Here is the first part of my story, and it might have been updated since you first read it.

So many of you have tried to help me. For that, I am truly thankful. This, I’m afraid, will be my final post.

After an entire day of reading, I finished the Veilbreaking book. I was fairly certain I’d found a solution, but I needed Greta’s help to interpret it. After all, she’d made it quite apparent that she knew something about this occult practice.

I drove back to her shop because I didn’t know where else to turn. My friends and family didn’t know I’d returned to life, after all. But I was afraid that one of our loved ones might check on Emily at some point. What if my wife were to hurt them?

I had to believe that she wouldn’t. I had to believe that some of her soul remained. I had to believe, most importantly, that she could be saved from Det.

“I was wondering when you’d return,” Greta sighed, as I strolled through the door of her dinghy little shop.

The place was empty. I had the impression that she did not receive much custom. Nevertheless, the elderly woman felt it necessary to lock the door, display the closed sign, and usher me into the back of the store. She had cosy living quarters tucked away. That hardly surprised me. It seemed a fitting stereotype.

In terms of her personality, however, Greta was no stereotype. I would’ve pegged the sweet lady as a horticulturalist, not a guru of the dark arts. She was neither cold nor menacing. As I said, the old woman had a warmth to her. She was brimming to the surface with compassion, and it was compassion that I did not feel I deserved.

“I abandoned her,” I cried.

“Tell me what happened,” Greta replied, consoling me.

As we sat in her lounge, warmed and illuminated by the log fire, I explained everything. The old lady sat and listened. She did not utter a word. When I finished recounting my bloodcurdling tale, Greta simply offered a meek nod of her head.

“When you first came to my store and spoke of what you’d seen, I knew it must be someone you love,” She said. “I knew it could not be you. You’re in the land of living. Your wife is not.”

“But I shouldn’t be in the land of the living, should I?” I asked, lip quivering, as I attempted to retain my composure.

Greta shook her head. “No.”

“I read something in the book that I think could bring Emily back,” I said. “Something about returning my soul to the void beyond the veil.”

Greta nodded.

“But dying isn’t enough, is it?” I asked. “I have to give my soul directly to Det.”

Greta shuddered, and I felt, just as I had felt when I first borrowed her book, a darkness shroud the room.

“Please,” Greta pleaded. “Do not speak its name.”

“Sorry,” I replied. “But am I right?”

Greta solemnly nodded. “I am sorry, child. Yes. It is the only way to restore things. I fear that it might be too late for your wife, though.”

“What do you mean?” I weakly whispered.

“It depends on how many souls she has consumed,” Greta explained. “You said Emily spoke your name when you went to the house this morning?”

I nodded.

“Perhaps…” Greta trailed off, thoughtfully. “There might be hope for her.“

“What do I need to do?” I asked.

Greta did not answer. She rose to her feet and strolled over to an old black-and-white framed photograph on the mantle above her fireplace. She stretched out a withered, ancient hand and gingerly stroked the picture of a large, happy family.

“That little girl is me,” Greta said, tapping the frame. “My family has a long history with the occult. My parents and I were simply intrigued by the history of the supernatural, but some of my ancestors used to practice horrendous things. My grandfather told us a story of his great-great-aunt, Jane. That was when I first learned of veilbreaking. The story, passed from generation to generation, is that Jane had invoked Det to save her brother. She slaughtered an entire town of people to satiate the malevolent entity, and Det fully claimed her body.“

“Was there anything that could defeat the entity?” I asked.

“Time. It exhausted Jane’s mortal body, many years later. She died, but Det caused untold suffering during that time. And she is only one of many who have fallen for Det’s lie. However, your wife’s story does not need to end that way. There is a way to put things right before Det seizes control of her body. We can stop the senseless killing. We can return your soul to the void and whatever lies beyond.”

“Why wouldn’t it work for me to simply kill myself?” I asked.

“I would have to show you other books in order for you to fully understand the way in which our souls are attached to different planes of existence,” Greta explained.

“I don’t remember any type of existence after death,” I shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

She smiled. “You don’t remember it because you weren’t in a place that could be remembered.“

Her tone suddenly darkened, as did the room. “Trust me when I say that we must return you to the void. If you were to die through natural means, your soul would cease to be.”

Existential dread flooded my mind. Given my preoccupation with saving my wife, I hadn’t stopped to think about what might happen to my soul. Yet again, I found myself trying to wrap my head around the horrifying concept of simply not existing. I was incapable of comprehending it.

“It is imperative that we do this properly,” Greta instructed, grabbing her coat from a hook.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“We’re going to your house,” The sweet lady explained. “We will confront Emily and beg her to claim your soul. It is the only way to return you to the void and ensure your soul survives. It is the only way to release her from Det.”

I didn’t argue with the woman. I knew I had to save my wife.

And that brings us to the present moment. I am hurriedly typing whilst Greta drives. I want this post to serve as a parting letter, I suppose. I hope we save Emily. I hope, if she does survive, that Greta shows her these final words:

Emily,

You are the most wonderful person I have ever known. When we were together, it was as if we were the only two people in the entire world. Bleurgh. What a cliché, eh? But it’s true. And I know that’s why you went to terrible lengths to bring me back.

I love you with every fibre of my being. My heart breaks at the thought of leaving you, but you’re not Emily right now. I have to bring you back, like you brought me back. My time is up. I shouldn’t be here, and I think, deep down, you know that.

I love you, and I will be waiting for you.

Always yours, even after death parts us.

Robert

---

My name is Greta Black, and I am submitting this post at Robert’s request. He said that many of you cared about what was happening to his wife. He couldn’t leave you without answers. I promised him that I would tell everyone what happened. Well, I suppose you can already surmise what happened, given that I am the one finishing his story.

When we arrived at the house, I took the young man’s phone and slipped it into my coat pocket. Robert had a calm, steely disposition. He looked nothing like the frightened little lamb that had first walked into my store. I could see it in his eyes. He was determined to save Emily. That was the only thing which meant anything. He had come to peace with the prospect of death.

“Emily!” He shouted, bursting through the still-open front door of his house.

It was horrifying in there. The sun had already set, so we were stumbling around in complete darkness. I fumbled for a light switch, but Robert had already begun to ascend the stairs.

“Emily!” He continued to shout.

“Wait…” I pleaded, struggling to keep up with the young lad.

I’m not sure why I risked my life by taking him to the house. Perhaps I still felt guilt for what my ancestor, Jane, had done to the poor people of that town, nearly two-hundred years ago. Perhaps I felt that I had to right her wrong. Perhaps I simply wanted to save Emily because nobody managed to save Jane.

By the time I made it to the pitch-black landing, Robert had already reached the bedroom. Light from the room spilled across the blackened carpet of the landing. He had his back to me, and he was blocking the doorway.

“Emily,” He cried, as I hurriedly shuffled towards the room. “You have to take my soul.”

“No!” His wife screeched.

When she spoke, it sounded as if two voices were warring for her vocal chords. I realised that time was not on our side.

“Please, darling,” Robert implored. “This isn’t any kind of life. How can you be with me if your own soul dies?”

Emily screamed so loudly that the windows in the bedroom shattered. I tried to squeeze past Robert, but he held out an arm to block me. I saw the devastation that Emily had caused. A room of corpses. A graveyard of bones. A mountain of death. Atop the pile, which covered the bed and most of the floor, stood Emily. Her skin had started to tighten around her skeleton, much like her victims. I think I could even see the faint beating of her heart beneath her shirt, much as Robert had described when he talked of the poor man in the car park.

“Take my soul, so we can both be together,” Robert explained. “It might be many years from now, after you’ve lived a long life, but this doesn’t have to be the end for us. If you refuse to take my soul, we both cease to exist. Det isn’t a gift-giver. It’s a taker. Please, make things right.”

Robert started to walk towards his wife. She froze in place, snarling at him. He clambered onto the bed.

“Just take my face in your hands, sweetie,” Robert begged, inching towards the monster that used to be the love of his life.

“Go…” She wheezed, backing away from him.

“I could go, but you would never be with me again,” He said, calmly reaching for her hands. “This is the only way to save both of us.”

I thought it was too late. I truly thought that. Somehow, in a wondrous and haunting twist of fate, I was wrong. I witnessed what I would describe as the most beautiful and terrifying display of humanity, simultaneously.

Wailing into the night, Emily grabbed Robert’s face with her two gnarly, near-fleshless hands. I could not see Robert’s reaction, as his back was turned to me, but I could hear his jubilant sobs of triumph.

“I love you,” He whispered.

The brave man unleashed a strained, torturous yelp as his wife drained his body of its essence, returning him to the void. His body crumpled like a piece of paper. His limbs painfully snapped and twisted into haunting shapes, but his pain was, fortunately, over in a matter of seconds. His limp, lifeless body collapsed onto the bed.

I stared at Emily. She was not looking at me. She was looking at the carcass of her husband, who lay atop a pile of massacred people.

As I peeled my lips apart to utter some words of consolation, Robert’s wife unleashed an ear-shattering wail. I thought it was the sound of grief, but then I felt the room’s temperature drop far below freezing. A mist filled the room, shrouding the pained woman.

“Emily?!” I yelled, my vision struggling to permeate the thick cloud which engulfed me.

After a few ceaseless seconds, it cleared to reveal Emily. And I don’t mean Det. I mean Emily. The colour had returned to her face, her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, and her flesh had returned to life.

She was distraught. I helped her down from the bed and led her from the room. Perhaps what I did next was morally questionable, but I did not want the poor, fractured woman to spend the rest of her life rotting in a prison cell for something that a demonic entity had done.

I used my knowledge of certain occult ‘practices’, shall we say, to remove the evidence of what she’d done. I don’t know whether it was right or wrong to do that. I can’t bring back the people that have been killed, but I hope I have released the souls of Emily’s victims safely into the void. I don’t know what kind of afterlife waits beyond the veil, but they’re free from Det now.

Everybody can rest.

I, at long last, feel my family has been redeemed.