Tonight's Dinner Is From My Dead Wife

"Caden, eat up. What are you gawking at?" The woman before me flashed me a smile, my name rolling off her tongue as she prompted me to eat.

But I knew, without a doubt, that my wife, Mabel Kingsley, had passed away three months ago.

We'd been married for five years and always lived in Ashdale. My wife died three months ago because of an accident.

Her death had been too sudden for me to accept it. In my daze, I made a huge mistake at work and was laid off.

I spent my days in a drunken haze after that.

Just last month, I met my savior while I was out drinking. He'd heard about my circumstances and suggested a change of environment. With his recommendation, I became a truck driver for a truck fleet in Belford.

After all, as a man who'd lost his wife, I could call anywhere home, and it wouldn't matter.

I'd been on the road for a month. When I finally returned home, it was already late at night.

With a push of my hand, the front door swung open, but what greeted me was a table full of hot food and my supposedly dead wife.

I stared at her familiar face, then glanced at her memorial portrait behind her. A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to run, but my legs felt as if they'd been pumped full of lead, refusing to budge.

"W-Why'd you light these candles?" I managed to squeeze the words out of my mouth after pausing and racking my mind for something to say, only to realize that my voice was cracking with fear.

"Oh, the breaker box must have tripped. Let's just make do with the candles for now," my wife replied expressionlessly.

Those were the candles I used when I said prayers for her departed soul, yet now, she'd put them out on the dining table. The flames of the white candles were pale and weak, making for an inexplicably eerie sight.

My heart pounded in my chest. The person in front of me looked exactly like my wife, but my instincts screamed otherwise. She didn't even sound alive.

"Why aren't you eating, Caden?" she prompted again.

"I'm not hungry, Mabel," I answered in a quaking voice.

"That makes no sense."

When I still didn't touch my food, she picked up her utensils and began to eat. But her movements were off and exaggerated, like her limbs had a mind of their own as she stiffly shoveled food into her mouth.

She was not Mabel! I'd lived with Mabel for years and knew her to be graceful, not the unrefined copycat before me.

Did ghosts truly exist?

"You're still not going to eat?"

The woman looked up and flashed me a smile. It was the 15th night of the month. The moon was full and bright, but its silvery light cast a whitish glow over the woman's face.

She was smiling, but her lips were curving all wrong as she asked me the question.

I couldn't speak, so I shook my head mechanically.

"Mabel" sighed, then reached for me. I instinctively wanted to push her away, but my body had gone numb and stiff.

Left without a choice, I let her guide me to the edge of the bed.

"Go ahead and sleep. You've had a long day, honey."

There was not a trace of emotion in her voice. She patted my head mechanically, like a mother comforting a child, but her hand was cold every time it landed on me.

I dared not move, so I played along, closed my eyes, and pretended to fall asleep.

However, I was too tired, and my nerves were extremely riled up. It wasn't long before I dozed off into a heavy slumber.