The Writer and the Mimic
My wife died at 1:33pm on a Friday afternoon. Her passing was not unexpected. Polly had been diagnosed with breast cancer the year before, and sadly the doctors caught it too late. But still she fought with everything she had, enduring months of intense chemotherapy until all her strength was exhausted. The last few weeks of Polly’s life were spent in a hospice bed, with me by her side in a constant vigil. She was conscious and able to talk and eat for the first week, and I brought in her favourite foods as we talked, laughed, and watched our TV shows and movies. The change in her was quite sudden and frankly devastating, as overnight she became all but comatose – lying still in her hospital bed, unable to move or speak even though her eyes remained wide open. It was a strange and unsettling thing. Deep down I’d known my wife was dying for some time, but it didn’t seem real while I could still carry on a conversation with her and share memories of the happy times we’d spent together. But on that morning, she simply stared at me with glazed eyes and her mouth open. I think that was the moment it really hit home for me. The nurses said Polly could still hear and understand me, and that I should continue to talk to her throughout the day. I don’t know whether this was true or not, but it brought me some small comfort to do so. And so, for those last few days, I talked to my wife, held her hand, fed her ice chips (they’d stopped feeding her food by this stage), and waited for her to die. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t alone during this time. I had great support from our family and close friends, all of whom were daily visitors to Polly’s bedside. And the hospice staff were fantastic, providing compassionate care right until the very end. But still, those last few days were a living hell for me. There was the pain of seeing the woman I loved reduced to this state – wasted away to nothing and a shell of her former self. And then there were my own feelings as a husband – to feel so useless, as I was unable to do a thing to help my dying wife or relieve her suffering. My Polly’s death was expected but also abrupt and shocking. I’m not sure what finished her off in the end – maybe a heart attack or stroke. I had just returned to her bedside when it happened, as Polly suddenly ended days of inaction by sitting up on her bed and gasping for air. I was astonished, and for a brief moment I thought a miracle had occurred – my darling wife resurrected, saved from the jaws of death. But of course, this wasn’t the case. A moment later she was back on the mattress, convulsing violently as her body expended its last ounce of strength. I cried out for the nurse and held my wife tight, telling her how much I loved her as I struggled to hold back my tears. Mercifully, it was all over quickly, as Polly’s body became motionless and she stopped breathing. The nurse was on hand to take her pulse, soon confirming that my wife had passed. And that was that… How can I describe my feelings in the moment after my wife’s death? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved, at least up to a point. Polly’s suffering was finally over, as was the half-existence she’d endured over those last few days of her life. But that temporary feeling of relief was overwhelmed by the sheer horror of losing the person I’d loved most in the world. The next few days were done in auto-drive, as I co-ordinated with Polly’s grieving family to arrange the funeral. That was an emotional day for sure. Many tears were cried, especially as we watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. But I took comfort from all the family and friends who attended and the heart-warming stories that were shared. It was the days and weeks which followed that were the hardest, when I went home alone to a house filled with memories of Polly – her clothes, her pictures, her books…even her scent was still present. And then of course there was the empty side of our bed. Everywhere there were reminders of what I’d lost, highlighting the emptiness in my life which had so cruelly been thrust upon me. Well, this is a suitably depressing beginning to my story. But what more can I say about myself, other than the fact I’m a grieving widower? My life story in its entirety isn’t relevant to the tale I wish to tell you. Suffice to say, I am a writer…specifically a horror writer. Now, I’m not saying I’m a successful author or even a particularly good one. I’ve sold a few stories and have self-published novels which have been reasonably well received. But I never made a full-time living from my writing. That said, it is my passion. And Polly was always my biggest supporter. She was my muse, my proofreader, and number one fan. Frankly, I don’t know how my wife dealt with all my BS over the years, but she was always there for me. It would be fair to say I’ve had a history of depression, and my writing has long helped me to work through these dark emotions. My art (or attempts at it) were therapeutic for me. But there was a big problem. The time immediately after Polly’s death was the darkest period of my life…but I couldn’t write. Not even a word. My passion was gone, replaced by the empty void of writer’s block. In those black days all my hope was gone, and the only solace I found was at the bottom of a liquor bottle. My solo writer’s retreat wasn’t a serious thing. I told my concerned friends that I needed some time alone to work on my next novel. And where better than an isolated cabin in the woods to work on my latest tale of horror? But that was a load of crap. In reality, I was tired of my friends lecturing me on my drinking and wanting to get me out of the house. Honestly, I just wanted a place to be alone so I could wallow in drunken self-pity. But what I found out there in the woods was something I never could have predicted. And, despite the horrors I faced on that long night, I truly believe the experience saved my life. What can I tell you about the small log cabin where I was forced to face my demons? It was nothing out of the ordinary – quaint, tidy, but basic. I had the essential amenities but no phone signal or internet connection. I was indeed isolated from the outside world, my only company being the multiple bottles of cheap vodka I brought down with me, and a laptop I didn’t expect to use. I’ll admit there was a peaceful tranquillity in those woods, which I appreciated whilst looking out upon the pine trees with the sunlight creeping through the canopy. For a time I did take comfort from my natural surroundings, but this respite was only temporary, and the grief and despair crept back in as soon as the sun went down. The darkness reminded me of all I’d lost and of the emptiness in my life. But, when I looked into the dark forest, I didn’t feel fear or apprehension. This in a sense was even more depressing. There was a time when my fertile imagination would have been filled with images of witches, werewolves, ghouls, and other ancient terrors. But not now. I’d loved horror my entire life. The idea of being scared always appealed to me in some perverse way. But what greater horror could the world inflict upon me? What more could I suffer, now my beloved Polly was gone? Still, I hadn’t quite given up all hope of doing some writing that weekend. Perhaps I was just going through the motions or trying to make myself feel less guilty over my procrastination and defeatism. So, I switched on my laptop and found myself staring at a blank page on screen, unable to find the words to tell my story. The blank page…always a writer’s worst nightmare. I even tried reading back some of my previous work – the better received stories. But this didn’t help either. I became increasingly despondent the more I read, believing that I’d always been a terrible writer and Polly had simply indulged me for all those years. And what was the point of it all anyway? Why had I spent so many hours writing these damn stories? And what did I have to show for it? The only good thing I’d done in my life was marrying Polly, and now she was gone forever. Sitting at the dining table with the window open, my eyes teared up and my vision became blurred as I downed drink after drink. I couldn’t type a single coherent sentence over many hours. And, after a while, I grew to hate the laptop, as it seemed like the blank screen was mocking me. Eventually I lost my temper. In a moment of drunken rage, I lifted my laptop from the table and flung it out the window, watching with a grim satisfaction as it landed with a crash on the grass outside. I expected the electronic device to smash into pieces, but it didn’t. In fact, the laptop didn’t even lose power, as the screen continued to emit its artificial light – shining an unnerving beacon in the middle of the empty forest. That was bizarre, but what followed next defied any logical explanation. I continued to watch the computer in awe and confusion as the screen burst to life. I was horrified to see a ghostly face appear – a twisted face filled with pain and terror. My jaw dropped and I felt cold all over. Honestly, my exhausted brain could not comprehend what I was seeing – but this was only the beginning. A moment later and the face was no longer on screen. It was coming through it. A ghostly mask and then a full head emerged from within the laptop. That’s not to say it smashed through the screen. Instead, it emerged from underneath, like the computer screen was a liquid membrane. But the nightmare didn’t end there. First came the head, and then the rest of the body emerged – neck, shoulders, torso, arms, and finally two legs. The entire form of a fully grown adult should not have been able to fit through the narrow screen, but somehow it did. And before long, the figure had escaped his digital prison and was inexplicably standing on the grass, having made his way across to our world. It’s difficult for me to describe the impossible entity which stood just yards outside the cabin window. For the purposes of this narrative, I’ll describe the creature as a ‘he’, although I honestly don’t know whether the entity had a specific gender, and he had no characteristics which would identity him as male or female. The entity did take on a humanoid form. He had two arms, two legs, and one head, and stood roughly six feet tall. There was not a hair on his body, and what passed for his skin…well, this was bizarre to say the least. The entity was covered from head to toe by an artificial white glow, similar to the laptop screen from which he’d emerged. But not only that. His fluorescent white hide was also covered by words, stretched across his skin like full body tattoos. But these words weren’t painted onto the entity – they were a part of him, making up his DNA. And, as I looked closer, I realised the words which consumed him were my own – the product of my own twisted mind and the text from my stories. My eyes widened and my whole body shook almost uncontrollably. I was unable to avert my gaze from the horror before me, and I continued to watch in awestruck terror as the entity slowly turned around to face me. He had few distinguishable features on what passed for his face – no nose or ears that I could see, and only a slit where his mouth should be. But when I looked into his hideous eyes, my heart almost stopped. Those damned eyes – if you can call them that. They burnt a fierce red, appearing like portals to hell itself. And he was looking straight at me with such intensity, like I was the only person in the entire universe from his perspective. I can’t describe the terror I experienced when staring into those burning orbs. But I was frozen in that moment…and try as I might, I could not look away. An unbearably tense moment passed before the creature’s slit-like mouth slowly opened, revealing a gaping black hole within. Then the creature emitted a blood-curdling scream which echoed through the forest – a banshee-like wail which shook my very soul. This is what broke me from my terror-induced paralysis. I darted forward – slamming the window shut as the unholy screaming continued. Next, I retreated from the living room, turning my back on the horrifying creature as I fled into the hallway and then to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I cowered inside the bedroom for quite some time, my head throbbing and body trembling. The screaming eventually stopped, only to be replaced by an ominous silence. Ultimately, I worked up enough courage to creep over to the bedroom window, tweaking back the curtain so I could peek outside. But there was no sign of the bizarre entity I’d witnessed only moments before. In fact, there was nothing out there…nothing but the dark trees, and no sounds other than the distant chirping of crickets. I began to reassure myself. Surely, I had imagined the impossible creature. His appearance must have been a hallucination brought on by alcoholism and sleep deprivation. I laughed bitterly at my own foolishness, telling myself how ridiculous this all was. There was no monster outside. Nothing had emerged from my laptop screen. Ghosts and ghouls weren’t real, and the only horrors in this world were suffering and inevitable death. I picked myself up and sheepishly exited the bedroom, making my way back to the living area. Looking out the front window, I saw my laptop still lying on the grass, its screen now black and its power off. I shook my head before sitting back down at the dining table and pouring myself another drink. The delusion had at least proved to be an exciting interlude, enough to get my blood pumping. But now it was over, I had nothing to look forward to other than a depressing night of heavy drinking and self-pity. Or at least, that’s what I thought. But, as I downed yet another vodka, I was interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door – a shock which made me jump up from my chair. Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting visitors, and my mind instantly returned to the entity which I’d assured myself wasn’t real. There surely couldn’t be a connection. But still, who would be out here at this time of night? For a while I remained silent, hoping that the unwanted visitor would give up and leave. But this didn’t happen. Instead, the knocking only grew louder and more intense until I thought the door would come off its hinges. Finally I had enough, jumping up from my chair and stomping out into the corridor, my blood pumping with adrenaline and fear. “Who’s there?” I shouted once I reached the door. The banging abruptly ended, followed by a moment of ominous silence. And then the visitor replied to me through the closed door. I say reply, but in actual fact he repeated my own words. “Who’s there?” The voice had an uncanny and almost inhuman quality to it, and the stranger’s tone brought a chill up my spine. “What the hell do you want?” was my next question, spoken through trembling lips. A short pause ensued before the stranger once again repeated my exact words. “What the hell do you want?” What really freaked me out was the voice – still uncanny, except this time he was clearly mimicking my own tone and pitch. I felt scared and insulted at the same time, believing the unwanted visitor was deliberately mocking me. “You’re trespassing. Get out of here, or I’ll call the police!” I exclaimed. This was a bluff on my part. There was no mobile signal out here, and the cabin didn’t have a land line. I guess the stranger saw through my lie, because his response was yet more cruel mockery. “Trespassing! Call the police!” What followed was a twisted cackle which made my blood turn to ice. And a moment later, he started banging on the door again, furiously trying to break through. My brain went into panic mode as I realised I’d have to defend myself. Running back into the living room, I grabbed the nearest thing to hand which I could use as a weapon – the half-empty vodka bottle. I moved back into the hallway with my makeshift weapon. But the banging had stopped. The front door was sturdy and had held up to the powerful assault, and so I hoped the attacker had given up. But then I remembered the cabin had a back door, and I thought I’d left it unlocked. Fearfully I retreated to the small kitchen, only to find my attacker had already entered. The figure standing before me was someone from a nightmare, or more specifically a horror story of my own making. I recognised him straight away, noting the close similarities to the description in my writing – the leather jacket and denim jeans, dishevelled and greasy dark hair, heavy stubble on his chin, and the twisted smile on his dry lips. And then there were his eyes – dark, terrible eyes filled with malice and rage. He was exactly how I’d envisioned him whilst writing. But how could he be here in the flesh? I stood there staring at him across the kitchen floor, paralysed in shock-induced fear and unable to utter a word. “You know who I am?” the intruder snarled. “Yes…” I answered in little more than a whisper. The intruder’s name was Jack Leitch, and he was a serial killer from a hellish dimension, dropped into our world to cause bloody mayhem. Jack grinned sadistically, his eyes lighting up with a murderous glee. “Then you know why I’m here.” he spat. In that moment, I swore I could see something else behind those dark eyes – a burning crimson which I’d seen before. But I didn’t have time to put two and two together, because a second later Jack was charging manically towards me like a predator descending upon his prey. I acted on pure instinct, lashing out with the vodka bottle and striking my attacker on his head. He grunted as the glass shattered and fell to the floor. I ran, heading for the front door and struggling with the lock. But Jack was soon back on his feet. His head was bleeding but the killer was furious, screaming obscenities as he charged down the hallway. I was still trying to get the door open when he hit me from behind, punching me hard in the lower back. The pain shot through me as I crumbled onto the floor. But Jack didn’t hesitate as he kicked me mercilessly while I was on the ground. Next, he grabbed me roughly by the shirt, throwing me across the floor with unbelievable strength. My whole body hurt but I didn’t want to give in. I couldn’t let this monster end my life. I tried to stand up and fight, but Jack was too quick and too strong. In an instant he was on top of me, pinning me to the ground whilst his huge hands wrapped around my throat. He started to squeeze, exerting enormous pressure as he slowly throttled me. Panic set in as I struggled desperately, but to no avail. I saw his hideous face looking down at me, spittle and blood falling from his mouth, and his dark eyes filled with madness. I grew weaker as my brain was starved of oxygen. The fight had been beaten out of me. Then I lost consciousness, my eyes shutting as the darkness took me. I shot up from the wood floor in a panic. But Jack wasn’t there. The cabin door was open and a cool breeze was blowing in. Had Jack gone? Had he left me for dead? My throat hurt like hell and my body would be covered in bruises, but somehow I was still alive. I’d been given a second chance and intended to take it. In an instant, I was up on my feet and sprinting outside. I went straight for my car, fumbling with my keys before I could get the door open and jump into the driver’s seat. Next, I put the key in the ignition, but the engine wouldn’t start. It was totally dead. I slammed my fists on the steering wheel in angry frustration and tried to think. Perhaps Jack – or whoever he really was – had deliberately sabotaged my car. Maybe he’d left me alive on purpose. The bastard was toying with me, working to prolong my suffering before he finally finished me off. I felt physically sick as I looked out into the dark forest which had suddenly become much more sinister. What would I do now? I could try to escape on foot. Maybe I could make it to the road and flag someone down. But I didn’t fancy my chances of making it through the woods, not with him still out there. I nervously looked back towards the cabin. It pained me to return there given the horrific attack I’d just suffered. But I reckoned my best chance was to barricade myself inside and try to hold out until daybreak. So, slowly and cautiously, I got out of the car and made my way back to the cabin, securely locking the front door behind me before repeating the process with the back door. But I’d made a critical mistake, because I’d forgotten to check the cabin’s interior. And when I retreated into the living room, he was there waiting for me, sitting comfortably on the couch with a grin on his lips. The intruder waiting for me on the living room couch wasn’t Jack. It took me a moment to realise; such was my near total shock. But the entity sat before me was yet another creation from one of my stories. His name was Mr Schwarz and he masqueraded as a door-to-door salesman, although his true agenda was very sinister. His appearance was almost the exact opposite of Jack Leitch. Schwarz was well dressed in a finely tailored suit, with shined shoes and a bright red tie. He was undeniably handsome – clean shaven with his blond hair slicked back. The smile on his lips seemed genuine enough, as did the twinkle in his blue eyes. But, on closer inspection, I could see the malice in these eyes…and something else too – a red tinge behind his pupils, which hinted towards the true identity of Schwarz, and of Jack Leitch. My aching brain was finally putting the pieces together, but perhaps ‘Schwarz’ could fill in the blanks. He stood up once I entered the room, smiling amicably as he offered his hand in friendship. I refused to shake but Schwarz was undeterred, as he addressed me by my first name. “Please Edward. I am not your enemy. I simply want to talk. Please, take a seat.” He nodded towards the chair facing him. I thought for a moment, trying to decide what to do. None of this made any sense, but I had been forced to accept the impossible. If my theory was correct, then the entity which had emerged from my laptop screen could take on multiple forms – first as Jack Leitch, and now as Mr Schwarz. I had no idea how this could happen, but one thing was for certain – the entity had tried to kill me, strangling me within an inch of my life. And sure, Schwarz wasn’t threatening me right now, but I knew all too well how dangerous he could be. My instincts told me to run – but where would I go? And how far was I likely to get before he caught up with me? As unpleasant as it was, I felt I needed to stay and hear him out, and perhaps I would discover the creature’s purpose. And so I sat down with the beast and asked him the most obvious of questions. “What are you?” Schwarz’s smile didn’t falter as he answered. “You know who I am, Edward. You created me after all.” I shook my head in disbelief, not wishing to meet the monster’s gaze. “Whatever you are, it’s clear you can transform with the blink of an eye.” I said fearfully, “You’re using my own words against me – taking the form of the monsters I created on page.” Schwarz chuckled before repeating what I’d said in an apparent confirmation. “Your words, your monsters.” I felt a burning anger in that moment, meeting the monster’s eye and seeing the red orbs which showed a glimpse of his true form. “What do you want from me?” I spat. Schwarz laughed gently once again before revealing his agenda. “Come now Edward, you know who I represent and what I can offer you. And I know what you desire more than anything in the world…Polly, your beloved wife.” My stomach dropped as I was sickened to hear my lover’s name come out of this beast’s foul mouth. “What the hell do you mean?” I asked impatiently. “Polly.” he repeated, “I can bring her back…back into your loving arms. You can be together again…and all I need from you Edward, is a pledge of fealty.” This time it was my turn to smile. Because I understood what was happening here. In my story, Mr Schwarz was an emissary of Hell – a demon in fine clothes who would visit the sad and desperate, offering them vast riches or the return of lost loved ones…in exchange for their souls, of course. “I’m sorry Mr Schwarz, but you’re forgetting one thing. I know how this story ends. Anyone who makes a deal with you and your master lives to regret it.” Schwarz was fast losing patience, an anger entering his voice as he became more direct. “So, what is your answer Edward? Yes or No?” I thought for a long moment, seriously considering the entity’s proposition. Could he really bring Polly back? And would it be worth sacrificing my own soul to give the woman I loved a second chance? But no, it must be a trick. The entity didn’t have the power to bring back the dead. He was merely mimicking the character from my story, speaking his lies and offering false promises. In the end, my decision was an easy one. “That’s a definite no.” I answered defiantly. In that moment, Schwarz’s mask slipped and his words were filled with a bitter fury. “You damned fool!” he spat, whilst rising from his chair and pointing aggressively in my direction. “I offer you the chance to save your wife, and you’re too much of a coward to take it! You want to know the truth Edward? You prefer to dwell in self-pity and grief…to drink yourself to death! You’re a pathetic worm, and you were never good enough for her!” I saw red in that moment, unable to contain my anger after his hateful tirade. Jumping up from my chair, I confronted Schwarz, screaming in his face and shouting – “Go back to Hell!” But my act of angry defiance was ill-advised, and Schwarz responded with violence. In an instant, his true face was revealed – that of a wicked demon with darkness in place of a soul. He roared with bloodthirsty fury before putting his claw-like hands upon me, shoving my body with an immense strength. I hit the dining table hard, experiencing a shooting pain in the back of my head before I blacked out. Once again I awoke to find myself alone, my head throbbing and whole body aching…but I’d been left alive by the entity. I wondered why he was doing this to me. Did he enjoy tormenting me? Probably. The manifestations of Jack Leitch and Mr Schwarz had beaten me half to death, but the real damage was done to my already fragile psyche. I’d been in a bad way before I even arrived here, with my grief consuming me and destroying what little was left of my sad life. But the torture inflicted upon me by this hellish entity had pushed me over the edge. Schwarz’s words in particular had really hurt me – and I couldn’t get them out of my mind. He’d called me a coward, a pathetic worm…said I was never good enough for Polly. Maybe he was right. What hope did I have now? What would my life be without Polly? A living hell is what. I picked myself up off the floor, seeking out another vodka bottle from the kitchen as I sought to ease my pain with alcohol. I took a long swig whilst stumbling into the corridor, but I froze once I saw the entity’s latest horrific manifestation. The figure stood tall in the hallway, blocking the way to the door. No matter, as I knew there was no escape from this evil. The monster before me had no mouth, no visible eyes, and no physical features whatsoever. It took the shape of a man, but his form was nothing but darkness. My heart sank as I realised what I was seeing – yet another monster of my own creation. I called this beast the shadow. He had no other name, but what he represented was despair and death. In my story, the shadow had stalked the halls of a haunted hotel, driving the residents to despair and suicide before the staff and ghouls joined forces to defeat the demon. My characters had worked together to survive, but I was alone…And, in that moment, my last shred of hope was gone, replaced by nothing but empty despair. The shadow didn’t speak. In fact I don’t believe he could speak, other than to transmit images of horror into my sub-conscious. But he did raise what passed for his arm, pointing in the direction of the bedroom. I could no longer defy the entity and instead followed his instruction without question, dropping the bottle and slowly walking into the bedroom to face the horror within. The end the entity had apparently prepared for me was simply yet chilling, as I saw a pre-prepared noose hanging from the ceiling, with a strategically placed chair beneath it. And finally I understood. The entity wasn’t going to kill me. He wanted me to end my own life. I knew I should fight back, but all my strength was exhausted. Polly was never coming back, and perhaps death was the only way I could be reunited with her. That was assuming there was an existence after this life. But, even if there wasn’t, death would at least relieve me of my misery and grief. I could see no other way out at this point, and so I decided to give the entity what he wanted, stepping up on the chair and securing the noose around my bruised neck as the shadow watched silently from the doorway, a flash of red appearing in the darkness where his eyes should be. I paused for just a moment, my last thought being of Polly and how much I missed her. Then I kicked the chair out from under me. The noose tightened around my throat, and once again my brain was deprived of oxygen. Reflexes kicked in as I fought against the rope. But the noose was too tight. I began to black out, feeling sure that my end was finally here. But suddenly I heard a loud snap, and next I was falling, my body hitting the ground hard. There was another lost period in my memory before I pulled myself up, coughing and spluttering whilst I tore the noose from my neck. I looked up in astonishment, realising that the rope had indeed snapped. Why had this happened? Hadn’t the entity wanted me dead? Or was this another one of his torturous tricks? I was still on my knees, tears in my eyes as I was overwhelmed by pain. But then I heard a soft, reassuring voice call out to me – a voice I thought I’d never hear again. “Eddie. Please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.” I looked over to the bed in astonishment and there she was – Polly, my Polly. She was under the covers – not in full health but still with colour in her face, like she’d been in those better days in the hospice before her terminal decline. I was awestruck by her beauty; my broken heart filled with the passions of old as I remembered all the treasured memories from over the years. I immediately pulled myself up and went to her side, taking the hand which Polly offered me, savouring the familiar warmth of her palm. I used my other hand to gently brush back her beautiful hair, and I looked into her expressive brown eyes, my heart melting as I struggled to speak. “Polly.” I eventually spluttered, “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” She smiled gently, squeezing my hand tighter as she answered. “I know Eddie. I know all too well. I’ve seen how much you’ve suffered since my passing. I know you’re hurting my love, but I’m here to tell you…this has to stop.” I shook my head in confusion, not understanding what my wife was saying. “What has to end?” I asked. “What you’re doing to yourself Eddie.” she answered, “The drinking, the isolation…all this self-destructive behaviour. This isn’t what I want for you Eddie. I need you to process your grief and move on with your life.” She paused momentarily, pulling me in closer as she whispered into my ear. “Everything that’s happened tonight has happened for a reason.” she explained, “It’s been hell for you, and I’m sorry…But you need to go through the pain to get to the other side.” Something clicked inside of my head, and finally I understood. My eyes teared up as my emotions overwhelmed me, and I struggled to splutter out my words. “I don’t want to let you go Polly.” “I know you don’t Eddie. But you must. You need to heal, to write, to live your life and be happy. But know that I’ll always love you, my Eddie.” “I love you too Polly.” I replied. My words seemed so inadequate. But I followed my declaration with a kiss, meeting her soft lips for the last time. In that final second, I saw a hint of red behind her brown eyes, and with that my wife was gone – her form disappearing and leaving the bed empty. It should have been devastating to lose her again, and yet I felt a strange sense of peace in the aftermath. Soon after I left the bedroom, walking past the wreckage caused by the entity’s previous appearances, which I now realised were part of a greater plan. I unlocked the cabin’s front door and walked outside, just in time to see the sun rise on the far horizon. And I sat down on the grass, savouring the fact that I’d survived to see another morning. That fateful night in the cabin was a turning point for me, and I haven’t looked back since. I still miss Polly and think of her every day. But I’ve taken my wife’s final words to heart, slowly but surely rebuilding my life – reconnecting with my family and friends, seeking help when I need it…and of course, healing through writing. This is my first effort since Polly’s death, and many will believe it’s a work of fiction, but I can assure you this isn’t the case. As for the entity – I can’t say for certain what he or she was. At first I thought I was being tormented by a demon, but now I think this might have been my guardian angel. In any event, what I suffered that night happened for a reason – to give me the closure I so desperately needed. And some will say I didn’t speak with Polly that night. They’ll say that the creature was merely mimicking my late wife based on my memories. But I know my Polly and I’m certain she found a way to reach out to me from the other side, delivering the message I needed to hear to pull myself back from the brink. To my darling wife, until we meet again. Credit: Mark Lynch Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.