It’s been weeks.
Weeks of sleepless nights,
of whispers in the dark—
her voice.
I hear it everywhere.
Calling my name
in the wind.
Soft.
Sweet.
Terrifying.
I don’t know if I’m haunted
or if guilt is breaking my mind.
But tonight,
as the moon watches,
something changes.
I go inside.
The house feels colder,
emptier,
and somehow alive.
Her favorite book sits on the table,
mocking me,
taunting me.
The letter is gone now.
Burnt to ashes
the night I buried her beneath the rosemary bush.
But the book?
It hasn’t moved.
I pick it up,
my hands trembling.
The spine cracks as I open it—
and something falls out.
It’s not a letter this time.
It’s a photograph.
A man I don’t know
stands beside her,
his arm wrapped around her waist,
his smile cruel.
On the back,
a date.
A date from before I knew her.
Before we ever met.
And suddenly,
the truth hits me like a wave.
She wasn’t lonely.
She wasn’t searching for love.
She’d been lying from the beginning.
The swan I thought I loved
had never been mine to hold.
Rage claws at my chest,
but then I hear it—
a knock.
At the door.
My heart stops.
It’s nearly midnight.
No one comes this late.
I walk toward the sound,
each step heavier than the last.
When I open it,
I see her.
Not alive.
Not breathing.
But her.
Standing there.
Pale as the moonlight,
her neck bruised
where my hands had been.
“Why?”
Her voice is soft,
but it cuts through me like glass.
“I gave you everything,
and you took it all.”
I stumble back,
but she steps forward.
Her eyes hold no anger,
only sorrow.
And something else—
something I can’t place.
“Do you think you can bury me?”
she whispers.
“Do you think I’ll stay gone?”
I fall to my knees,
the photograph slipping from my hands.
Her cold fingers trace my face,
and I feel the storm rising again.
“You killed me,”
she says,
“but I’ll never leave you.”
Then she’s gone.
The room is empty.
The door swings open,
and the night swallows me whole.
I run.
Out into the garden.
The rosemary bush is on fire.
The flames devouring the last place I thought she’d rest.
And I hear her laugh—
soft,
melancholy.
I fall to the ground,
watching the flames dance,
watching her memory burn.
The storm rages inside me,
louder than ever.
And for the first time,
I know:
this is my punishment.
She’ll never leave,
because I’ll never let her.
She was my swan.
And now,
she’s my ghost.
©umclite
U