My dead fiancée kept calling to say she’s coming home.

The first time it happened, I believed it.<br><br>It was only 2 days after the accident, and my brain was still reeling with the idea of living without her. I knew it was impossible though, and that she would *never* come back. It didn’t stop me from humiliating myself every time my phone rang, and desperately begging her not to hang up. <br><br>It was like I needed this lie for a little while, and I felt this overwhelming urge to let this convincing imposter convince me. I would say whatever the voice on the other end wanted to hear, and tell it whatever it needed to hear. It was cruel, but I didn’t care.<br><br>*Please don’t hang up.*<br><br>*Oh, the line is breaking up… Please don’t hang up.*<br><br>She was my soulmate. I can’t explain it. That’s just what she is. Even her Hillsboro accent that made me roll my eyes over and over and over again before I knew what love was- I missed that even more than I missed her voice right now. <br><br>It was like that for a long, long time. The humiliating, desperate pleas every time my phone rang. She even came to my dreams, until they became nightmares. <br><br>I’d wake up with our ring on the closest nightstand and my heart, pounding in my chest. Reliving the pain. I was in so much pain. But I’d take it, because it’s better than feeling dead inside.<br><br>I deleted all my social media and stopped going out. It was too hard to see people out and about, living their lives. <br><br>Maybe I was just jealous. <br><br>I’d stopped leaving the house for a month or so before the first call came. It was 10pm on a burning summer night. The city was quiet. <br><br>I was high as a kite when the phone rang, and my mind didn’t even register it as odd. The voice on the other end was familiar. <br><br>My fiancée, Ellie.<br><br>But she was dead.<br><br>I knew that, and I *knew* it wouldn’t be her. Yet, I was still so excited. So damn excited. Something weird was going on, and even I couldn’t explain it. I remember thinking that maybe it was a miracle, and my Ellie had genuinely come back to me. It didn’t feel that weird, after all. We’d been through so much together, and *nothing* could come between us. <br><br>But it wasn’t her.<br><br>It was some woman saying she was coming home, and it would be soon. She’d take her time. I just needed to come pick her up at the bus stop on the corner of 5th and Main. <br><br>I don’t know what came over me. I think it was the weed, but I genuinely wanted to go. Even though I’d just lived through the hardest 30 days of my life, even though it was *impossible*, I was telling myself I’d be able to see my beautiful Ellie again. She was telling me I could, and this was my lie, and I’d let it go as far as I could.<br><br>I walked for over an hour and a half, grinning stupidly and whistling along to the *Fiddler on the Roof* soundtrack I’d put on after burning down the last couple of joints. <br><br>Eventually, I reached the corner of 5th and Main. Something weird was in the air. The sky had a sickly, greenish tint to it. I couldn’t place the smell, but it reminded me of our first kiss in the car outside that gas station. I think it was her deodorant. Something like that. <br><br>There was a woman at the bus stop. She was wearing the yellow sundress Ellie got for her birthday last year. It’s her favorite dress. She wasn’t *wearing* it, but it was there. It was hanging on the woman at the bus stop. <br><br>The woman was twisted up and distorted, with her shoulders backwards and her smile upside down. Her eyes were pulsing, and I recognised them. I knew that they were my Ellie’s eyes. I was going to get down on my knees and beg her to come home with me, and this lie was going as far as it had to.<br><br>I was going to beg, but I couldn’t. <br><br>Because she wasn’t Ellie.<br><br>The *entire* bus stop was twisted and distorted. It was pulsing and writhing, like a living thing. The twisted up woman at the bus stop, wearing Ellie’s dress, was the only part of it that had a face. Her face was like molten lava, but I recognised her eyes. Every time I blinked, it was deforming further and further. <br><br>I don’t know why I was so scared then, but I was scared. I’d forgotten why I was there in the first place.<br><br>This wasn’t Ellie.<br><br>This wasn’t my fiancée.<br><br>This wasn’t even a person.<br><br>I don’t know what it was. It was a demon. It was an imposter. It was pretending to be my Ellie, but this wasn’t her. <br><br>I stumbled my way back home. The sky was orange. I was still confused and disoriented, and I was wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing. I knew it was impossible to imagine that sort of thing, a real-life hell in front of my own eyes, but I was trying to tell myself it was that easy. <br><br>I was so dazed I didn’t know how I lived through the whole thing. I remember walking for a long time and suddenly waking up in my bed. <br><br>None of it felt real. I knew it had to be real, but I’d tell myself it was just a nightmare, a stupid side effect of the drugs. I’d wake up the following morning and emphasise to myself how it didn’t even feel real. I’d convince myself it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, and I’d try and get back to my normal life. <br><br>I’d forget all about it, and the following week it would happen again.<br><br>It was 3 weeks until I saw it for the second time. The sky had the same sickly, greenish tint to it, and I recognised the smell straight away. I followed it until we were back at the same bus stop. <br><br>This time, I didn’t wait. <br><br>I charged at it and began hitting it, full force. I knew I wasn’t hitting anything at all. I think I broke my hand. <br><br>I kept on hitting it, until it started screaming. The ground around me was boiling. My eyes felt like they were melting. <br><br>When I came to again, I was at home. <br><br>It was over. <br><br>I’d forced myself to accept it. I’d see a therapist, cut back on the booze and the weed, and maybe even try dating again. It didn’t feel right, but I could convince myself I could do it. I could forget Ellie. I could move on with my life without her.<br><br>I’d try, even if it killed me.<br><br>But then the calls kept coming. *She was coming home.*<br><br>It was always the same voice. She said she was coming home, and emphasised she’d be patient and she’d take her time. She said I’d just have to come and pick her up from the bus stop on the corner of 5th and Main.<br><br>Every time, the sky would be green and I’d recognise a smell from our time together. Every time, I’d follow it to the same bus stop. <br><br>And every time, I’d charge at it until my eyes felt like they were melting and the ground boiled around me.<br><br>Every time, it would scream until I passed out. <br><br>I don’t know what it *is, *and I don’t know what it *wants*. I don’t know why it keeps telling me to come and pick her up from the bus stop on the corner of 5th and Main. <br><br>I don’t know what it’s capable of. It hasn’t shown me, but I have this sickly feeling that it will. I don’t know if I’m in danger, or if this is a punishment, or if it just wants to see me like this. I don’t know if it’s supernatural or if it was something man-made, if it was a virus or some kind of experiment gone wrong. <br><br>I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to know either. That’s why I ignore the calls now. I deleted Ellie’s number, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll just call me on a different one, and I’ll answer because I *know* it’s her on the other end.<br><br>Even if it isn’t her.<br><br>Even if it isn’t even human.