The Impostor Wearing My Husband's Body

Now that I knew he was possessed by a ghost, things were easier to handle.

My aunt was a famous shaman, and her daughter—my cousin Roxie Dunill—had inherited her skills and was now quite well-known in her own right.

I gave Roxie a call and asked her to bring her tools to my house to catch the ghost.

When she heard what I had to say, she sounded genuinely alarmed. She lived nearby, so in just a little over 20 minutes, she was already standing at my door.

I poured her a glass of water and invited her to take a seat on the couch. But she refused. Instead, she grabbed my hand tightly.

"Piper, I need to tell you something, but you need to prepare yourself."

Her hands were trembling, and her face was frighteningly pale.

"Ted Towery has been dead for over a month. He fell off a cliff. When they found him, his organs had been shredded by branches! You've been bewitched by a ghost, and that's why you forgot about it!

"He came back to take you with him! While he's not back yet, we need to run. Quick!"

I felt nailed to the spot. Some vague, bloody scenes flickered through my mind.

Seeing me frozen, Roxie hurriedly dragged me toward the door.

But at that moment, a shadow flickered behind the peephole in the front door—an eyeball seemed to glide past it. And in the next second, the door opened with a soft click.

Ted stood at the entrance, looking at me with a sinister gaze. "Babe, where are you going?"

I stiffened in place before reflexively looking up.

The light split the space on either side of the door into two separate worlds. Outside, Ted stood in the shadows, a plastic bag in his hand, steadily dripping blood.

Roxie's face turned deathly pale with fear. She whispered to me, "You absolutely mustn't let him know you've figured out his identity. Otherwise, if he goes berserk, neither of us will be able to escape. Just act normal and calm him down."

I nodded and stiffly walked up to Ted, my lips trembling uncontrollably from fear.

"You've been gone so long, so I just wanted to see what you were doing."

Hearing my words, his expression softened a little. "I went to buy groceries."

He pointed to the bag in his hand that was still dripping blood. "You really liked the tortellini this morning, so I bought more pork and basil."

I didn't know how to respond. I just stiffly took the bag from his hand and walked into the kitchen under his watchful eyes.

Ted and I had indeed gone up the mountains during Thanksgiving not long ago.

A colleague of his had posted photos of his trip to Liaston with his wife and daughter on social media, and his supervisors and colleagues all praised him for being a wonderful husband and father.

Ted got furious, kicked me hard, then told me to pack our things as we were going on a trip, too.

We bought same-day train tickets and headed to Mistblue Mountain, a scenic area about 60 miles from home.

But Ted was too cheap to spend over a 100 dollars on the admission tickets. Still, he wanted photos to show off, so he led me onto a small trail, planning to cut through the desolate mountainside and sneak into the scenic area from the back.

The undeveloped path was overgrown with branches, insects, and even snakes. I followed behind him, stumbling with every step, and soon, I was exhausted.

He cursed at me and continued climbing ahead without looking back.

After going a little further, I became so exhausted that I couldn't move anymore, so I sat down under a tree and fell asleep.

When I woke up again, I found Ted standing in front of me, his personality completely changed.

On our way down the mountain, the locals had indeed told me that the back of the mountain was a cliff. Even if one made it across, they still wouldn't be able to reach the scenic area.

Could Ted have died back then? And did his ghost rewrite my memories?

The thought that I had been living with a ghost for so long—and even eaten food made by it—sent a chill down my spine.

How were Roxie and I going to escape from its grasp?

Right then, Ted opened the kitchen door and walked in.

In a panic, I turned on the faucet and began rinsing the meat in my hands. The water diluted the blood and flowed down the drain.

The pork in my hands was pink and tender, firm in texture, and with clear layers—clearly high-quality meat.

Ted stood behind me and, without saying a word, picked up a knife. I jumped in fright and quickly stepped aside.

He barely reacted. He just calmly took the meat from my hands.

I watched as he threw the pork onto the cutting board.

The living room was completely silent. There were no sounds coming from there at all.

Roxie… Could she…

My throat felt dry. "Ted…"

He brought the knife down on the cutting board with a loud thud, then turned his head to stare right at me.

A chill shot straight up my spine, and I felt an icy sensation on the back of my head. My legs trembled, and I swallowed hard.

"What… What did you do to Roxie?"