"Come on, Wade. Keep drinking. We're not stopping till we're wasted."
"Drink! Damn it, drink till it hurts."
The man tilted the bottle and chugged several big gulps. His fat, ruddy face flushed bright from the alcohol, voice loud and booming, but his head was already starting to float.
"One more round. Drink up. If you pass out, just crash right here."
"Can't… can't pass out." Wade Harlan let out a huge belch, adding another wave of sharp booze stench. "That old hag at home will start nagging again. Gotta head back after this."
"Hahaha, Wade, that wife of yours has one hell of a temper."
"Shit. She's getting too big for her britches."
After Lily Thompson died, the woman Wade Harlan eventually married was the daughter of a well-off family from the next village over. Unlike the delicate Lily, this one had a fiery, explosive temper.
Her family was even richer than his, so she never gave him an inch. When she got angry she didn't care about saving his face at all.
That was exactly why Wade kept thinking how much better it would have been if he had forced Lily to marry him back then.
Her family elders had agreed anyway, and he had already paid the bride price. He was practically half her husband already.
Instead he ended up with this shrew. The more he thought about it, the more he regretted it—and the more he hated that gentle woman who had long since turned to dust.
"You know… if you'd actually married that Thompson woman back then, you wouldn't have to put up with this crap now."
"Fuck off, stop bringing up that bitch. She thought she was too good for me. Serves her right she died young."
"Still, I gotta say—her daughter was already a little beauty ten years ago. Saw her yesterday and damn, she grew up gorgeous. So fresh and pretty. When she marries off, who knows how much cash her family will rake in."
"You trying to piss me off on purpose?" Wade slammed his hand on the table, temper flaring.
"Alright, alright. I'll shut up. Drink! Drink!"
The two men polished off an entire case of beer that night. Empty bottles lay scattered across the floor. The air reeked of cheap, sour beer.
Wade kept going until he could barely stand, then finally tossed the bottle aside with a reluctant sigh.
"No more. No more. I'm heading out."
"Want me to walk you? Don't wanna fall in the river on the way."
"Get lost. I could walk this shitty path with my eyes closed."
The friend was already too drunk to insist. He slumped over the table and passed out. Wade staggered out of the house, steps weaving unsteadily as he made his way home.
The walk back wasn't too long or short. It cut through a dense stretch of woods with a wide river running through it. The stone arch bridge crossing the river was safe enough—except the railing had been washed away by a flood years ago and never fixed.
The forest under the night sky felt dark and deathly quiet. Pale moonlight filtered through sparse leaves, casting mottled patches on the ground like ghostly shadows of the dead.
A light breeze rustled the leaves. The sound stood out sharp and chilling in the silent night.
The drunk man stumbled along the forest path. Rotting leaves and mud sucked at his feet like bony hands trying to drag him down.
After crossing the stone bridge, Wade thought he heard some faint, eerie wailing sound in his ear. He shivered and tried to sober up, but the sound only grew clearer—like a woman crying.
"Damn it, don't tell me I'm running into a ghost out here."
He muttered a curse and kept walking. Then, far ahead through the trees, he saw a slender, tall figure in white approaching. The pure white hem of the dress swayed gently in the breeze, looking sinister and unnatural.
"Stop playing fucking ghost tricks. You think I don't know who you are?" The man shouted loudly, cursing nonstop, as if to prove he wasn't scared—or maybe to convince himself.
The woman said nothing. She gave no reply. She simply walked closer step by step. Her face caught the moonlight—deathly pale, completely bloodless.
"You little bastard spawn. Trying to scare your grandpa? Get the hell out of here."
His voice was loud and crude, but his feet kept retreating anyway. The alcohol clouded his mind and deepened the terror inside him.
He rubbed his eyes, getting a clearer look at the woman's face. Reason told him it was Evelyn Miller.
But the figure looked exactly like Lily Thompson from back then. The aura she gave off was completely different from the woman he had seen during the day.
Retreating became unconscious. The alcohol messed with his control over his limbs. Wade didn't realize he had backed all the way to the edge of the bridge. He swallowed hard, his thighs starting to tremble.
Suddenly a thin trail of fresh red blood trickled down from the woman's temple, running across her deathly pale face and leaving a hideous, streaked blood trail.
Wade remembered clearly: the wild rumors he had spread had ruined the woman's reputation in the village. The day Lily returned, a child had thrown a rock that hit her face, leaving exactly this kind of crimson streak.
He was truly afraid now.
He kept stepping back until his foot met empty air at the edge of the bridge. He fell hard. The back of his head smashed against the sharp rocks in the river below. Blood seeped into the water.
Later that night a heavy rain fell, washing away all traces in the forest.
…
The next day at noon, Noah never expected anyone from the village to come looking for them again. Leading the group were two serious-looking police officers, followed by several villagers—including Wade's furious wife, Darlene Harlan, who pointed at them and kept cursing nonstop.
"Hello. Is Evelyn Miller home?" One officer showed his badge. "We'd like to speak with her."
"What's this about?"
"Last night a villager died. We're here to ask some questions."
"What does that have to do with me?" Evelyn walked out of the house and stood beside Noah. The moment Darlene saw her, she became even more agitated, grabbing the officers and demanding they arrest her immediately.
The officers ignored her outburst and continued politely. "The deceased's name is Wade Harlan. We'd like to ask you a few things."
In truth they had no real suspicions. They were mostly just trying to calm the widow down. All the evidence at the scene pointed to an accident. There were no signs of foul play, and the motive the woman claimed was practically ridiculous.
"Where were you between ten and twelve o'clock last night?"
"I was sleeping inside the house."
"Any witnesses?"
Noah stepped forward, shielding Evelyn behind him. "I can vouch for her."
The officer thought for a moment, then turned to the crowd. "Who lives in the neighboring house?"
"Me," an old man stepped forward. "I was drinking and chatting with a few friends right out front last night."
"Did you see anyone from this house going in or out during the night?"
The old man looked at Noah and Evelyn, frowning. He really didn't want to help her. But facing the police, he didn't dare lie. "No one. It started raining at night so we all went back inside."
"Thank you for your cooperation." The officer turned back to Evelyn. "Sorry for the disturbance."