Chapter 1: The Widow’s Doorway

Our town has an old custom: when an older brother dies, his younger brother is expected to marry the widow. I used to laugh at the old stories, but now that it was my turn, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The tradition sounds like something out of a dusty Midwestern legend, the kind folks whisper about at the local diner over endless refills of black coffee and half-eaten pie. Still, everyone on our street knew it: a family stays together, no matter what. Sometimes that meant tying new knots in old strings, even when they chafed.

My brother had just passed away, and my mom wasted no time pushing my sister-in-law into my room.

My suit still smelled like incense and rain. I barely had time to take off my tie before Mom barreled in. She didn’t even let the funeral flowers wilt. One minute we were all standing under the harsh lights of St. Andrew’s, mumbling prayers, and the next she was shoving Natalie—my brother’s widow—right through my bedroom door, her face pinched and determined. It smelled like old cologne and lemon cleaner. Mom’s way of handling grief was doing what she thought was right, fast, before the ache could catch up to her.

She said, "Natalie’s family now. You do right by her, you hear me?"

She didn’t look at either of us when she said it. Her voice was flat, like she was reading a grocery list, but her hands shook as she gripped the doorknob, knuckles pale as chalk. I could almost see her willing me to nod, to accept this as just another family chore.

I clenched my fists and looked at my bewildered sister-in-law.

Natalie—tall, dark-haired, her eyes rimmed red but still full of stubborn pride—stood uncertain in the doorway. She looked at me like she was waiting for someone to call cut on a bad scene. The silence stretched, sharp and brittle.

Her hands hovered at the hem of her shirt, hesitating. She glanced at me, eyes pleading for a sign—any sign—that she didn’t have to go through with this.

Just as she stood there, trembling, starting to take off her clothes, my phone suddenly rang. It was Uncle Ray, and he sounded out of breath.

The ringtone—a twangy old country tune—cut through the tension like a slap. I fumbled for the phone, still staring at her, my heart pounding in my chest so loud I was sure she could hear it. I couldn’t tell if I was more afraid of the living or the dead.

Uncle Ray’s voice rasped on the other end, like he’d run the whole way from his trailer just to call me.

The phone slipped in my sweaty grip. Natalie—here, in my room—couldn’t be dead. But Uncle Ray’s voice kept echoing, making the world tilt. "Your sister-in-law hanged herself from the big oak at the edge of town. She’s gone. Why hasn’t anyone from your family come to the cemetery yet?"

His words tangled together in a rush, as if he was scared to say them but even more scared not to. The image of the old oak—gnarled, with that crooked tire swing hanging from its lowest branch—flashed in my mind. That tree had seen more heartbreak than most people I knew.

Instantly, my face went pale.

I could feel all the blood drain from my cheeks, and for a second the whole room spun, the edges blurring like a camera out of focus. I clutched the phone so hard my knuckles ached.

At that moment, my sister-in-law had already stripped down to just a white camisole.

The cheap fabric clung to her ribs, her skin glowing pale under the flickering ceiling light. She shivered, arms crossed tight over her chest, as if she was bracing herself against something colder than the old window AC could ever blow.

Her skin was flawless, pale and smooth like porcelain.

It struck me then how out of place she seemed—like a porcelain doll in a dusty attic, too perfect for a scene this cracked and sad. Even the dim light caught the tremor in her hands.

But no matter how beautiful she was, I wasn’t in the mood to notice.

My mind was reeling, trying to piece together what was happening, while something inside me wanted to bolt for the door and never look back. This was the kind of story that never ended well in small-town Ohio.

Her hands hovered at the hem of her shirt, hesitating. She glanced at me, eyes pleading for a sign—any sign—that she didn’t have to go through with this.

Just as she was about to go further, I hurriedly stopped her.

I reached out, grabbing her wrist—not rough, but firm enough she stopped. My voice came out sharper than I meant: "Stop. Just—wait."

I took a deep breath, trying my best to sound calm. “Uncle Ray needs me for something. I have to step out for a bit.”

Even as I spoke, I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. I grabbed for the battered Yankees cap hanging on the hook by the door, hoping it’d anchor me to something normal.

My hand was already on the doorknob, ready to bolt outside.

I could feel the cool brass beneath my palm, the familiar creak of the hinges calling me back to reality. Every instinct screamed to run, just to breathe clean air and clear my head beneath the endless Ohio sky.

“Don’t go,” my sister-in-law said softly behind me.

Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but it froze me in place. There was something haunted in the way she said it, like she was fighting tears she didn’t want me to see.

“Don’t go. He wants to hurt you.”

It was as if she’d spoken someone else’s secret. My pulse thudded in my ears.

I turned to her in shock.

She looked up at me, eyes wide and glistening, searching my face for something—maybe hope, maybe forgiveness. I could see her shoulders trembling, like a deer caught in headlights on a lonely road at midnight.

She drew a shaky breath. “Believe me, he’s not among the living anymore.”

A laugh caught in my throat, half-hysterical. But the way she said it made my skin crawl. The words hung there, heavy and strange, echoing off the old plaster walls.

“Think about it. Have you seen him in daylight at all these past two weeks?”

The question jabbed at something I hadn’t even realized I’d forgotten. Uncle Ray was always around—always fixing somebody’s mower or grilling bratwurst at every family barbecue. But... when had I last seen him in the sun?

Her words made me hesitate…

I tried to remember. The days blurred together, each one heavy with grief and odd silences. But she was right—I hadn’t seen Uncle Ray at the Fourth of July picnic, nor at Dad’s Sunday card game, nor anywhere people gathered in the day.

Because it was true—I hadn’t seen Uncle Ray during the day lately.

It was as if he’d vanished with the daylight, slipping into the shadows between porch lights and empty streets.

And Uncle Ray always loved being around people. He used to mingle with the neighbors, whether there was something going on or not.

The man could sniff out a backyard party from three blocks away. He’d show up with a six-pack and a grin, always telling stories that made the little kids squeal and the old folks roll their eyes. But not lately.

Now, he never went out during the day… It didn’t make sense…

I tried to make sense of it, but the pieces wouldn’t fit. That gnawing feeling at the base of my neck crawled deeper.

My sister-in-law saw my doubt and pressed on.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice so it was just for me, like we were sharing a secret neither of us wanted the walls to hear.

"After a week in the ground, the dead get hungry. Wait another, and they come back wrong—hungry for things they never had."

She sounded like she was reciting an old wives’ tale, the kind you’d hear from a cranky neighbor on Halloween night. But her eyes never left mine.

“Ethan, listen to me. Don’t go, or you’ll die.”

She said my name softly, like it was a prayer. I felt my resolve slip, fear creeping in at the edges. Something about her voice made it all seem too real.

Her words made my legs go weak. I slid down the door frame, trembling.

My knees hit the worn hardwood with a dull thud, and I sank down, arms wrapped tight around myself. The room felt smaller, the air thick as syrup. I wanted to argue, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Uncle Ray had watched over me since I was a kid. By all rights, I should trust him.

He taught me to tie my first fishing knot, patched my bike tire in the rain, let me sip beer when Mom wasn’t looking. He was family. The last person I’d ever fear.

But what my sister-in-law said made sense. I really hadn’t seen Uncle Ray in daylight for a long time.

A shiver ran down my spine. The familiar world was slipping sideways, and I couldn’t stop it.