Chapter 1: Nailed to the Past

Nine rusty railroad spikes, slick with black dog’s blood, were hammered straight into my body. My boyfriend—Tyler Grant—nailed me alive, every blow a betrayal. All for some twisted plan: swapping fates, binding my ghost, and stealing my luck. The pain was bad, but the shock of his face above me—my Ty—was worse.

The memory of those spikes haunted me. That iron smell, sharp and wrong, mixed with the thick copper tang of blood. Even now, I could almost feel the cold bite of iron pushing through skin and bone. The betrayal stung worse than the pain. I never saw it coming. Not from him. Ty.

After a dizzying wave, I found myself standing in our living room. Tyler was quietly lighting a candle in front of a memorial photo, getting ready to leave. This had already happened three times, at least. I couldn’t remember what happened a moment before—like I just blinked and there I was, suddenly by his side.

It was like déjà vu, only this time it felt like the heat had been sucked out of the room. The air in the apartment was stale, heavy, as if time itself had snagged on something sharp. Every time I blinked, I landed right back here, watching him do the same routine, trapped in a loop I couldn’t break. Again and again. Each time, I felt less real, like I was fading out at the edges, numb and weightless.

“Ty, am I sick? I keep forgetting things lately.”

I’d just wandered to the entryway, trying to sound sweet, maybe break the tension between us. I even gave a little smile. He didn’t even glance at me—just grabbed the old messenger bag, the one I’d gotten him for his birthday, from the shoe rack and walked out, shutting the door hard behind him.

His silence hit harder than any argument ever could. I stood there, hand still raised, the click of the door echoing in my chest. For a second, I half expected him to come back, to open the door and laugh and say it was all a joke. But the hallway stayed empty, and the only thing left was the faint smell of his cologne, lingering by the door like a ghost.

We’d been in a cold war for three days now—or really, Tyler had started one, and never explained why. Like we were two kids playing freeze tag and he just never unfroze me. Ever since he got back from his hometown, Maple Heights, he’d refused to talk to me or even come home for dinner. I figured something bad must’ve happened on that trip, and he was using the silent treatment to push me away, maybe force a breakup. But my memory of that trip? It ended with him carrying me, half-asleep, to bed. Nothing after.

It was like there was a hole in my memory—like I just blacked out. The last thing I remembered was the warmth of his arms, the creak of the old farmhouse floorboards, and then—nothing. I tried to piece together the days, but everything after that was just a blur, like my life had paused and someone else pressed play. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

We met when he saved me—a total rom-com meet-cute, if you can believe it. After that, we were inseparable. Our friends joked we were disgustingly adorable. How did we get here?

I remembered the first time he held my hand—my heart skipped so hard I thought he’d hear it. Our friends teased us about being nauseatingly cute. We’d swapped playlists, shared inside jokes, and gone on late-night drives with the windows down, music blasting. I’d believed in us. I’d believed in him. How could it all go so wrong?

Click—the door unlocked, snapping me out of my spiral. He looked exhausted today. As soon as he walked in, he dropped onto the sofa, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. No wonder he’d been off lately—he wasn’t even wearing his glasses. I used to tease him that, with such a low prescription, he didn’t need to hide his handsome face. He’d always say, “A steady job isn’t easy to get. Glasses make me look more reliable.” But now, nothing. Did something happen?

He looked older, somehow—like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. The apartment, once full of laughter, felt hollow. I wanted to reach out, brush his hair from his forehead. I wanted to remind him I was still here. I needed him to see me.

“Ty, I think we should talk.” I sat beside him, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my hands shook in my lap. My stomach churned, but I tried to sound normal. He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I watched his chest rise and fall, waiting for a sign—anything. My words hung in the air, unanswered. Nothing.

“Tyler, if you’ve got something to say, just say it. There’s no need for this silent treatment.”

I’m not the type to nag, to drag things out. Why were we doing this? He ignored me, stood up, and walked straight to the bedroom. I reached out to grab him, desperate, but my fingers slid right through his arm.

A cold shock ran through me. My hand—my fingers—they sliced right through him, like he was made of smoke. Or maybe I was. My heart stuttered.

What the hell is happening?

Stunned. Then panic. I tried to pick up the water bottle on the coffee table—my hand went straight through it. I tried to turn on the TV, but couldn’t even touch the remote. I rushed to the bedroom, shouting Tyler’s name, voice cracking, but he just slept soundly, totally unresponsive. I was invisible. I was nothing.

I screamed his name, again and again, but it was like I’d never existed. The world felt slippery, unreal. I tried to grab the blanket, the lamp, anything—but nothing responded to my touch. The terror pressed down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

So it wasn’t a cold war. He wasn’t ignoring me—he couldn’t see or hear me. Even worse, I could walk through walls, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t leave this two-bedroom apartment. The walls were just air, but I was still trapped.

I ran to the window, pressed my hand against the glass—but it slid right through. I tried the front door—same thing. Trapped, not by locks, but by something deeper. Something I couldn’t fight. Outside, the city kept going, oblivious. People walked, cars drove, lights flashed. I wanted to scream at them. They couldn’t see me.

Thinking back on the past few days, I realized I’d never really been awake—just fragments, flashes, always groggy. My heart sank, heavy as lead. What was wrong with me?

I tried to recall every moment, every blurry flash of memory. There were gaps—big ones. Sometimes I’d wake up in the living room, sometimes in the bedroom, never remembering how I got there. It was like I was stuck in a nightmare, trapped in someone else’s dream, unable to wake up.

Am I dead? Or is my soul out of my body? If so, where’s my body?

The thought hit me so hard my knees buckled. I looked down at my hands—were they even real? My skin was pale, almost see-through. I pressed a hand to my chest, searching for a heartbeat. Nothing. Just empty silence.

It felt like I blanked out, and then I was back in the living room. Across from me, Tyler wore the navy suit I bought him last month, opening the little door of the memorial photo cabinet and lighting incense. A memorial photo? That’s right—every time I suddenly appeared in the living room, I saw him lighting a candle. My stomach dropped.

The air was thick with the scent of wax and something sweet—maybe vanilla, maybe something older, almost musty. Candlelight flickered, shadows dancing across the walls, making the room feel even smaller, like the walls were closing in.

I didn’t even know when a memorial photo had appeared in the house. I stared at it, mind racing. Was I losing it?

It hadn’t been there last week—I was sure of it. I knelt down, squinting at the photo, heart pounding—or it would be, if I still had one. The frame was heavy, dark wood, and the picture inside was recent—a shot from my last birthday, smiling, alive. I stared at my own face.

“Once we get married next month, everything will be fine.”

Tyler pressed his palms together, voice soft, almost affectionate. But his eyes—there was greed in them, something dark and hungry. How could someone as straight-laced as him have that look?

His voice sounded so normal, but his eyes—empty, hollow, wrong. I’d never seen that before. It made my skin crawl. A chill ran down my spine.

A terrifying thought flashed through my mind. I moved behind him, needing to see what—or who—he was honoring. Red cords tied with old pennies were wrapped tightly around the photo frame, and in the center, a thick black iron nail was hammered in.

The cords looked ancient, frayed in places, pennies tarnished and old. The iron nail was thick, brutal, hammered right through the frame. It looked like something out of a horror movie, not our cozy apartment. My stomach twisted.

[In Loving Memory of My Beloved Mariah Ford]