Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Died In A CAR CRASH One Month Ago. My Wife Just Brought Me Back From The Dead | Scary Stories

Episode Date: March 18, 2024

She made a terrible mistake.      Story from Dominic Eagle Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Theeaglestrikes  Cover Art from huleeb                   Original Post: A month after I died, my wife resurrected me. [Part 2] : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I Died In A CAR CRASH One Month Ago. My Wife Just Brought Me Back From The Dead           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech  Darren Curtis Music - YouTube Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

This story isn't about me. It's about my wife. It's about the price she had to pay to resurrect me. This year, on November 1st, I died. There was a car collision. I actually remember it. It is, perhaps, the most vivid memory of my entire life. There's almost nothing on this earth quite as terrifying as remembering your own death.

Almost. When I woke on December 1st, I was in my bed. What do I remember from November? Nothing. I ceased to exist and then I existed again. I don't remember an afterlife. That in itself was enough to break my mind. Maybe souls exist, or maybe they don't.

I have no idea. I only know that it took a psychological toll to suddenly find my mind. my soul, or whatever you might call my essence, had returned to its body. In addition, my body had surprisingly not decomposed. Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. That isn't the story I need to tell. Robert? My wife's sweet voice was the first thing I heard. I opened my eyes to see her kneeling beside our bed, clutching my hand in hers. Emily? I weasily croaked.

I... I... Good morning, my love. She sobbed, leaning in to kiss me repeatedly. How? I whispered. That was all I could muster. What else was there to say?

I don't think Emily had expected me to remember my death. She seemed apprehended by my question, but she quickly composed herself. It wasn't your time, she feebly responded. I saved you. Emily, I said. I died. I remember dying. No, no, you, Emily fumbled for a lie.

You were hanging by a thread and you're lying, Emily, I interjected. I stopped existing. There was nothing. I know I died. I felt it. And something tells me that a lot of time has passed, so how am I alive? Emily's lip quivered, and she looked away from me. I stared at her awaiting an answer. I'm not sure how long we spent in that state of silence. What's today's date? I asked. Emily finally looked up at me, face covered in tears. December 1st," she whispered. December 1st.

I don't, that, that doesn't. How can that be? A month? A whole month? What did you do, Emily? How am I back on earth? How is my body in one piece? Emily wiped away her tears, leaning forwards and resting on my chest.

I found a way to undo. what happened, she finally replied. My wife wouldn't tell me more than that. She left me, too, as she put it, wrap my head around things. I spent hours staring at the wall, contemplating what Emily might have done, but I'm not an imaginative man. I couldn't possibly have managed to conceive the horrors that had unfolded in order to return me to the land of the living. When I eventually made my way downstairs, after showering and getting dressed, my wife was sitting on the sofa. She smiled and pointed at a pizza box on the coffee table.

It was from my favorite takeaway. Robbie, Emily said, trying to stifle tears. I know you're scared. I'm scared. But I can't tell you how I brought you back, okay? I just, I just need you to understand. you died, I couldn't do it. I couldn't see a way forwards without you. So I found a way forwards with you. I wanted to say something, but my heart melted at the sight of my beautiful wife,

the pizza box on the table, and our favorite film ready to play on the TV. You see, I'd come to terms with the concept of death, but I was intoxicated. once more by the allure of life and love. Even though I hadn't existed for the past month, I had missed Emily. I'd missed life. I decided that maybe I didn't need to know how I had returned. That first night was perfect. I didn't even notice the small details that would later concern me.

The next day, as I was eating breakfast, I came down from the high of the pre-year-year-lawed from the high of the previous night. What about my parents? Your parents. Are friends? I asked. I can't hide in here forever. How will you explain this to them?

I haven't figured that out just yet, Emily sheepishly admitted. And that was when I first noticed it. I noticed the slight paleness of my wife's face. Are you unwell? I asked. You should eat something. I'm fine, Emily assured me. I haven't seen you eat anything since yesterday, I said.

What's wrong with you? I'm fine, Robbie, Emily reiterated. I'm used to not eating. Grief will do that to you. I wasn't entirely convinced, but it seemed like a reasonable explanation. I felt guilty. She'd spent a month carrying the burden of losing. me. I had the luxury of simply ceasing to exist. That night, however, I woke at 2 a.m. to the

sound of a car starting. I looked out the window and saw Emily drive away. She returned an hour later and silently crept back into bed. I pretended to be asleep. It seemed a better idea to discuss things when we'd woken up. Where'd you go? I later asked. Yet again, Emily was not eating breakfast, and she looked even paler than the night before. We needed milk, my wife replied. At 2 a.m.? I scoffed. From the petrol station, she explained.

It's a 24-hour stop. The milk could have waited, Emily. I replied. Emily was lying. There was absolutely no doubt about that. What was she hiding? Suspecting that my wife might repeat her early morning trip, I had the idea to plant my iPad on her back seat and track it from my phone.

I was correct. A little after midnight when Emily started her car, I tiptoed downstairs waiting for her to pull away and slipped onto the driveway. I started up my car and tracked her at a safe distance. She did not travel far. In fact, when she drove into the center of the city, I thought for a painful second that she might have been telling the truth. I felt like a terrible husband for doubting her.

But she did not park at the petrol station. My app show that she'd parked near a nightclub. My wife hates nightclubs. She hates staying up past 9 p.m. Even if we were to ignore the fact that I died and came back to life, this still would have been a suspicious situation. That being said, my mind never for a moment leapt to the concept of an affair. I felt she had proven her love by, well, resurrecting me.

I parked a few streets away from her and travelled on foot, tracking my iPad's location. I followed her Ford Focus in a deserted car park, but I couldn't see her, so I hid in the bushes and waited in the dark. The lights and noise of the city had been comforting, but this empty parking lot, lit by a solitary lamp post, was eerily dark and silent. There was something unnatural about the car park. It was shrouded in a thick mist. Emily emerged from a back alley with a young, handsome man.

I assume she found him at the nightclub. I was nauseated. He leaned in to give my wife a kiss. But she shoved him back. I was on the precipice of leaping from the bush and revealing my location, but something strange happened. My wife changed. Her pupils vanished, and her eyes turned black.

With vice-like strength, Emily clutched either side of the man's horrified face and squeezed. I don't know how to describe what I saw, but I'll try. It has plagued my dreams for the past week. The high-pitched scream that emanated from the man's mouth was the most haunting sound I've ever heard. His arms and legs flailed helplessly as his body began to shrivel away. His flesh sagged, clinging tighter and tighter to the ghastly outline of his skeleton with every passing moment. It was as if I'd seen the young man age. a lifetime in mere seconds. Emily released what was left of his face, and her eyes returned

to normal, though her flesh was just as pale. The worst part is that her victim, for some reason I cannot grasp, had not yet perished. He lay on the cold tarmac of the car park, futilely gasping for air with his wheezy, deflated lungs. His fragile skin was barely able to stretch across his bones. I believe I even saw the outline of his heart beating beneath his shirt. The macabre image seems to be permanently etched onto my eyeballs. The man's face was a nightmarish apparition. It was no more than a skull coated in papery flesh. His eyes were glazed over. If they were the window to his soul, then his soul had most certainly been absorbed by my wife. His arms and legs were broken and twisted in ways that I can

only imagine must have been agonizing. Eventually, the man's incessant writhing ceased. With unnatural ease, my wife carried his corpse to her vehicle, dumped the crumpled mess into the trunk, and drove away. I didn't go home. I've been living in my car. Whatever my wife did to resurrect me, it extracted a vile toll. I've conducted online research, but I can't find anything on the subject. I assume she feeds on the essence of others to sustain herself. Should I go home?

I can't run and hide for the rest of my life. I think I have to stop her. Update. You're right. I can't run from it. As I received a flood of replies, I found myself overcome with guilt. My wife made a desperate decision, and it came with an unimaginable price. That's why I've been browsing the internet to find some sort of explanation for what happened

to her. Perhaps I can stop her. And perhaps I can also save her. Earlier this morning, I found something. I was starting to give up on my online research, but a particular forum recommended a Gothic bookstore not too far from the city. They have a library section with various books detailing the history of the occult. Apparently they have information you won't find on the internet. I drove straight there and waited for the store to open at 9 a.m. The little old lady seemed shocked to see a customer waiting at the door, bright and early. Her name was Greta. She was warm and helpful, unlike the sinister shopkeeper I'd pictured in my head. I didn't tell her about my wife, but I asked about a creature that could do the things my wife

has been doing. Greta's eyes widened. I was sure the book store darkened. The lady asked me how I'd come to know of such an unearthly power. I didn't answer. I just repeated that I needed answers. Greta nodded and beckoned for me to follow her. From a shelf in a forgotten crevice of her store, she picked up a dusty, leather-bound book that was entitled, veil-breaking. Do you know somebody who's broken the veil?" Greta asked. It's just a story.

I replied. Thanks for helping me. How much is this? Greta looked at me with pitying eyes. She pushed the book into my arms and patted it. Her gaze suddenly fell to the floor. No charge. I fear you've already paid a heavy price.

She whispered. I left the bookstore, returned to my freezing car, and started to flip through the pages of the nightmarish history book. I won't write an entire novel here, but I'll explain veil-breaking to you. I'll explain what my wife did. The book claims, firstly, that every human has a soul. I didn't used to be spiritual, but after I witnessed my wife. life's goolish transformation, I've found myself unable to deny the existence of something greater

than me. All souls exist on the other side of a thin veil, according to the book. And I believe it. Veil-breaking is the process of recovering said souls and returning them to the physical world. That comes with a price. Additionally, there's a process whereby the deceased. deceased individual's body must be restored to perfection. That also comes with a price. The being that extracts the price is called debt. Many different people have depicted him in many ways. There was one drawing of the entity.

It had a bony, contorted, vaguely human figure, much like that of its victims. And it also had horrible blackish. black eyes. Emily's eyes. There were also bodies at its feet. Shrivelled people were lying in a mangled mess and clinging to their last moments of life, much like the man I saw several nights ago. There was also this passage. It is believed that debt can break the veil and restore any lost soul. In return, the entity demands the body of the invovales invoker as a vessel. The vessel must feed on the life essence of others. If it does not, it perishes. I stopped reading at that point. It was as I'd feared. My wife had forged a deal with some

unholy thing, torturing herself just to bring me back. Foolishly, before I'd even read more of the book. I raced home. In the earth. early morning light, our snow-covered house glistened. Everything was so still, so calm. I noticed Emily's car on the driveway. I gently pulled alongside it. As I stepped out of the vehicle, my feet crunched in snow. It was the only sound on our silent road. When I reached the front door, I fumbled for my keys, before noticing that it was unlocked in slightly ajar. I timidly pushed it open. Emily, I called out.

Our house was shrouded in darkness. I realized every curtain had been drawn. I expected to not see or hear a thing, but there was a creek on the upstairs floorboard. Summoning my last ounce of courage, I braved the stairs. Each step groaned beneath my feet, as I ascended towards the lightless, void of our upstairs landing. There was the sudden sound of a door slamming. Our bedroom door. I breathed deeply, tiptoeing towards the bedroom. I coiled my trembling fingers around the door handle and paused. Emily, I said, I'm going to open the door, okay? I love you. I'm sorry for not coming

home, I just had to wrap my head around some things. Nothing. Not a peep. I opened the door. Inside, I saw something so horrifying that I immediately closed the door again. The scene within our bedroom was a real-life interpretation of the drawing from my veil-breaking book. My wife, now possessing a fully white complexion, was standing on our bed, surrounded by a pile

of two dozen bony depleted corpses. No, no, that's not quite right. Not all of them were corpses. Some of them were still writhing on the bed and the floor. One young woman looked up at me with the same. pupilless, glazed over eyes as the first victim I'd seen in the car park. She raised one skeletal arm towards me. It was snapped backwards at the elbow, and her hand hung limply at the wrist. Her flesh. Her flesh was so thin that it had torn around her hand, and I saw all of that

horror in the space of a second. When I slammed the door shot, Emily unleashed an inhuman wail. Albert! I heard her wheeze. I held the door closed, too frightened to remove my hand from the handle. I heard the bedsprings release, crunching footsteps across bones, then an ominous thud on the door. You're home, she whispered. Emily, I cried. I love you so much, but I need to figure out how to stop this. I released the door handle, sprinted down the stairs, darted out of the front door, and retreated to my car.

I've been sitting here for the past hour, staring at the open front door to my blackened house. I'm flicking through the veil-breaking book. I hope to find some answers. 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 veil-breaking 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 return 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 debt. I was wondering when you'd return, Greta sighed, as I strolled through the door of her dingy 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 cozy living quarters tucked away. That hardly surprised me. It seemed a fitting stereotype. In terms of her personality, however, Greta was no stereotype. I wouldn't have pegged the sweet lady as 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 said. 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 blood-curdling tail, 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 as I attempted to retain my composure. Greta shook her head.

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 debt. Greta shuddered. And I felt, just as I'd felt when I first borrowed her book, A Darkness shroud the room.

Please, Greta pleaded. Do not speak its name. But I'm right, aren't I? I replied. Greta solemnly nodded. I'm 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 said.

It depends on how many souls. souls she's consumed," Greta explained. You said Emily spoke your name when you went to the house this morning. Perhaps. Greta trailed off. 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. He stretched out a withered, ancient hand and gingerly stroked the picture of a large, happy family. That little girl's 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 veil-breaking. The story passed from generation to generation is that Jane had invoked debt to save her brother. She slaughtered an entire town of people to satiate the malevolent entity, and debt fully claimed her body. Was there anything that could defeat the people? entity? I asked. Time. It exhausted Jane's mortal body many years later. She died, but debt caused untold suffering during that time, and she is only one of many who have fallen for debt's lie.

However, your wife's story does not need to end that way. There's a way to put things right before debt seizes control of her body, we can stop the senseless killing, we can return your soul to the void, and whatever lies beyond. Would it work for me to just kill myself? I asked. I'd 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. 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 you to the void. It is the only way to release you to the void. her from debt. I didn't argue with a woman. I knew I had to save my wife. And that brings us to the present moment. I am hurriedly typing while 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've ever known.

When we were together, it was as if we were the only two people in the entire world. What a cliche, huh? But it's true. And I know that's why you went to terrible lengths to bring me back. I love you with every fiber 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'll 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. 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'd 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 a young man. 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, he said. No! His wife screeched.

When she spoke, it sounded as if two voices were warring for her vocal cords. I realized that time was not on our side. Please, Emily. 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 an arm out to block me.

I saw the devastation that Emily had paused. A room of corpses. A graveyard of bones. Atop the pile, which covered the bed in most of the floor, stood Emily. Her skin had started to tighten around her skeleton, much like her victims. I think I could 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 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. Debt isn't a gift giver, Emily. It's a taker. Please. Please make things right.

Robert started to walk towards his wife. She froze in place, snarling at him. He clamored onto the bed. Just take my face in your hands. Robert begged, inching towards the monster that used to be his love. No, go. She said as she backed away from him. I could go, honey.

But you'd never be with me. me again, he said, calmly reaching for her hand. This is the only way to save us both, he said. I thought it was too late. I truly thought that. Somehow, though, 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. Whaling into the night, Emily grabbed Robert's face with her two gnarly, near fleshless hands. I couldn't see Robert's reaction as his back was turned to me, but I could hear his jubilant sobs of triumph. I love you, he said. And then the brave man unleashed a strained, torturous yet.

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 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 dropped far

below freezing. A mist filled the room, shrouding the pained woman. After a few ceaseless seconds, it cleared to reveal Emily. And I don't mean debt, I mean Emily. The color 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 remember. move 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've 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 debt now. They can rest. And I, at long last, feel my family has been redeemed.