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The man she buried is back. And he’s knocking. It started as a soft tap, the kind that could be mistaken for the wind. Then again. Steady. Measured. Not frantic. Not demanding. Just waiting.Lena sat in the armchair, staring at the door like it might lunge at her. The knock crawled through the quiet house, settling into the bones of the walls, slipping between her ribs. Tap. Tap. Tap. Impossible. She had watched him die. She had buried him deep, the way you bury things you never want to see again. Yet here he was.Outside, the air was thick, muggy, smelling of earth still damp from the evening rain. The porch light buzzed overhead, the glow flickering, the long shadow stretching toward her threshold. She could see him. She wanted to pretend she couldn’t. But then“Lena,” the voice murmured, rolling through the wood like breath over glass. “Open up.”Her fingers curled into the armrests. He sounded the same. That slow, smooth drawl like he wasn’t surprised, like he had expected this. Like he had never been gone at all.Another knock. A pause. Then “You never were good at goodbyes.”She moved without thinking. Her bare feet slid across the floor, slow and silent. She pressed against the door, heart hammering, nails biting into the wood. “You’re dead.” A pause. Then laughter. Not deep, not booming. Just quiet, like she’d told a joke he saw coming. “Yeah,” he said. “I was.”She shut her eyes. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, the memory of the weight of that night pressing against her lungs. The sweat sticking to her skin as she shoved the last mound of dirt over his face. She had left him there. She had done everything right. But now“You shouldn’t be here.”He sighed, like she was being difficult. “You really should’ve buried me deeper.”Lena clenched the doorknob. This was wrong. But wrong things didn’t knock on doors. They didn’t wait. They came in shadows. They slithered under the beds. This was different.Her breath hitched as she peered through the curtain. And there he was. Whole. Clean. Alive. But there was something missing, something just beneath the surface. Something that shouldn’t be.“I need you to leave,” she said, pushing the words through the tightness in her throat. He tilted his head. “You really think that’s how this works?”The porch light flickered off, then on but this time, for the briefest moment, he wasn’t there. She blinked. No. He was there. Still standing. Still waiting.She pressed herself against the door. “You don’t belong here.”Silence. Then, so soft she almost didn’t hear “Don’t I?”The hours ticked on. He never left. Lena sat curled in the armchair, trying to focus on the ticking clock, the hum of electricity, the deep quiet pressing in from the world outside. He was still there. Not moving. Not speaking. Just there. Watching.She stared at the door, feeling the weight of him on the other side, pressing into the walls, slipping into the spaces between thoughts. She needed proof. She needed to see.Her breath slowed. She rose. The curtain swayed slightly as she approached, the soft rustle against the window barely audible over her pounding pulse. One deep inhale. She lifted the fabric.And he was already looking at her.She gasped, stumbling back. He smiled. A lazy, patient kind of smile. Like he had been waiting for her to check. Like he knew she couldn’t resist. She slammed the curtain shut.Lena didn’t invite him in. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t step forward. A breath of wind slipped past her, carrying the scent of fresh earth. He had been in the grave. She knew he had. The dirt beneath her nails had proved it. Yet here he stood. Watching. Waiting. Alive. Or something close to it.“I suppose this is where you decide what happens next,” he murmured, his voice steady, unworried.Lena stared at him. The ache in her chest, the weight in her limbs it was no longer fear. Not entirely. It was knowing. Knowing that death had never been the end. Knowing that burying him had been a mistake.The door remained open. And as he stepped inside, she understoodSome things do not stay buried. Some things never leave

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You Should’ve Buried Me Deeper

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You Should’ve Buried Me Deeper

A09_10_83

Angelique Martin

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You Should’ve Buried Me Deeper

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Angelique Martin

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