《My dead wife wants me to avenge her death》


 How it all began

    "Tristan, I love you, Tristan." I could hear the voice of my long-gone beloved wife once more while still asleep. I could see their perfect body shape and those perfect round eyes staring into my soul while I drowned in the abyss, trying to reach out to them, but it was useless.


    I''ve long known that my wife is gone, and I can do nothing to get them back. Everyone has been so nonchalant as well, only telling me that it''s time to move on and that I should forget about the love of my life and get another wife, as it was that easy to overcome this pain.


    Many would argue that a sudden death is far less painful than a prolonged death caused by cancer or some other awful disease, but I would say otherwise. My wife didn''t deserve to die like that. She definitely did nothing wrong. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.


    They were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver who didn''t even realize they had killed somebody until they were arrested and taken into custody. Remembering that guy''s face always makes me angry and even more when the judge sided with them instead of me and my dead wife.


    Citing that they were just some young, naive teenagers who showed signs of remorse like that would bring my wife back to life. I did get a minor win in the car crash settlement; however, since my wife''s car was totaled and her car was a high-end SUV, I got a paycheck of forty thousand dollars.


    Most of the money went into funeral fees and into another small sedan, which I needed to get since getting that car for my wife took away my little sports convertible; I swear I always did everything to make her happy, and now she''s just gone like that in one night she just left.


    I''ve had nightmares since then, and while I know this is normal stuff one goes through, and yet I can''t help but feel like the Beth in my dreams is the real one. I yearn and ask god to please let me touch her and hug her one more time. Just one more time would be enough. Oh god, hear my prayer.


    I wonder as thunder rumbles in the middle of the night rainstorm, which also lets me see a faraway silhouette out there in the cornfields before my house. I live out on the outskirts of town, far away from the city and next to a small family farmhouse that sometimes plants tomatoes, corn, or even peanuts.


    Not that it mattered, but the silhouette freaked me out when I saw it out there in the rain; not paying much attention to it, I fell back asleep. I mean, what could it be? Perhaps my neighbor finally had enough of the birds eating his crops, so he made a scarecrow; it wouldn''t be much of a mystery then, would it?Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    The following day, I woke up with a headache and lethargy so great I almost felt like calling off from work, but I couldn''t afford that, so I forcefully went to take a shower and dressed myself for work. I am an accountant for a small credit union, which is poorly known but pays well.


    {Knock knock}


    I hear two soft knocks on the front of my door, and I wonder who it could be. I mean, I know my neighbors wake up at around the same time as me, but what could they want? Not wanting to seem like an asshole, I go to answer the door as soon as possible just to see nobody out there, not even my neighbor picking some fresh corn like always.


    That was strange; I told myself as I closed the door so I could pick up my cup of coffee before leaving for work in the city. I always had to drink some coffee before heading to work because I wasn''t the same without my usual caffeine dose to wake me up.


    I notice a small piece of old, wet, dry paper on my windshield as I approach it with my cup of coffee at hand, wondering who could''ve left me a note in the middle of a rainy night. I don''t pay much attention to the piece of paper at first, only throwing the note inside my car so I can drive to work while listening to the Joe Rogan Experience podcast.


    The drive to work goes as usual, and there is not much traffic at 6 AM, making it a dream to drive since no one else is driving to work yet. I''ve been obsessed with work to try and tire myself out, so sleeping will be easier at night. I was usually always the one to open the bank before the official opening time.


    My coworkers all arrived at around seven-thirty AM, and I usually beat them by around forty minutes or so, giving plenty of time to set my desk up perfectly before anyone else even arrived. With this plenty of time, I now look at the note inside my car as I turn the engine off in front of the bank.


    The note read something strange; however, an address was on it. "1095 Gary Lane Drive, California," the address rang inside my mind for a while as I struggled to remember who the address was from. I knew that address from something, but I failed to recognize it at the moment.


    It was only after a short Google Maps search that I remembered when I saw the picture of the house from the Google Streets pictures. It was the house of the murderer of that disgusting guy who killed my wife. Still, who could''ve left me the note? My neighbors knew nothing about it, and I was pretty sure I was one of the only ones who knew their address.


    As to how I found out, it was all thanks to the court documents my lawyer let me read through while we built our case to send that son of a bitch to jail for the rest of their putrid life. Still, as I disclosed before, we lost anyway, but why would this not be on my car this morning? Was someone playing a prank on me?

 It got worse

    During my workday, things seem to run normally. Yet even if nothing was out of the ordinary, I couldn''t help but feel observed, like something or someone was all day watching me work. I tried to pay little attention to this feeling for the first few days after getting the note, but the feeling of being watched slowly worsened as the days went on.


    The signs that something was also watching me at home also became increasingly worrisome. My car would suddenly start blaring its stealing defense alarm in the middle of my morning routine, and every day, I kept finding the same address note on my windshield.


    The second day, I found the same note. I even took the liberty of putting it through a shredder just in case I was hallucinating, thinking that maybe it was me putting the note in my sleep for some reason. Yet, on the third morning, even though I had a shredded note in the trash bin, another note appeared in the same fashion as the first two.


    What the hell was going on? I asked myself as I looked at the shredded pieces of paper in my right hand while holding the freshly written note on my left. It wasn''t just the same note over and over again, so clearly, someone out there was trying to tell me something, right?


    No, it can''t be. Listening to my inner voice reminded me that there weren''t things like ghosts or spirits; this must''ve been somebody. Yet, who could it be? I asked myself as I started to doubt my own sanity. That night, I would try something different just so I could rule myself out of the picture by tying myself up in my bed and setting random traps over the house, designed to wake me up no matter what.


    Now, if I woke up in the middle of the night and saw the trap I set myself, then it would be clear that it had been me doing this bit all the time, and this would help me get over this feeling of the paranormal. Ghosts aren''t real, right? There''s no way ghosts exist! I am just suffering from delusion.


    I said to myself as I went to bed that night after placing some tacks on the floor as well as a couple of lines of tape designed to trip me over since the sleep me shouldn''t have that much spatial awareness, almost guaranteeing that I would either trip or step on some tacks if I was the culprit of all.


    By the fourth morning, I woke up in my bed to the surprise of my car alarm going off right as I opened my eyes, quickly waking me up to a horrifying realization. There it was, the same note I''d been getting in my car windshield. A new set of notes all over my car''s windows and windshield sat out there in my vehicle.


    My car looked like some of those pranks when the prankster places sticky notes all over badly parked cars, although it was even more terrifying when I realized that none of my traps were even out of place, so I couldn''t have been me, so who then!? Was I being haunted by a ghost?!


    "No! There''s is no way! This isn''t real! Ghosts aren''t real!" I screamed as I looked at my car, quickly turning the alarm off with my remote control. What could the notes even mean? If a ghost is haunting me, why would they write the address of that killer? Why now? It''s been almost a year, so why wait until now?The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The traps I set would''ve been guaranteed to wake me up since someone who sleepwalks had horrible dexterity, so at least some of the traps would''ve been tripped, yet if it wasn''t me sleepwalking, then what could have done that to my car? Why wait until I wake up as well!?


    "Am I going crazy?" I asked as I prepared a cup of coffee with my expresso machine just to find a handwritten note inside my coffee machine. "AH!" I screamed as I read the note in my mind. ''Kill him,'' the note said in red lettering, clearly meaning to be blood.


    Kill him?! Kill who? Wait, could these two notes be related? I was starting to panic now as whoever was doing this to me had now been able to gain access to my house, which was way more terrifying than some notes on my car windshield. Whoever or whatever this thing haunting me was had clearly grown bolder.


    Should I call the police? I questioned for a couple of minutes before realizing that my neighbors had been suspiciously quiet since this whole thing began. It wasn''t out of the ordinary for them to be playing some classic acoustic guitar by their porch every evening when I came back from work, but they''d suddenly stopped; but why?


    I needed answers, so before I ran out of time, I dressed up for work and walked over to my neighbor''s house to knock on their door until I realized that not even their dogs answered when I knocked. Usually, their little Chihuahua would come running first to bark at me, followed by their German shepherd, but this time, it was utter silence.


    I wasn''t a fan of breaking and entering, but my curiosity got the better of me when I saw their missing cars as if they had all gone elsewhere. Yet, they failed to mention where they could''ve gone, so I left their porch after forcing myself to eat my curiosity not to break and enter their property. I mean, what kind of shitty neighbor would I be if I did that right?


    I would just have to wait for them to return, but then again, if my neighbors were gone, then who else could it be? I lived far away from the city, and these people were the closest to me within a ten-mile radius, so who else could know about my dead wife? And who would even be this consistent other than them or me?!


    Should I get the authorities involved? Of course not! What am I going to tell them? They will come to the same conclusion I''ve arrived at! They will also think that it''s either my neighbors or me sleepwalking, but I know that can''t be it, and it''s not like the police in my region take their jobs seriously anyway, but just in case, I should still call them, right?


    My goodwill and judgment didn''t let me keep this matter a secret anymore, so against my best will, I called the non-emergency number of my police station so they would send an officer to look at my car. I would just report it as vandalized and tell them that someone had been messing with me but that I didn''t know who.


    Luckily for me, the notes didn''t even have an address on them; they were just a bunch of nonsense words and phrases that added up to nothing. I didn''t tell the cops that they had gone into my house once the lady officer arrived driving their Dodge Charger cop car.


    "So you said your car appeared covered in all these notes this morning?" The lady officer asked while I looked at her body, which reminded me of my wife quite a lot. "Yeah, it''s been happening for three days, but they didn''t cover my entire windshield before they just left some notes beneath my wiper blade."


    "Uh, that is weird. It''s probably some kid messing with you, but I will definitely place a report so you have evidence if they ever do something worse than this. Unfortunately, there''s not much else I can do to help you because of the lack of evidence." The officer said right after taking some pictures of my car.


    "That''s okay; I just didn''t know what to do or even if I should call you guys out here; sorry to bother you."