Sorry if this is a bit too surreal… I’ve just had the worst couple of weeks ever. I don’t really know if Reddit is the place to vent, but I hope you understand me.
Okay. My wife was really cool. Until she became cool. As in cold. Because she died. (Humor is my coping mechanism.)
We were just walking, minding our own business, not breaking any rules, when a drunk driver hit her. He was driving too fast, and she got her head smashed into the ground, instantly tearing apart her skull and covering everything in brains.
That bastard is now in jail. As he should be.
As for me, I was broken. At first, I couldn’t believe it.
I would ask her if she’d like me to buy her something - and then immediately say, “Oh right. You’re dead.”
When people tried to console me, I’d be all surprised.
One night, I was visited by a ghost. Or a spirit of some kind. A floating transparent woman. I couldn’t help but feel that had something to do with my loss, although she didn’t resemble my wife in the slightest.
I thought it would be best to hide. Who knows what this ghost wants to do to me, right. She called me, asked me to come out, said I would be visited by four more, but I lay below the bed and didn’t say anything. I just prayed that she wasn’t real.
After that night, I became angry with the world. How could it? How could it take away my wife, and leave others’ wives alive?
I would yell at my co-workers and face no repercussions, which made me even angrier.
One night, another ghost visited me. She looked like the first one, but not exactly: sisters, perhaps.
But this time, I was ready. I didn’t hide like a coward. I sprayed her with holy water and when it hadn’t worked, I started hitting her with a knife. She tried to reason with me, but I was unreasonable.
After that night, though, I got an idea. I patiently waited for the next ghost, and when she arrived, I started begging her to give me my wife back.
She said that there was no way, that those who are dead need to stay that way.
After that, I lost all interest in everything. What’s the point of doing anything, if that doesn’t bring my wife back?
I wouldn’t go to work, or eat, or sleep. No point.
One night, the fourth ghost appered. But that made no difference to me. We just stared at each other the whole time. In her eyes, instead of a reflection, I saw the scene of my wife’s death. And then it was morning.
And now I know what to do. Yes, my wife died and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I can ask the fifth ghost to take me to the world of the dead. And if she refuses, I’ll do it myself. Goodbye.