The first time I met him was on a cold winter morning. His family moved in next to mine in a desolate suburban neighborhood, our windows across from each other on the right side of our houses. Behind the glass we would share messages written on pieces of paper—the silly ones, the annoying ones, and the ones he sent that I couldn’t quite understand. They were grammatically correct but ominous, hinting there was more to him than what he showed on the surface.

Years later, against all odds, we met again in college, dated, and then got married. Everything happened so quickly. It was an almost unbelievable encounter, the fact that we met at NYU despite having lived closely in North Dakota, but I never thought deeply of it because I loved him—until he disappeared the night of our wedding.

I swore I would never forgive him. I hoped he would never come back. But he did. One night he knocked on my door with a smile on his face and said, “Honey, I’m home.”

I slapped him, but his smile didn’t fade, and that only made me angrier. He was a damn psycho.

He let himself inside my home and explained what he wanted: a child. I crossed my arms and asked if he was high, but his face was more sober than ever.

“No.” His gaze never wavered.

“Then I’ll tell you the truth, my love. Our marriage was never real. It wasn’t a promise of matrimony, but a contract for a ritual. The day I left, I searched for answers—ancient texts, forgotten practices, anything about the voices that had followed me since childhood. That presence followed me, and it demanded a vessel.”

Before I could respond, he dragged me to the basement, walking through my house as if he already knew it. Strange symbols and carvings covered the floor, illuminated by a circle of candles. How had I never seen this?

As I processed everything, I heard the door lock behind me. Startled, I ran to it and banged on the door.

“Let me out! What are you doing?” I yelled.

Behind the door, he whispered, “You’ll stay here, my love, until you accept my request for a child—and with it, we awaken the being that has been waiting to return.”

As he spoke, I realized the boy who once passed notes through a window had never truly left. He had only been waiting for the right moment to bring something else into the world.