The Click.

She knew what she must do. Whisper the prayers, hum the hymns meant to guide his soul to the afterlife. If she stayed and prayed, if she kept the candles burning and the incense alive, his spirit would pass peacefully.

A hollow echo filled the chapel as the priest turned the key and left her alone for the night. She stared at the door, bitterness rising like acid in her throat. No one had offered to take her place. They knew.

They couldn’t pretend they didn’t.

They had all heard.

They had all seen.

And still, they left her.

Alone.

Exposed.

Locked away.

With him again.

She balled her hands into fists, digging her nails sharply into her palms. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air caught in her throat. Suffocating. Punishing.

Just like him.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, a silent reminder of why she had to endure this night. The thought steadied her - if only for a heartbeat. Then the air shifted, colder somehow, as if the chapel itself had been listening.

The walls began to keen, a low, mournful sound, pressing closer as the candles dimmed. The incense thickened, sweet and nauseating, garlic and spilled bourbon clinging to her tongue.

Reminding her.

Telling her.

It weighed upon her so heavily it thrust her forward, driving her to her knees before the casket. Her face pressed to the floor as prayers and hymns spilled from her mouth, but the old language felt weighted, false. She prayed for him to have safe passage, to find peace that never seemed to find him, but the words burned as she said them. A humiliating fire lit under her skin, and she wanted to crawl out of it.

As she desperately prayed, her mind began to slip, drifting to small, piercing memories. The way he’d chew on a toothpick until it split between his teeth.

There had been nights when she'd lie awake and listen to him move through the house, the floorboards groaning under his weight. She remembered the sharp snap of wood one night, the way the sound cut through the house like a warning before the shouting started.

The soft clicking that came before his temper. She used to count those clicks like seconds on a clock, waiting for the moment he’d break.

Outside, the wind pressed into the chapel’s siding, bitter and harsh, whipping against her skin through the cracks. Rain pounded the stained glass, lightning clapped through the night air.

The stained glass warped the lightning into fractured colors, shadows twitching along the pews as if they had breath.

Her own voice was the only thing left. It was desperate, cracked, swallowed by the storm.

But that’s when she heard it. Faint… almost a whisper… and then closer.

You thought you could get rid of me-

A breath. Hot against the back of her neck.

I won’t ever leave-

A hand, gliding up her side.

She turned, expecting those pale blue eyes, that liquor-stained breath.

There was nothing.

Only silence.

“It’s the storm,” she whispered. “Just the storm.” But the lie trembled as it left her.

The faint click of wood between teeth.

Then every candle went out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

She didn’t move at first - the air itself felt too thick to breathe. Lightning crashed outside, illuminating the chapel. The small reprieve she had didn't last.

Blindness swallowed her again. She reached out, her fingers brushing only cold air and the slick wax of fallen candles. For a moment, she couldn't remember how to breathe. Her lungs refused, her chest locked tight. The darkness felt alive now, as if it was moving around her, listening to her ragged gasps.

Something shifted in front of her, and lightning crashed again outside. For the briefest moment, she swore the lid of the casket pushed open.

Her heart thumped so erratically it echoed off the chapel walls. She groped for matches, searching for anything to bring light back.

The storm stilled for half a breath. She managed to relight one candle, then another. For a heartbeat, the chapel seemed still. Almost safe.

Another faint creak. Lightning flashed again. The casket lid fully opened, and she could have sworn she saw the faint outline of her husband’s face, the toothpick resting between his cold lips.

When the lightning struck again, she found the matches and struck one quickly. A candle flickered to life. Her eyes darted to the casket.

Sealed.

It was still sealed.

A ragged breath escaped her, relief flooding her, but she kept a hand firmly on her stomach, protecting what was still to grow.

She reached for another match, only to be met with a sharp sting. Frowning, she looked closer. Every match had been replaced with a toothpick.

Her hand trembled and her breathing turned into frantic bursts.

Light footsteps approached from behind. The sound of wood splintering under a strong bite.

She froze. She didn’t know whether to run, scream, or hide.

I trusted you-

Hot breath tickled her ear.

I loved you-

“No, you didn’t,” she stammered.

I gave you everything-

She pushed him away and ran to the door, yanking at the handle, banging, screaming for someone to open it.

To save her.

To hear her.

The footsteps behind her were heavy.

You killed me-

She whipped around to face him, only to be met with dead air and a closed casket. Her fingers curled into fists; her teeth ground together. The fear that had frozen her melted into something hotter, sharper.

“You don’t control me anymore,” she seethed. She stormed to the casket, determined.

She would prove, once and for all, that he was gone.

Her hand slid protectively to her stomach. “You will never touch us,” she whispered.

She had spent years shrinking beneath him, folding herself small enough to survive the storms her brought into their home. But here, in this suffocating chapel with the storm clawing at the windows, something in her hardened. She wasn't that woman anymore.

She wouldn't kneel.

She wouldn't beg.

Not for him again. Not ever again.

“You’re gone,” she said, pushing the casket open.

It was empty. Endless black.

Her breath caught. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

The darkness pressed close, thick enough to taste.

A firm hand gripped her neck.

Hot breath.

A toothpick grazed her skin.

You can never leave me-

Click.