Chapter 5: The Feast of the Dead

Soon, I heard knocking at the front gate—echoing far in the silent night. The sound sent a jolt of fear through me. I froze, breath held.

I remembered: tonight was Halloween, when spirits roam freely. The old stories suddenly felt all too real. My heart thudded.

Where had Caleb gone? My mind raced, searching for answers. Dread settled over me.

I didn’t want to go back to the bedroom. Instead, I hid in the kitchen, crouched behind a pile of firewood. The familiar smells of cinnamon and old grease did little to comfort me. I pressed my back against the wall.

They say kitchens are full of light, good for warding off evil. I clung to the hope, praying it would keep me safe. My hands shook in my lap.

The knocking stopped. The silence that followed was even more terrifying. I strained to hear any sound.

Then came the slow creak of a door opening. The sound echoed down the hallway, each second stretching longer than the last. My breath caught.

I covered my mouth, praying they wouldn’t find me. My breath came in shallow bursts, chest tight with fear. My eyes stung with tears.

“Lila…” A rough, ghostly voice echoed in the hall, broken up by dragging footsteps. The sound made my blood run cold. My heart raced.

I held my breath, clutching the knife inside my sleeve. My knuckles ached from the pressure. Sweat dripped down my forehead.

Soon, the kitchen door creaked open. The hinges groaned, announcing the intruder. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst.

A harsh, cackling laugh. The ghostly Mrs. Jenkins stepped inside, turned stiffly, and flashed a twisted grin. “Found you.” Her voice was gleeful, mocking. My skin crawled.

I collapsed, face ashen. My body refused to move, terror rooting me in place. My breath came in ragged gasps.

It was Mrs. Jenkins—why had she become a vengeful ghost? The question spun in my mind, unanswered. I felt hopeless.

A mere mortal facing a ghost has nothing but fear and helplessness. I felt smaller than ever, powerless against the darkness. My hands trembled.

I didn’t know why I’d ended up in such a nightmare. My life felt like a story gone terribly wrong. I wanted to scream.

Mrs. Jenkins shrieked and lunged. I raised the knife, ready to fight for my life. My arms shook, but I refused to drop the blade. My teeth clenched.

Her sharp nails came within inches of my eyes—

Suddenly, a long, ghost-white hand burst through her chest. Black blood wound itself around the hand, slowly being absorbed. The smell of iron filled the air. My stomach turned.

The corpse fell. Caleb stood in the darkness, dressed in moon-white clothes, his body glowing faintly. His presence filled the room, cold and overwhelming. I shrank back.

White sash, leather belt, skin like ice and bone. He looked every bit the specter he truly was. My heart skipped a beat.

If not for the blood on his fingers and the corpse at his feet, he could have been an angel. But there was nothing holy about him. I shuddered.

Tonight, he was different—cold and distant. His eyes held no warmth, only power. I felt small, insignificant.

But I couldn’t care. I rushed to him, clutching him in panic. “Husband, help me.” My voice cracked, desperate. My hands shook as I clung to him.

My dirty hands and face left stains on his white shirt. The contrast was stark, a mark of my mortality. I felt ashamed.

Caleb didn’t push me away. He just called out calmly to the door, “The time has come. Enjoy yourselves.” His voice was commanding, final. My blood ran cold.

As he spoke, the last trace of moonlight vanished from the earth. The darkness became absolute, swallowing everything. My breath caught in my throat.

I went rigid, suddenly realizing—my husband might not be just a vengeful spirit, but the king of the dead himself, ruler of all spirits. The truth crashed over me, cold and unrelenting. My knees buckled.

The wind howled outside, laughter echoing in the darkness. The sound was wild, feral. I covered my ears, trying to block it out.

The gates of hell were open. The air was thick with the scent of death and decay. My stomach churned.

Screams erupted in the town, babies wailed nonstop. The world outside our walls was chaos. I pressed my back against the wall, desperate for safety.

This was a feast for the dead, with the townsfolk as their banquet. Tonight, it began in earnest. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sounds. Tears stung my eyes.

And the one who started it all—the king of the dead—was right here in my arms, smiling coldly. His eyes glittered with triumph. My heart pounded.

I didn’t dare look back. The darkness behind me felt alive, hungry. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to turn.

I heard footsteps in the hallway, some near, some far. The house groaned under the weight of their presence. The sound made my skin crawl.

A few even squeezed into the pantry, gnashing their teeth, eager to devour me. Their shadows flickered on the walls, monstrous and shifting. I shrank back, heart pounding.

But they didn’t last long—soon they shrieked and dissolved into wisps of smoke. Caleb’s power swept through the house, cleansing it of lesser spirits. Relief washed over me, but fear remained.

Caleb carried me through the ghostly shadows, as if nothing was wrong. His stride was steady, unhurried. I clung to him, desperate for safety.

Wherever he went, lesser ghosts screamed and vanished. The air behind him was clear, the darkness repelled. I breathed a little easier.

A few with a trace of mind trembled, crawling on the ground, but none escaped destruction. Their cries faded, leaving only silence in their wake. The quiet was eerie.

I peeked with one eye and saw a tiny blood-red mark on Caleb’s right earlobe—sinister and strange. It pulsed with a faint, unnatural light. My stomach twisted.

There was a faint jingling of bells around him. This was the true form of Caleb Whitaker, the king of the dead. The sound was both beautiful and terrifying. Goosebumps prickled my arms.

Wherever he passed, life withered. Flowers drooped, grass turned brown, and the air grew cold. My breath fogged in front of me.

There was a wild sunflower under the eaves that I watered daily. Now, as his sleeve brushed the petals, I clenched my fists nervously. The flower’s fate seemed to hang in the balance. My heart thudded.

Caleb paused on the steps, glanced at the flower, and lifted his sleeve to spare it—a rare act of mercy. The petals trembled but remained bright. Relief flickered in my chest.

Inside, everything was as before. The world outside might have changed, but our home remained frozen in time. The normalcy was surreal.

The bedding was pulled back, my socks tossed aside, the heating pad long since cold. The mundane details felt surreal amid the chaos. I stared at them, lost.

For the first time facing Caleb in his true form, I dared not speak or look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on my hands, folded in my lap. My breath came shallow.

He set me on the bed, lifted my chin, and looked down at me like I was nothing. His gaze was heavy, suffocating. I felt like I was drowning.

“Did you forget what I told you?” His words were soft, but the threat was unmistakable. My skin prickled.

Stay put. Don’t run around. The command echoed in my mind. I nodded, terrified.

“I’m sorry…” My voice trembled, barely audible. My lips quivered.

“Next time, listen.” Caleb’s thumb slowly brushed my lips. “Understand?” The touch was gentle, but the warning was clear. My heart skipped a beat.

I nodded frantically, not daring to defy him. My heart thudded in my chest, loud and frantic. I could barely breathe.

Occasionally, the screams from outside made me tremble. I looked at Caleb, remembering the folks who’d once been kind to me, and a tear slipped down my cheek. The weight of loss pressed on me, heavy as stone.

I had no chance against him. The truth was as clear as the moonless night. Hopelessness settled in.

With a wave of his hand, he could end hundreds of lives. How could a powerless mortal like me hope to fight the king of the dead? The thought left me hollow, empty inside.

Caleb bent down and gently kissed my eyelid. My skin tingled where his lips touched.

“God and the world don’t care, treating everyone the same… You’re my wife now. You’ll get used to it.” His words were both comfort and curse. My heart twisted.

He waved his hand, and the bed curtains fell, wrapping us inside. The world outside faded to nothing. I felt trapped in velvet darkness.

Caleb took my wrist and kissed it. His lips were warm, almost gentle. I flinched at the tenderness.

A sharp pain followed—he’d bitten through my skin, his lips stained a shocking red. The pain made me gasp, tears springing to my eyes. My hand trembled.

“Hundreds of ghosts are feasting tonight. Guess what the king of the dead drinks?” Caleb licked away the blood, his eyes dark. The question hung in the air, rhetorical and chilling. I shuddered.

I jumped—was he planning to drain me dry? My fear spiked, adrenaline flooding my veins. My breath came quick and shallow.

He leaned in, smiling by my ear:

“Today is my birthday, and also the anniversary of my death. The gates of hell open to welcome you, with blood as the offering. From now on, you’ll be mine, life after life.” His breath was warm, his words cold. I froze.