The Eighth and Final Call

I opened my eyes.

I was floating above my own body.

So ghosts were real.

Morning light filtered through the tall windows. The Sterling mansion was dead silent.

Carlos had fired all the household staff years ago. He preferred it this way—no witnesses, no interruptions. Just me, trapped in this gilded cage, his silent servant... and the outlet for all his rage.

My ghostly form felt no pain, no weight.

And yet, a deep, visceral chill coiled inside me.

Carlos was waking up.

I didn't linger.

I turned and drifted upstairs, passing effortlessly through the closed bedroom door.

Stella was a small, trembling lump under her blanket.

The sheets were wet.

She was too afraid to get out of bed. Not even to use the bathroom.

Something inside me fractured.

"My baby..."

I reached out, desperate to soothe her, to brush her messy hair back from her face as I always did.

My hand passed right through. It touched nothing.

I couldn't even comfort my own child.

A roar came from downstairs.

Carlos had found my body.

I froze. Then slowly... I drifted back down.

What I saw next carved a void in me deeper than death itself.

Carlos stood over my remains, his face a mask not of grief, but of pure, unadulterated irritation. And calculation.

He dragged my body across the floor, leaving a dark smear. He vanished for a moment, returning with a knife, thick plastic bags, and a tarp.

He worked methodically. Coldly. Efficiently.

The sound of a blade parting flesh echoed softly in the silent room.

There was no hesitation. No reverence. Not a single shred of the bond that was supposed to tie husband and wife together.

Only practiced butchery.

Even as a spirit, I flinched away.

This was what he really was.

And my family had handed me to him with a smile.

Originally, the marriage alliance had been for Bianca.

The Sterlings were the top syndicate. Carlos—powerful, dangerous, the heir apparent.

Bianca had been thrilled.

Until the rumors started to circulate.

A dead woman. A night of play that went too far. A scandal that couldn't be hushed up.

Suddenly, my parents hesitated.

Not about the alliance—that was never in question.

About her.

So they rewrote the plan.

I could still hear their voices, as clearly as if they stood beside me now.

"Aurelia is our biological daughter. Her blood is purer. She is more worthy of the Sterling heir."

"She's obedient. Docile. Easy to manage. Not like Bianca."

"Bianca is too delicate. She's not ready to bear children. Aurelia will give you a strong heir."

Every word had sounded like a sacrifice.

But none of it was for me.

Every flaw they attached to Bianca was a shield.

Every virtue they praised in me was a chain.

I drifted into the kitchen, a morbid spectator to my own desecration.

Carlos was sectioning my remains, sealing them in thick plastic bags.

One. Two. Three.

"Stupid bitch..." he muttered under his breath. "Had it coming..."

His lip curled.

"Filthy little liar..."

Liar?

His voice rose, defensive, almost frantic.

"Don't look at me like that! Bianca told me everything!"

My world grew even colder.

"She said you were never clean," he snarled. "Messing around with other men when you were just a girl… always seducing them… letting them touch you…"

Every word was a blow.

"She said you'd do anything for attention. That I was the one who had to take someone else's used goods."

The truth slammed into me.

Bianca. Of course, it was her.

That's when it had all changed.

We'd had a few tense but peaceful months after the wedding.

Then, after a family gathering where Bianca pulled him aside, the beatings had started.

You won, Bianca.

You took everything from me. Wasn't that enough? Why poison the well until I was dead?

By nightfall, Carlos was finished.

My remains were sealed in heavy bags, stacked in the two large walk-in freezers in the basement storeroom. Out of sight, out of mind. Erased.

He scrubbed the living room clean until the smell of bleach and artificial pine masked everything.

Until it was as if I had never existed at all.

A small figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Stella.

Carlos looked up. In the dim light, his eyes held a faint sheen.

"Stella," he said slowly. "What did you see?"

She froze.

"I asked you a question."

His voice dropped, laced with the quiet command of authority.

"N-nothing..." she whispered, shrinking into herself.

His gaze lingered on her.

"Stay upstairs," he said coldly. "If you come down again, I'll break your legs."

She scrambled back up the stairs and vanished from sight.

Carlos grabbed a bag and walked out into the night.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence returned.

The moment the door closed, Stella crept back down.

She didn't go to the kitchen. She went to the basement door, struggled it open, and took small steps down into the cold.

I followed her, my fear a knot tightening with every step she took.

She went straight to the larger of the two freezers.

With a little grunt, she pulled the heavy lid open.

Icy mist spilled out, swirling around her tiny frame.

Among the frost-covered packages of meat, one shape was unmistakably human. My head.

"Mommy?" her small voice echoed in the concrete room.

I had no tears left to cry, but my soul wept.

She saw everything.