My Dead Boyfriend Came Back on the Seventh Night

What Mom said sent a chill straight through me.

Before I could even process it, the line went dead. Outside the door, Alex's voice grew louder, his knocking like a wild animal throwing itself against the wood—thud, thud, thud.

"Ivy, open the door. What's wrong? Did I do something again? Just tell me and I'll fix it, okay? Don't be mad at me."

He kept at it for what felt like forever. I didn't dare breathe.

We'd gotten engaged around the end of the year and come back to my hometown in the countryside. The neighbors were spread far apart, and with fireworks exploding everywhere, no one would notice a thing.

I stayed silent, hiding in my room with every light switched off, praying he'd give up and leave.

But Alex was relentless. His texts kept flooding in—first apologetic, then frustrated, then furious. Each word cut deeper than the last.

"Ivy, you're being ridiculous. If you're going to throw a fit, at least tell me why. I don't even know what I did wrong. Can you just say something?"

"I know you're in there. Your light was on a second ago, now it's off. Are you really hiding from me? After everything we've been through? I already decided you're mine. Even if I die, I'll be your ghost."

"If you keep ignoring me, I'm climbing over the wall."

My heart shot into my throat.

Climb over the wall?

That was nothing for him. Back when we were dating, he used to scale it all the time to bring me late-night snacks. He knew every foothold by heart.

To stop him, I forced myself to video call, putting on my best angry-girlfriend voice.

"You don't know why I'm mad?"

His tone softened instantly, coaxing. "I really don't, Ivy. Just tell me. I'm slow, you know that. I need you to spell it out for me."

On the screen, he still wouldn't show his face. Behind him stretched an endless white fog, his silhouette drifting through it like something not quite real.

My voice shook as I pushed harder, letting myself sound a little unreasonable.

"You showed up late and messed everything up. We're supposed to be getting engaged, and you won't even point the camera at your face? You're being shady. What are you hiding?"

He hesitated. The camera didn't budge.

"I broke out. And I got a bad haircut. It looks awful. I don't want you to see."

"I don't care. Why would I care? I've seen you at your worst."

"Just—not right now. We're about to be engaged. I'm nervous. I want to look good for you."

"I said I don't care. Let me see you."

No matter what I said, he wouldn't show his face.

And that's when I knew Mom was right.

He really had come back. But on this seventh night, he was still wearing the face of a corpse—too horrifying to let me see.

I pretended to get mad and hung up. Alex panicked, pounding on the door again, frantic now.

He started pacing outside, agitated, circling the courtyard wall. Then I heard him start to climb.

I called Mom, sobbing the second she picked up.

"Mom! You and Dad need to come back now! I'm so scared. Alex won't leave, and he won't let me see his face. Now he's trying to climb the wall—"