I haven’t slept in months. I am exhausted and ruined, and I don’t know how to go on like this.
Every night like clockwork, he comes back to visit me in my bedroom. At first, I thought I was going crazy with grief, but I knew it was real when he talked to me. Although I didn’t realize it would be my reality for the next several months.
This started happening shortly after my husband was killed on his way home from work, exactly 7 months ago. The day was like any other, he kissed me goodbye in the morning and told me he loved me, and we both went on with our day.
Around dinner time, I heard a knock on my door. I thought my husband had just forgotten his keys again as he usually came home around this hour. I went to open it, ready to tease him for being so forgetful, but I found two officers standing on my porch when I opened the door.
I don’t remember what happened next. As soon as they broke the news, my whole body went numb, and I couldn’t muster a response and just fell to the floor. I only remember hearing my daughter cry in the background, and the officers told me that they were working on the case to find out exactly what happened to Matthew.
To this day, no one really knows what went down, but I have my suspicions.
You see. My husband had this coworker mark that he was extremely close with.
They would always leave work together, and my husband would drive him home, but on this day, he didn’t. They had a bit of a falling out around this time, and I never really knew why.
Mark was an odd fella, but my daughter loved him, so he was always welcome at my house. Sometimes he would come and visit my baby and me even if Matthew wasn’t at home, and as a result, we also became somewhat friends.
My husband wasn’t fond of this, but he trusted Mark.
I hadn’t seen Mark for a few months before my husband died and never spoke to him after, not even at Matthew’s funeral. I was too ruined to talk to anyone.
I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t take care of my daughter. I had to move far away from the house and take my mom with me so she could look out for my child while I just sat in my own misery all day long.
That’s when he started coming back.
I think it’s probably around the same time each night, but I can’t be too sure, as I never dared to look. Not at him or at the time.
For the first few days, he would just be there. Walking around my room and watching over me. He would come close, almost breathing down my neck, but never touch me.
The first time I was terrified, but then it was comforting for a little while. A very short while.
The first time he spoke to me, all the comfort went straight out the window and was replaced by pure terror.
“Claire?” he whispered.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. His voice didn’t seem right; it was dark and empty of life. Not the warm voice I had come to love.
“Claire? Can you look at me? Come on, Claire, I won’t hurt you; I just miss you. Please talk to me.”
The room became so cold, and I couldn’t respond to him. Even if I wanted to, I was too paralyzed to utter a single word.
“Claire?”
It went on for what felt like hours, and never had I been more afraid.
When it finally became morning, I couldn’t leave my bed. I had no idea what to do about this. It’s not like I could call the police, and a therapist would never believe me if I went that route. I was hopeless.
As this went on, my mom got so worried about me. I wouldn’t eat, and it was clear that I wasn’t sleeping. He hadn’t even seen my daughter in months. I couldn’t even look at her at this stage.
The following night was the same.
“Claire? I miss you. Talk to me.”
I never could respond and never looked.
It went on and on and on. Every. Single. Night.
He grew more persistent, almost aggressive.
“Just look at me, Claire! If you don’t talk to me, just look at me, for gods’ sakes!”
I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t even know what I would see. I could feel that he wasn’t the same anymore. He brought cold and darkness with him. The sight could only be worse than his haunting voice.
I am so tired. I just want to sleep, and I don’t know what to do about this. I need help, but I feel that no one can help me with this. No one would believe me.
Last night was the worst night so far.
I went to bed, knowing it would be another sleepless night of terror. And it began.
“Claire?” he whispered, and then silence.
I don’t know for how long he was silent, but it felt like years of torture. Then he spoke again.
“I know you miss me too. I know Sophia misses me.”
Sophia. I almost cried when he said my daughter’s name. No way this monster was going near my baby girl.
“If you won’t talk to me, maybe I should go see her instead?”
I couldn’t do this anymore, not like this. I started crying and hyperventilating, and God knows he noticed.
“You don’t want me to go say hi? Well then, JUST TALK TO ME” He now was yelling.
“All I want is to talk. I just want to explain, to say my piece before I can move on.”
I was bawling my eyes out at this point. Still not looking, still not talking.
He got close to me. I could feel his heavy breathing, almost hearing his heart racing with frustration.
“Jesus Christ, Claire. Just say a simple yes, and allow me to say what I need to say. I am begging you.”
I had to be strong. I couldn’t allow him. I held my tongue as he wandered across my room, pounding and yelling for me to talk. Begging me to let him tell his story. I wanted none of it.
“Please?” he pleaded. “Please just listen and let me speak.”
Then the sun came rising. He had to leave now; he always did. I made it through the worst.
As soon as I could get out of bed, I went straight there to tell this story. I am begging for an answer to how I make this stop, how I can get him to leave before he goes to Sophia.
I still don’t understand this weird habit of his, always having to ask for permission to tell me something. He had done this forever, and even when he forced himself into my night, he still had to do this for whatever reason.
I am at a loss here. I don’t understand anything. I hadn’t seen him for such a long time, why come back? Why do this to me? I can’t take it anymore.
As I am writing this, my biggest question is still unanswered. The one that haunts me the most.
How did Mark even find my new house?