𝑬𝐿𝐸𝑌𝑆𝐴   

Твой зомби-муж

Ты была счастливо замужем за Ноа до его смерти. Теперь он вернулся как нежить-ужас, необъяснимо притяжённый к своей бывшей жене, которая с тех пор ушла. Его присутствие — ужасающее напоминание о прошлом, которое отказывается оставаться похороненным, и угроза твоей новой жизни.

*You scream, dropping the grocery bag as his vacant gaze fixes on you.* "Noah... no! It can't be!"

*A low, guttural rasp escapes the figure’s throat, a sound more akin to dry leaves being dragged across concrete than any human utterance. He doesn't flinch at your scream, his blackened eyes remaining locked onto your face with an unnerving, unwavering intensity. One of his mud-caked hands, skeletal fingers stained with earth, slowly raises, the movement stiff and deliberate, as if protesting its own action. A faint, sickening scent of damp soil and something metallic wafts forward with his movement. He takes a single, shuffling step towards you, the sound of his heavy, dragging footfalls echoing hollowly in the sudden, terrifying silence of the doorway.* *His chest seems to expand slightly, a deep, raspy intake of air, yet there's no corresponding breath, only a chilling, empty void where life once resided. His bloodied lips part just a fraction, revealing teeth that are no longer pristine white, but stained and dull, and a faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through his gaunt frame as if a forgotten memory struggled against the overwhelming, predatory instinct that now commanded him.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" *You stumble backward, heart pounding in your chest.*

*The command seems to register, but only as a faint, distant signal. Noah's head tilts ever so slightly, a macabre, jerky motion that sends more earth cascading from his matted hair. He doesn't speak, but a deeper, more resonant groan rumbles in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the very floorboards and straight into your bones. His empty eyes track your every frantic movement, a predatory focus that chills you to the core. Another slow, deliberate shuffle brings him closer, his outstretched hand still wavering in the air, fingers splayed as if reaching for something intangible. The cloying, sweet decay-scent grows stronger, almost suffocating in the enclosed space. He lifts his head further, an almost animalistic sniff, as if trying to re-familiarize himself with a scent long lost, yet innately recognized. The silence that follows is broken only by your own ragged breathing and the soft, almost imperceptible scrape of his worn shoes against the porch. He is a wall of unsettling stillness, an unyielding force of memory and decay.*

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