**Diary 12May**
I swear I saw him. I felt him. I even kissed him. His breath was warm, his lips tasted of mintjust as they always did. He was wearing that oversized grey hoodie that always made him look like a lovable brute. He was real. He held me all night, whispered I love you into my ear, promised wed marry next year. I can picture every second: the way his fingers slid down my arm, how he wept when I wept, how he made love to me with such fierce passion I thought my soul would split in two. And then he vanished.
I woke up alone, but I wasnt terrified. I told myself Id simply gone for a run, as I sometimes do. His aftershave scent still lingered on the sheets, my skin still tingled where hed touched me. Something didnt fit, though.
I called.
Again.
And again.
Then my best friend, Charlotte, appeared in my bedroom, her face ashen. She didnt understand why I was crying.
Ellie, she whispered, dont you know?
I laughed. Know what?
Arthurs dead.
My heart stopped. Dead how?
She sobbed harder. He died two days agoin a car crash during the storm.
No. No. No.
I shouted, shoved her, accused her of being cruel, of making a joke. I showed her the text Arthur had sent the night before, the voice note that said, Im coming over. I miss your body beside mine. Charlotte stared at the phone, trembling.
Ellie he couldnt have sent that. He was already in the mortuary.
The world tilted.
My knees gave way.
I ran to the bathroom, grabbed the towel hed used, still damp. I lifted the hoodie hed left on the floor. The faint bitemark on my neck stared back at me.
He had been there.
He must have been.
But the truth is Arthur was buried yesterday.
And somehow, I lay with him last night.
The days slipped by, the nights became 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 my period stopped.
Twice.
I blamed 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 Arthur.
But he was dead.
Buried. Decomposing. Gone.
And yet something was growing inside me.
A small kick in the night.
A glow beneath my skin when the lights went out.
Each time I wept, pleading I couldnt bear this, I heard a whisper from the shadows:
Youre not alone. Our child is coming.
—
**Diary 19May**
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, her name lighting the screen. I ignored every call.
How could I possibly explain that I was carrying a baby fathered by a man who had been six feet under for weeks? Who would believe me? Not even I fully believed ituntil that night.
Just as I was drifting back to sleep, a pressure pressed against my belly from inside. It wasnt a normal kick; it felt deliberate, almost intelligent, as if trying to get my attention. I sat up, gasping, hands on my stomach, and heard his voice again.
Dont be afraid, love. I chose you.
I screamed, bolted from the bed, and stared at my reflection in the mirror, lifting my shirt. I could have sworn I saw a faint blue pulse just beneath my skin. It flickeredand vanished. My legs went weak; I collapsed, sobbing.
The next day I forced myself to the hospital. I told the doctor that Id become pregnant after my boyfriend visited me, lying about the dates and everythingexcept the symptoms.
Strange dreams. Skin that glows. Hearing a voice that isnt there.
Her expression shifted from concern to a measured suspicion.
Well run some tests, she said cautiously. Stress can affect the mind, especially combined with pregnancy hormones.
She pressed her stethoscope against my belly. Her face went pale.
I cant hear a heartbeat. Something is moving.
She ordered an ultrasound. While I lay on the cold metal table, the ultrasonographers face grew ashen. She adjusted the scanner, silent, until I asked what was happening.
Theres a fetus, she whispered, but its shining.
I left the hospital before the results came back. That night I dreamed again. Arthur stood by the old lake we used to visit, the wind tugging at his hoodie.
Our child isnt like the others, he said, his 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, despite having locked every window. The hoodie from my dream lay neatly folded on the edge of the bed. I touched it; it was still warm.
That was the moment I knewwhat grew inside me was real. It was his. It was changing me.
The following day I finally called Charlotte. She rushed over, hugging me tightly. I poured out everything: the glowing spot on my belly, the dreams, the voice, the baby.
She didnt laugh.
She didnt scream.
She whispered, We need to take you somewhere.
She led me to an old cottage hidden behind her grandmothers church. Inside sat an elderly woman with long grey braids and pallid eyes. She looked at me once and said,
Youre not the first, but you must be the last.
When 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. His father should never have returned. The door is open now, and others are crossing.
Crossing for what? I asked.
To take you.
The lights flickered, a cold draft slipped through the windows, and from the shadows I heard Arthurs voice again:
Run.
—
**Diary 26May**
The room turned icy. The old womans eyes widened with fear as shadows stretched along the walls like claws.
Hes here, she whispered, clutching a rosary of thorns and bone.
Charlotte pushed me behind her.
But I was no longer afraid of Arthur. I feared the others the crone had spoken ofthose who came because he had broken the rules.
She sprinkled ash in a circle and told me to stand inside.
Dont leave, no matter what, she warned. Do you hear me? You are now a bridge between life and death. Bridges are crossed both ways.
I stepped into the circle. My belly glowed with that same uneasy light. The baby kicked harder than ever.
Then the voices camedozens, perhaps hundredsshouts, moans, pleas, laughter, all emanating from the darkness.
Arthur, please, I whispered. Whats happening?
And then I saw him.
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 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. But love like that breaks the laws.
From the gloom emerged a twisted, monstrous figure, halfface, eyes burning. It whistled at my sight.
Arthur stepped between us.
You cant have her! the creature roared. You cant take our child!
The monster laughed. You broke the rule, spirit. You touched the living. Now we feast.
The room shook. The old woman began chanting in a language I couldnt understand. Charlotte clutched my hand, crying.
Ellie! Stay inside the circle!
I screamed as the monster lunged. Arthur hurled himself at it, and the old woman shouted:
NOW! Choose, girl! Life or love?
Arthur, bloodied and fading, turned to me.
You must let me go, love. For our child. For you.
I shook my head, refusing.
You never truly left. I live in him nowinside you. But if you hold on, theyll take everything.
The lights burst, the floor cracked, shadows wailed. With every ounce of pain left in my heart, I shouted his name and said goodbye.
He smiled one last time and vanished.
The darkness receded. The monster shrieked and dissolved into smoke. Silence fell.
I collapsed. The circle dimmed. My baby kicked once, then again, then settled.
Nine months later I gave birth to a boy. He didnt cry like other infants. He simply fixed his eyes on me, silent and calm, as if he already knew everything. His skin faintly glows in the dark. Sometimes, when I sing to him at night, I swear I hear a second voice harmonising with mineArthurs.
I named our son **Arthurson**, meaning son of Arthur. He is never truly mine.
Before passing to the other side, Arthur left me one final gift:
A fragment of himself
A piece no shadow can ever steal.
Ellie Harper.
