The Hungry Dead

"What the heck are you doing!"

I let out a shriek and lunged, knocking the pâté straight into the trash.

With eyes red and raw, I demanded, "Have you been dreaming about my dad again?

"How many times have I told you not to listen to him?"

Chester looked like he was struck by lightning, then his face crumpled into a mix of confusion and fear.

"Babe, don't freak out! I didn't dream about your dad, I just got a sudden craving, that's all.

"What's the big deal with liver pâté? Why are you freaking out so much?"

All the fear and grief I was bottling up came crashing down, and I just lost it, sobbing uncontrollably.

Finally, I spilled the beans about the dream where my dad asked my mom for steak.

Chester wrapped his arms around me, whispering words of comfort.

"You're just stressed, that's all. The New Year is around the corner. Let's think about where we can go to unwind, okay?

"It's just a dream. Forget it, and everything will be alright.

"I swear I'll lay off the pâté and booze for a while. If I dream about your dad, you'll be the first to know."

Things were quiet for the next three days.

I kept checking in, and Chester kept reassuring me, no weird dreams, nothing out of the ordinary.

He even tiptoed around the idea of seeing a shrink, but I was not having any of it.

Just when I started to relax, that's when it happened.

Chester did not come home one night, and his phone might as well have been a brick.

That old, uneasy feeling crept back in, and I bolted for the cemetery.

There he was, sitting by my dad's grave, a mouthful of pâté and a half-empty glass of whiskey, toasting the air.

My heart twisted in my chest.

"Don't you dare eat that! Spit it out, now!"

I dashed over, pounding on his back, desperate to make it stop.

However, Chester just looked up, his face streaked with tears.

"Dad's plight tore at my heart. In my dreams, he wept from hunger, craving nothing but liver spread. I couldn't stand it."

I slumped to the floor, utterly drained.

That night, Chester's vomiting turned severe, and we rushed him to the ER.

He was hit with a diagnosis of advanced acute liver cirrhosis, and after three days in the ICU, he took his last breath.

Jane came as soon as she heard, trying to offer some solace.

"You look wrecked, Silvia. Maybe Wendy could stay with me for a bit? Give you a chance to breathe."

I managed a wry smile and a shake of my head.

In my previous life, Jane's good intentions led to my daughter's disappearance after school.

In this life, I could not put her through that again.

"Jane, I appreciate it, but I'll hang in there."

After Jane left, I stood by Chester's body in the morgue, emotionless and empty.

My home was broken once more.

Why? Why did my dad do this to me? It was a riddle I could not solve.

I pulled Wendy out of school this term, keeping her close at all times.

The thought of losing her again was unbearable.

That was our final shot.

I would lay down my life to keep her safe.

Thankfully, Wendy was a gem, never a bother, always trying to lift my spirits.

However, today, she asked for something.

Her eyes were distant.

"Mom, I want to have spicy stew in grandpa's memory."