He's back

The man she buried is back and knocking.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Three slow, deliberate raps on the front door. Just like he used to do when he'd come home late from a job. Not like a stranger—like someone who owned the door.

Lena stood frozen in the hallway, her breath caught in her throat. She clutched the carving knife tighter. A thousand thoughts swarmed her mind, but only one stuck: He was supposed to be dead.

She had made sure of it.

It had been five months since she'd wrapped Gabriel’s body in plastic, tied him up with rope, and buried him six feet under the frozen ground in the woods behind the old barn. Five months since she whispered I’m sorry over his cold, bloodied face, knowing damn well she wasn’t.

He had deserved it. The lies. The killings. The sweet-talking followed by bruised skin and broken trust. The way he pulled her into a world of bloodstained bills and whispered threats, until she became as twisted as him.

But she got out.

She got away.

Didn’t she?

Knock.

This time, the sound cracked something in her ribs. She moved to the peephole, her hands trembling. The porch light flickered.

And there he was.

Gabriel. Same smirk. Same black leather jacket. Mud crusted on his boots. As if he'd just climbed out of the grave.

Her knees buckled.

"Lena," he called out, voice muffled through the door but unmistakable. “Aren’t you going to let me in, darling?”

Her throat burned. Her heart screamed.

Don’t open the door.

But she did.

He stepped inside like he never left, tracking dirt on her clean floor, bringing the chill of the grave with him. He looked alive, but he wasn’t right. His skin was too pale. His eyes too glassy. His smile too wide, too hungry.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teased.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she backed into the kitchen, inching toward the drawer where she kept the gun.

Gabriel followed, calm and casual. “I missed you, Lena. It was cold down there. Lonely.”

Her breath hitched. “You’re not real.”

“You made me real, baby.” His voice softened, sweet like poisoned honey. “You put me in the ground. But love doesn’t rot, Lena. Not even in death.”

She gripped the drawer handle, ready to pull.

“I only came back because you called me,” he said.

“What?” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “The night you cried over my grave. When you said you wished you could take it back. When you said you still loved me, even after everything.”

That night. The wine. The guilt. The tears. The words she thought no one heard.

Oh god.

“I didn’t mean it,” she said.

“Yes, you did,” Gabriel whispered. “And I forgive you.”

She finally pulled the drawer—but the gun was gone.

“You’re not going to hurt me again,” he said, holding up the weapon in his hand. “I’m here for you, Lena. We can finish what we started.”

She darted for the back door, but he was faster. Always was. He caught her by the waist and slammed her against the fridge, his face inches from hers. Cold breath. Dead breath.

And still, his touch made her skin burn like it used to. She hated that.

“You still feel it too,” he murmured. “That fire.”

“I felt fear,” she spat.

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Fear and desire, Lena. Two sides of the same knife.”

She shoved him back and bolted up the stairs, locking herself in the bedroom. Her body trembled as she dug into the closet for the old box. Inside it: the photos, the bloody necklace, the bone-handled dagger he once gave her on their anniversary. For protection, he’d said.

Now it would be her salvation.

She didn’t hear him follow. She only heard the creak of the floorboards outside the door. Then—

Click.

The lock turned from the outside.

He still had the key.

“Open the door,” Gabriel said gently. “Let me prove it. Let me show you what love looks like after death.”

She gripped the dagger and braced herself.

The door opened slowly, and he stepped in. His eyes were darker now, shadows swimming in them. Something was wearing Gabriel’s skin—but it wasn’t him anymore. Not entirely.

“I buried you because I had to,” she said, voice shaking.

“And I came back because I chose to.”

She lunged.

The blade sank deep into his chest, straight through his heart.

Gabriel gasped.

But he didn’t bleed.

Instead, his mouth curved into a sick grin. “You always were a fighter.”

She screamed, pulling the blade out and stabbing again and again, until the room spun, until the carpet was soaked in mud and shadow and death.

Then silence.

Gabriel’s body collapsed.

Lena sank beside him, choking on sobs. Her body ached, her soul frayed. But it was done.

She crawled to the corner, curling up as the night stretched around her.

And in the stillness, she heard it again.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Not from the door this time.

From under the floorboards.

From the grave she never truly finished.