I slept with my boyfriend Arthur not knowing hed been dead for two daysnow Im carrying a child that belongs to his spirit.
**Episode1**
I swear I saw him. I felt his hand. I kissed him. His breath was warm, his lips tasted of mint, just as they always did. He was wearing that oversized grey hoodie that always made him look like a gentle bully. He was real. He held me all night and whispered I love you into my ear. He said wed marry next year. I can recall every second: the way his fingers slipped down my arm, the way he wept whenever I wept, the way he made love to me with such intensity that I thought my soul might split in two. And then he vanished.
I woke up alone, but I wasnt scared. I told myself Id gone for a jog, as I sometimes did. His aftershave still lingered on the sheets. My skin still tingled where his hands had been. Something didnt fit.
I called.
Again.
And again.
Then my best friend Clara slipped into my room, her face pale, tears streaming.
Mark you dont know, do you? she whispered.
I laughed. Know what?
Arthurs dead.
I blinked. Dead how?
She sobbed louder. He died two days ago. A car crash on the night of the storm.
No. No. No.
I shouted, shoved her away, called it cruel to say that, and showed her the text Arthur had sent the night before: a voice note saying, Im on my way. I miss your body next to mine. She stared at the phone, trembling.
Mark he couldnt have sent that. He was already in the mortuary.
The world tilted. My knees gave way. I sprinted to the bathroom, grabbed the towel hed used, still damp, the hoodie hed left on the floor, the faint bite mark on my neck. He had been there. He had to be.
But the truth was Arthur had been buried yesterday.
And somehow, I had been with him just last night.
Days passed. 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 I heard his voice: Dont cry, love. Im still with you. I tried to record it, but only got static and my own terrified breathing.
Then my period stopped.
Twice.
I blamed stress, grief, trauma. Until I vomited for the fifth time in one day. I took a pregnancy test.
Two lines.
Positive.
I collapsed.
The only person Id been intimate with was Arthur.
But he was dead.
Buried. Decaying. Gone.
And yet something was growing inside me. Something that kicked at night, something that glowed beneath my skin when the lights were out. And every time I sobbed and said I couldnt take it, I heard a whisper from the shadows:
Youre not alone. Our child is coming.
**Episode2**
I dont remember falling asleep. I only recall waking 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 Clara. My phone rang dozens of times, her name lighting the screen, but I ignored every call.
How could I explain that I was expecting a baby from a man whod been six feet under for weeks? Who would believe me? I didnt even fully believe myselfuntil that night.
Just as I was drifting off, something pressed against my womb from inside. It wasnt a normal kick. It felt purposeful, deliberate, as if trying to get my attention. I bolted upright, gasping, hands on my stomach. Then I heard him again, his voice inside my head.
Dont be afraid, love. I chose you.
I screamed and fled the bed. I stared at my belly in the mirror, lifting my shirt. I could have sworn I saw a faint blue pulse just beneath my skin. It flickered then vanished. My legs gave way and I collapsed, sobbing.
The next day I forced myself to the hospital. I told the doctor Id become pregnant after my boyfriend visited me. I lied about the dates, about everythingexcept the symptoms.
Strange dreams. Skin that glows. Hearing voices of someone who isnt there.
The doctors expression shifted from concern to a calm suspicion.
Well run some tests, she said cautiously. Stress can do a lot to the mind, especially 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, silent, 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. Arthur stood by the old lake we used to visit in the Lake District, the wind rustling his hoodies hood.
Our child isnt like the others, he said, his voice softer than the breeze. Hes me and more.
What do you mean? I asked.
He only smiled sadly. Youll understand soon. But you must protect him.
I woke to find the curtains wide open, even though Id locked everything. The hoodie from the dream was folded neatly on the edge of my bed. I touched it; it was still warm.
Thats when I realisedwhat was growing inside me was real. It was his. And it was changing me.
The next day I finally called Clara. She rushed over and held me tightly. I told her everything, showed her the glowing spot on my belly, spoke of the dreams, the voice, the baby.
She didnt laugh. She didnt shout. She whispered, We need to get you somewhere safe.
She led me to a crumbling cottage behind her grandmothers church in a quiet Yorkshire village. 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, and her answer chilled me to the bone.
You carry the child of a bound soul. The baby is both a blessing and a warning. His father should never have returned. Now the gate is open, and others are crossing.
Whos crossing? I asked.
Coming for you.
The lights flickered. A cold draft swept through the windows. From the shadows I heard Arthurs voice again:
Run.
**Episode3**
The room turned icy. The old womans eyes widened in terror as unnatural shadows stretched across the walls like claws.
Hes here, she whispered, clutching a rosary made of twisted oak and bone.
Clara pushed me behind her.
But I was no longer afraid of Arthur. I feared the others the old woman had spoken ofthose who came because hed broken the rules.
She scattered ash in a circle and told me to stand inside.
Dont leave that circle, no matter what. Do you hear me? she warned. Youre now a bridge between the living and the dead. Bridges are crossed 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.
Tari, please, I whispered, whats happening?
And 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. A love like that breaks the laws.
Suddenly, a twisted, monstrous figure emerged from the shadows, halfface, eyes blazing. It whistled at the sight of me. Arthur stepped between us.
You cant have her! the monster roared. You cant take our child!
Arthur lunged, hurling the creature into the air. The old woman began chanting in an ancient tongue. Clara grabbed my hand, sobbing, Mark! Dont leave the circle!
I shouted as the monster lunged at me. Arthur struck it midflight. The old woman screamed,
NOW! Choose, child! Life or love?
Arthur, bloodied and fading, turned to me.
You have to let me go, love. For our child. For you.
I shook my head, refusing.
You never left me, he whispered. I live in him now, in you. If you cling, theyll take everything.
The lights exploded. The floor cracked. The shadows howled. With every ounce of pain in my heart I yelled his name and said goodbye.
In that instant he smiled, and vanished.
The darkness receded. The monster shrieked and dissolved into smoke. Silence fell.
I collapsed. The circle dimmed. The baby inside me kicked once, then again, then settled.
Nine months later I gave birth to a boy. He didnt cry like other newborns. He simply looked me straight in the eyes, quiet and serene, as if he already knew everything. His skin glimmered faintly in the dark. And sometimes, when I sing to him at night, I swear I hear a second voice harmonising with mineArthurs voice.
I named our son Arthur Jr., because the child belongs to the man who loved me beyond death. He was never truly mine.
Before he passed beyond, he left me one final gift: a piece of himself that no shadow can ever take away.
**The End**The first light of dawn slipped through the lace curtains, casting a soft amber across the small bedroom. I watched my sons chest rise and fall, each breath a quiet rhythm that seemed to echo beyond the walls. He was cradled in a knitted blanket, his tiny fingers curled around my thumb, and a faint shimmer traced the curve of his forearm, as if the night itself lingered on his skin.
An ancient lullaby drifted from my lips, the words old and tender, and a second, mellower tone answered from somewhere just beyond the doorway. It was not a phantom, but a presence that felt like a promise fulfilleda lingering fragment of the love that had once bound us. The sound swelled, then faded, leaving a warm resonance in the air.
The old woman stepped inside, her eyes still bright with the hidden fire of ages. She placed a small, worn amulet on my sons breast, its metal warm against his flesh. Your child carries a bridge, she whispered, her voice a blend of caution and reverence. He will walk between worlds, but he will also mend the cracks that were forced open.
I felt a surge of purpose settle deep within me. The fear that had once chased me through corridors of shadow was replaced by a steady certainty: I would guard this delicate balance, teaching him the strength of compassion and the wisdom of restraint. The world outside buzzed with ordinary lives, oblivious to the thin veil that separated the seen from the unseen, yet now it seemed a little less fragile.
Months turned, and the boy grew with an uncanny calm. Children at the village school would pause, eyes widening as his skin caught the waning light, and they would speak of the boy who never seemed scared. He never needed words to soothe the restless spirits that occasionally brushed the village; his mere presence soothed them, and they drifted away like mist at sunrise.
One evening, as the sky bruised purple, I stood on the hill overlooking the lake where Arthur once whispered promises. The water reflected the stars, and for a heartbeat I thought I saw his silhouette walking along the shore, hand extended. He smiled, then turned his gaze to my son, who stood at the waters edge, eyes fixed on the horizon. A gentle ripple spread across the surface, and the night air hummed with a soft, unspoken agreement.
I returned home, heart full, knowing that the love that began in tragedy had become a beacon. The child I bore was not merely a memory of a lost lover; he was a living testament to the strength of a bond that defied death. And as I tucked him into sleep, I whispered a promise into the darkness: that I would keep his light burning, that the doorway would remain guarded, and that the love that had once threatened to shatter the world would instead heal it, one quiet breath at a time.
