymore. It was right beside me.

I slowly turned my head toward the dark hallway to my left. Standing in the shadows was a silhouette. It was wrong—too tall, its limbs bent at angles that defied human anatomy, but it wore Elena’s favorite floral dress, now tattered and caked in dark, damp earth.

Two pale, milky eyes rolled up from the darkness to meet mine.

As it opened a jaw that dropped far too wide, stretching skin that had long since stopped healing, my phone chimed in my hand one final time.

Battery low: 1%