Chapter 1: When the Candle Burns Red

That night, the red candle burned low, its flame kept flickering in the draft from the old windows. Shadows stretched and overlapped across the creaky wooden floorboards, trembling softly, like something otherworldly was lurking just outside the circle of light—watching, hungry, and patient. Every time the wind rattled the glass, I’d flinch, glancing over my shoulder, heart pounding like a trapped bird. God, I hated that sound.

Honestly, the whole scene was straight out of the story I was reading—like I’d staged it myself. The words on the page seemed to seep into the room... the line between fiction and reality blurred with every flicker of the candle.

I turned a page, and the next line practically leapt out at me—when a person dies, their obsessions linger. Grudges gather and become a ghost. The words just hung there, heavy as smoke.

I stared at that sentence for a long time, my mind spinning, and I just couldn't snap out of it. While I was lost in thought, someone flicked my foreheada familiar, teasing touch. "Hey, Charlie, you getting restless again? It's so late and you're still up?"

I slapped away his hand—it was ice cold, biting into my skin. Then I turned, ready to mess with him. But in the carved antique mirror on my dresser, it was just me—alone in the dim room, flailing like a lunatic. My reflection looked wild, haunted—even the shadows seemed to laugh at me.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Was I seeing things? I looked at the handsome young man in front of me—his face was deathly pale, so pale he barely looked alive. Even the candlelight seemed to avoid him. It just slid around the edges of his body.

His name was Mason Reed, my childhood friend and fiancé. The boy I’d grown up with, the one who always promised he’d never leave me.

He was my whole world.

But he’d been gone for years—killed overseas in the war. Sometimes, I still couldn't believe it. How could someone so alive just... be gone?

Before Mason left for deployment, he once asked me, "Charlie, I want to stay with you forever. Even if I ended up a ghost, I’d come back to you—even if I had to crawl out of hell."

"Would you let me?"

When he asked me that, he had a blade of grass in his mouth, hands behind his head, one leg bouncing up and down. The sun was bright. The world felt simple. I remember the way his eyes squinted against the light, playful and warm.

When I didnt answer for a while, Mason burst out laughing, doubling over. "I forgot, my girl here gets scared easy. Scare her and shell hiccup for an hour."

He laughed so hard he nearly cried, his face turning red and tears streaming. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and said, "Someday, you’ll be the death of me from laughing."

That wasn’t like Mason. Usually, even when he smiled, he tried to act all grown-up, putting on this serious face, like he already had the world on his shoulders.

Turns out, even the boldest boys get scared sometimes. Even the ones who seem unbreakable have their moments of childishness.

Mason jumped up, ruffled my hair, and grinned. "Come on, let’s get you home."

"Were engaged now, so dont even think about cheating on me. If you do, Ill come back and haunt you, I swear."

He rambled, like always. Telling me to wait, warning me not to let some other guy steal me away. He always acted so tough, but his words were soft, almost pleading.

Maybe it was the porch lights coming on, or just how beautiful the night was. I tugged his sleeve and whispered, "I’ll allow it."

He froze, stopped mid-step. He stopped rambling, but through the sleeve, he squeezed my hand tight. For a second, everything else faded away. The world felt impossibly small—just the two of us, breathing in the same air. I remember thinking, this is all I want.

That moment was pure impulse. I never really thought about whether I could handle the consequences, never imagined a joke could turn into a prophecy. I didn’t know then how heavy those words would become.

I guess I never truly believed Mason would die. It was easier to believe in forever than in endings.

The day he left, he rode in the back of a Humvee, dog tags around his neck, decked out in his dress blues, and looked as sharp as ever. The sun glinted off his medals, his posture straight as a flagpole.

He spotted me and shot me that cocky grin, then saluted with a flourish from the truck. Even from a distance, I could see the mischief in his eyes.

He always knew how to draw a crowd, turning even sad moments into a party. Everyone cheered for him, their voices filling the air.

I shook my head and joined the crowd in shouting. My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to hear me, to carry a piece of home with him. Just one more time.

He saw me and his grin got even bigger. He winked, like he was saying, "Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll be back."

I waited five years, but Mason never came home. Instead, I got the news. The letter arrived on a rainy morning, the ink all smudged, my world crumbling with every word.

The war was finally over, but he stayed forever overseas. His body never made it home. All I had left was a folded flag and a box of letters.

Tears streamed down my face. He was so unreliableId waited so long, and he let me down in the end. I tried to laugh at myself, but the ache wouldnt fade.

Just a little longer. Just a little more. I kept telling myself that, like wishing could change anything.