**Episode1**
I swear I saw him. I felt his skin, tasted his breathminty, just like always. He was wearing that oversized grey hoodie that always made him look like a softhearted bruiser. He was real. He held me through the night, whispering I love you into my ear, promising wed be married next year. I remember every second: the way his fingers slid down my arm, the tears that fell when I wept, the fierce lovemaking that threatened to split my soul in two. And then he vanished.
I awoke alone, but I wasnt frightened. I told myself Id gone for a jog, as I sometimes did. His aftershave still clung to the sheets, and my skin still tingled where hed touched me. Something didnt fit.
I called.
Again.
And again.
My best friend, Charlotte, burst into my bedroom, her face ashen. She didnt understand why I was crying.
Eleanor, she whispered, dont you know?
I laughed. Know what?
James is dead.
My eyes widened. Dead how?
She sobbed harder. He died two days ago. Car crash. The night the storm hit.
No. No. No.
I shouted, pushed her away, called her cruel for saying that, said it wasnt funny. I showed her the text James had sent the night before, the voice note that said, Im coming over. I miss your body next to mine. She stared at the phone, shaking.
Eleanor he couldnt have sent that. He was already in the mortuary.
The world tilted.
My knees gave way.
I raced to the bathroom, grabbed the towel hed usedstill dampthe hoodie hed left on the floor, the bite mark 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 the night before.
Days passed. Nights grew unbearable. I couldnt sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw himsometimes standing at the foot of my bed, sometimes whispering in my ear. One night his voice floated to me: Dont cry, love. Im still with you. I tried to record it, but only static and my own terrified breathing came back.
Then I missed my period.
Twice.
I told myself it was stress, grief, trauma.
Until I vomited for the fifth time that day.
I took a test.
Two lines.
Positive.
I collapsed.
The only person Id been with was James.
But he was dead.
Buried, rotting, gone.
And yet something was growing inside me.
Something that kicked in the night.
Something that glowed beneath my skin when the lights were out.
And every time I sobbed, pleading I couldnt bear this I heard a whisper from the shadows:
Youre not alone. Our child is coming.
**Episode2**
I dont remember falling asleep. I only recall waking up in the bathtub, the pregnancy test still clenched in my hand, those two pink lines mocking my sanity. I hadnt spoken to anyone for daysnot even Charlotte. My phone rang dozens of times, the caller ID flashing her name. I ignored every call.
How could I explain that I was carrying a baby fathered by a man who had been six feet under for weeks? Who would believe me? Even I doubted myselfuntil that night.
I had barely drifted off when something pressed against my belly from inside. It wasnt a normal kick. It felt purposeful, intelligent, as if demanding my attention. I sat up gasping, hands on my stomach. Then I heard him again.
Jamess voice, inside my head.
Dont be afraid, love. I chose you.
I screamed, leapt from the bed, and stared at my reflection in the mirror, lifting my shirt. I could swear I saw a faint blue pulse just beneath my skin. It flickeredand vanished. My legs gave out; I collapsed, sobbing.
The next day I forced myself into the hospital. I told the doctor Id become pregnant after my boyfriend visited me. I lied about 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 carefully. Stress can wreak havoc on the mind, especially when mixed with pregnancy hormones.
She pressed her stethoscope to my belly. Her face froze.
I cant hear a heartbeat. But something is moving.
She ordered an ultrasound. While I lay on the cold metal table, the sonographers face went pale. She adjusted the scanner, saying nothing until I asked what was happening.
Theres a fetus, she whispered. But its glowing.
I left the hospital before the results came back. That night I dreamed again. James stood by the old lagoon where we used to meet, the wind tugging at his hoodies hood.
Our child isnt like the others, he said, voice softer than the breeze. He is me and more.
What do you mean? I asked.
He only smiled sadly. Youll understand soon. But you must protect him.
I awoke to find the curtains wide open, even though Id locked everything. The hoodie from my dream lay neatly folded at the foot of my bed. I touched it; it was still warm.
Thats when I knewwhat grew inside me was real. It was his. And it was changing me.
The next day I finally called Charlotte. I needed help. She rushed over, threw her arms around me, and listened as I showed her the glowing spot on my belly, told her about the dreams, the voice, the baby.
She didnt laugh.
She didnt scream.
She whispered, We need to get you somewhere safe.
She led me to a crumbling cottage hidden behind her grandmothers church. Inside sat an old woman with long grey braids and pale eyes. She looked at me once and said:
Youre not the first, but youll be the last.
I asked what she meant; her answer chilled me to the bone.
You carry the child of a bound soul. That baby is both a blessing and a warning. Its father should never have returned. Now a door is open, and others are crossing.
Taking it? I asked.
Taking you.
The lights flickered. A cold draft rattled the windows. From the shadows I heard Jamess voice again:
Run.
**Episode3**
The room turned icecold. The old womans eyes widened with terror as unnatural shadows stretched across the walls like claws.
Hes here, she whispered, clutching a rosary made of twisted oak and bone.
Charlotte shoved me behind her.
But I was no longer scared of James. I feared the others the old woman had spoken ofthose who came because he broke the rules.
She scattered ash in a circle and instructed me to stand inside.
Dont leave, no matter what. Do you hear me? she warned. You are now a bridge between life and death. Bridges carry traffic both ways.
I stepped into the circle. My belly glowed with that same unsettling light. The baby kicked, harder than ever.
Then the voices camedozens, maybe hundredsshouts, moans, pleas, laughter, all from the darkness.
James, please, I whispered, whats happening?
He appeared, but he was not the man Id known.
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 much. I wanted one more night, one more moment. I didnt realise I was opening a door.
I moved towards him, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Why me? Why the baby?
He looked at my belly, then at me.
Because our love was stronger than death. But love like that breaks the laws.
Suddenly something else slithered from the shadowsa twisted, monstrous figure with a halfface and burning eyes. It whistled at my sight.
James stepped between us.
You cant have her! it roared. You cant take our child!
The monster laughed.
You broke the rule, spirit. You touched the living. Now we feast.
The room shuddered. The old woman began chanting in a language none of us understood. Charlotte clutched my hand, sobbing.
Eleanor! Stay in the circle!
I screamed as the monster lunged. James hurled itself at the creature. The old woman shrieked,
NOW! Choose, girl! Life 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, choking back tears.
No, I cant lose you again!
You never lost me. I live in him now. In you. But if you cling, theyll take everything.
The lights exploded. The floor cracked. The shadows wailed. With every ounce of anguish I could summon, I shouted his name and said goodbye.
In that instant he smiled.
And he vanished.
The darkness receded. The monsters howl dissolved into smoke. Silence fell.
I collapsed. The circle dimmed. The baby inside me kicked once, then again, and finally settled.
Nine months later I gave birth to a boy.
He didnt cry like other infants. He stared straight into my eyes, quiet and calm, as if he already knew everything. His skin gave off a faint sheen in the dark.
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 crossing to the other side, he left me one final gift.
A fragment of himself a piece no shadow will ever be able to steal.
**FIN**The first time Jameson opened his eyes, the room seemed to hold its breath. He stared at me with an ancient certainty, his gaze sliding past my face to the darkness beyond the curtains, as if he could see the thin veil that still trembled there. I swallowed the lump in my throat and whispered, Youre safe now, though the words felt both a promise and a plea.
Days turned into weeks, and the house settled into a rhythm that felt almost ordinary. Charlotte, ever practical, turned the cottage into a sanctuary for other women who whispered of sleepless nights and shadows that lingered a little too close. The old woman, whose name we learned was Mara, taught us herbs that could soothe a restless spirit and symbols that could seal cracks before they widened. Together we built a quiet network, a thin line of light threading through the town, each knot anchored by a child born of love that defied death.
Jameson grew quickly, his skin catching the moonlight in a soft, pearlescent glow that made him look as though he were made of moonbeams. He never needed a blanket; the chill of the night seemed to warm around him. When he laughed, a faint echoso faint it could be mistaken for windjoined his giggle, and I would feel a warm pulse at the base of my spine, a reminder that part of him still belonged to another world.
One night, as a storm rolled in, the wind rattling the eaves, Mara sat beside the fire and placed a small, silver coin on the table. Its time, she said, her voice steady despite the flickering shadows. I understood without explanation: the barrier we had held open for months was weakening, and the world beyond would soon seek what it thought it owed us.
I cradled Jameson, now five, and whispered stories of his fatherhow he had been a man who loved too fiercely, how his mistake had birthed a miracle, and how love could bend even the rules of the dead. The boys eyes widened, and he pressed his tiny hand against my cheek, his skin humming with that familiar light.
Will he come back? I asked, half to myself, half to the storm.
Maras eyes softened. He will never return as he was. But he lives in you, in him, and in every heartbeat that refuses to be silenced. The door will close, and the shadows will recede, but the light you forged will remain.
As the first thunderclap rolled, a soft wind slipped through the cracked window, carrying with it a scent of rain and a faint, familiar cologne. I felt a brush of breath against my ear, a whisper that was not a voice but a feeling. I am proud, it seemed to say, and I am at peace.
The storm passed, and the morning sun poured through the panes, gilding the dust motes that danced in the air. Outside, the town was waking, unaware of the thin war that had lingered in the corners of their lives. Inside, the cottage was quiet, but the air thrummed with a gentle, steady energy.
I stood, feeling the weight of years lift just enough to let me breathe. Jameson toddled to the kitchen, his steps leaving faint glows that faded like fireflies. He grabbed a wooden spoon and pretended to stir an imaginary pot, humming a tune that sounded eerily like a lullaby his father once sang.
I smiled, tears glistening, not from sorrow but from a deep, resonant joy. The love that had once been a haunting had become a foundationa bridge not only between realms but between generations. The darkness that had threatened to consume us had been turned into a catalyst for compassion, for community, for a legacy that would outlive any curse.
And as the day stretched on, I realized that the true ending was not the closing of a door, but the opening of countless othersdoors to kindness, to understanding, to the belief that even the most impossible love can reshape the world. The fragment of him that remained was no longer a fragment at all; it was the whole of a new beginning, shining quietly in the heart of a child who would one day walk his own path, guided by the light his parents had dared to forge.
