I Knew You’d Come Back to Me
by DD Creed
Evelyn sat solemnly, staring out the frost-lined window. Wind howled across the sagging eaves as snow blanketed the empty fields around her decaying farmhouse. The cold seeped through cracked walls, filling rooms stuffed with furniture and memories gathered over a sixty-year marriage.
Now, she was alone.
Since Harold’s passing, Evelyn rose each bitter morning, moving through her colorless routine waiting for darkness to return. Nights were hardest, lying stiffly in their antique four-poster bed, arms reflexively opening to find nothing but cold sheets.
The first night Evelyn heard Harold’s slippers shuffle in the hall, she smiled sadly, wiping away tears as the familiar sound squeaked closer. A comforting chill kissed her cheek and the house seemed to exhale, floorboards creaking gently.
“I knew you’d come back to me,” she whispered into the emptiness.
As heavy snows kept Evelyn isolated indoors, she delighted in her nightly spectral guest gliding from room to room. Doors swinging open slowly, the gurgle of water pipes, trees rapping on dark windows – little signs Harold still cared for her. He was all she had left and she welcomed his haunting.
But soon, she noticed changes – Harold’s comforting scent of tobacco faded, replaced by a wet, earthy smell. The tender warmth of his spectral touch turned icy. His shuffles and whispers warped to guttural rasps that echoed dangerously through the decrepit house at all hours, depriving her of sleep.
Evelyn’s joints began to ache constantly. Shadows clung to her, draining her strength. Food lost its flavor and cooking seemed pointless. She spent days wrapped in musty blankets, frail body wracked by fits of trembling weakness.
The haunting continued its cruel descent. Cruel pranks – furniture toppled violently, doors crashing open and shut, shrieking gales rattling windows until cracks spiderwebbed across the glass. Hideous croaking laughter permeated the darkness.
Finally, she understood. This was not her beloved Harold. Some demonic presence had crept through the veil of death to leech off her grief. It was breaking her, using up the last warmth of life.
At least she wasn’t alone.
“Can I smell his cigar again?” she asked. Evelyn embraced her fate.
“Can I feel his warmth again?” she asked, each night she freely sacrificed more of her dwindling resilience.
“Can I feel his arms again? Memories, memories,” Evelyn mumbled. She continued existing on the physical plane where she could still recall her husband’s touch, conjure the handsome smile that lit up her world for over half a century. She had nothing left but memories as she grew cold.
D.D. Creed is a writer and a teacher living in Evansville, Indiana.
