Ever since my husband, Ted Towery, returns from a trip, he seems like a completely different person. He becomes gentle, attentive, and deeply affectionate.

But one night, I get up in the middle of the night and see him standing at the kitchen counter.

On the cutting board lie his head, his tongue, his eyeballs, and a heart that is still beating.

"He" holds a kitchen knife, seeming a little conflicted. "Where should I start fixing?"

Suddenly, the tongue on the cutting board lets out a shrill scream, "She sees us!"

I opened my eyes, my heart pounding violently. My back was completely soaked with sweat.

Even though it was just a dream, it still left me feeling deeply uneasy.

What terrified me even more was that the spot beside me was empty. My husband, Ted Towery, wasn't there.

From the kitchen came the sharp, rhythmic thuds of a knife against a cutting board.

I didn't dare turn on the lights. I fumbled around in the dark for the baseball bat for courage. Ted often beat me with it, and it really hurt. If he really had turned into something strange, then this would make a decent self-defense weapon.

Gripping the bat tightly, I tiptoed toward the kitchen.

It was pitch-black inside. All I could make out was a shadowy figure standing in front of the counter. The frantic chopping of the knife against the cutting board seemed to strike directly at my heart with every blow.

The dream from earlier played like a loop in my mind. My body felt nailed in place, and my mind went blank except for a frantic scream—"Run! Run! Run!"

My legs turned weak. I carefully turned and started inching away. However, my foot slipped, and my house slipper made a loud squeak against the floor.

The chopping stopped abruptly.

In that instant, it felt like the entire house stilled—there were no sounds at all except my own breathing. I nervously clamped a hand over my nose.

In the dead silence, the dark shadow took one step after another toward me.

"Piper, why didn't you turn on the lights?"

With a click, the ceiling lights turned on, and warm brightness flooded the living room.

Ted stood beside the switch, looking at me in confusion.

I swallowed hard. "I heard noises from the kitchen, so I came out to check. What were you chopping?"

He grinned. His gaze was gentle and carried a hint of doting affection. "Didn't you say you wanted tortellini last night? I was mincing the filling."

Then his eyes slowly dropped to the baseball bat in my hands. His smile froze, and his voice turned slightly cold.

"Babe, what are you doing with that bat?"

Under his dark stare, the memories of him beating me flashed through my mind.

The bat slipped from my hand and fell to the floor with a thud.

I forced an awkward smile. "N-Nothing. I wasn't doing anything."

He didn't look at me again. I stared at him nervously while he went back to the kitchen and resumed mincing the pork.

The bloody, raw meat tumbled across the cutting board. He was using great force, so from time to time, droplets of blood splattered upward. Some speckles even landed on his eyebrows, but he didn't seem to care at all.

After watching for a while, I felt a chill creep over me, and I ran back to the bedroom. Only when I buried myself under the blanket did the chilling feeling ease slightly.

Ever since we came back from our last trip, Ted had been acting strangely. Not only had he stopped beating me, but he'd also become extremely attentive and caring.

In the past, he'd never even stepped into the kitchen; I was the one who did all the cooking. But now, ever since we returned, it was like he'd had a personality makeover—he started making all kinds of delicious food for me at every meal.

At first, I thought he was planning to poison me so he could get himself a new wife. But after eating his food for over ten days, I was still alive.

And last night, I had indeed mentioned tortellini. Maybe I was just being too paranoid.

But were there people who actually minced pork in the dark at 3:30 am? I had a vague feeling that something was off.

At this hour, the neighbors were still sleeping, so I thought it'd be better to tell him to do the chopping a little later.

I got up again and grabbed my house slippers. Only then did I notice that there was a large patch of blood on them. The dark red bloodstain stood out sharply against the faded fabric of the slipper.

And this blood… didn't come from me.

At that moment, I realized the chopping sound from outside had stopped at some point. I looked up and found Ted standing at the door, holding a kitchen knife, staring intently at me.

Startled, I dropped the slipper.

Seeing him walk toward me step by step with the knife in hand, I hugged my head and buried myself under the blanket.

The mattress sank slightly beside me. Ted's breath brushed gently against my ear.

"Piper, it's time to eat. I've finished cooking the tortellini. They won't taste good once they're cold. Come out and eat."

The pasta was piping hot and springy, stuffed with juicy, savory pork and a hint of basil. One bite and the juices burst out. It was so delicious it almost made my head spin.

Before I got married, tortellini was my favorite food. But after marriage, it had been a long time since I'd had one this good. I didn't know how to make them, and Ted never allowed me to eat out.

All the household money, even my paycheck, was strictly controlled by him. Every day, he gave me 20 dollars to buy groceries. Every penny had to be spent wisely, and if even a cent was unaccounted for, I'd be beaten and yelled at.

Right now, as the hot filling filled my mouth, it was as if some switch inside me had been flipped, and my tears suddenly fell without warning.

Ted sat at the table, smiling as he watched me eat. From time to time, he'd ask, "Is it good?"

"It's good," I answered between bites.

Only then did I notice his bowl and cutlery were completely clean and untouched. I didn't remember him eating yesterday… Or the day before… Or even the day before that…

I froze, my fork hovering in midair. "Aren't you going to eat?"

He didn't answer my question. His dark, hollow eyes stared at me as he changed the topic.

"That's top-quality pork. I specially picked it myself. Make sure you finish it all, babe."

Wait… Had he bought pork these past few days?

I couldn't help but think that Ted was probably possessed.

My mother had once told me a story about a ghost taking over someone's body.

In the countryside a few decades ago, there was a man named Shane Thorsen. He was lazy, greedy, and loved beating his wife.

In those days, everyone's sole desire was to work hard so their families had enough to eat. But Shane was the exception.

When he was assigned to take care of the sheep, he stole some young lambs and secretly roasted them with his good-for-nothing buddies. When the village council asked him to weed the fields, he yanked both the weeds and the seedlings. And when questioned afterward, he refused to admit anything.

Over time, no one wanted to assign him any work, so he ended up living off his wife, Stacey Wilson.

Every day, he wandered aimlessly around the village, occasionally drinking some cheap homemade liquor he got from somewhere. And when he got drunk, he'd go home and beat his wife.

Stacey worked herself to the bone to support him, taking on hard and exhausting labor. She'd work late into the night, only to return home and get beaten. She cried every day until one day, something happened.

When Shane and his good-for-nothing buddies secretly went into the mountains to hunt rabbits, he somehow stepped on an old grave mound. The grave was so old that the coffin inside had completely rotted, so Shane fell straight into it and lost consciousness.

His buddies had no choice but to carry him back to the village. But when he woke up, it was like he was a completely different person. Not only did he start working hard, but he also obeyed everything Stacey said. Later, after economic reforms, he even became the first person in the village to become rich.

Everyone said Shane's fall had knocked some sense into him. But Stacey insisted that the soul that woke up that day hadn't been Shane's.

Not long after she said that, Stacey suddenly fell ill and died. Shane, however, lived until he was 70 years old. The villagers all said that the ghost inside him had drained Stacey's life force.

Wasn't that story exactly like what was going on with me? Maybe Ted really had been possessed by a ghost.

I decided to use some old folk methods to test him.

I grabbed some rice from the cabinet, wrapped it in red paper, and placed it in spots where he usually walked. To be safe, I also went to my neighbor's house and asked for some incense ash. I mixed it evenly with salt and sprinkled it on the floor. I'd heard that a possessed person could only walk on their tiptoes, so he'd leave toe prints in the ash.

Trembling, I clutched a bag of incense ash and hid in the bedroom, leaving a small crack in the door to watch what was happening outside.

Ted came out of the bathroom and, completely unsuspecting, stepped right onto the ash. He showed no reaction at all, nor did it seem like he sensed there was anything on the floor. He just calmly walked across it like usual.

He then leaned down and poured water from the kettle. I had also placed a packet of rice inside the jar of coffee beans on the counter.

Under my nervous gaze, he reached for the jar… then suddenly pulled his hand back.

My heart skipped a beat. I thought he'd noticed the packet of rice, but as it turned out, he was just hesitating between drinking plain water or coffee.

After hesitating for a moment, he reached for the coffee beans again.

Nothing happened.

I felt a little confused.

If Ted wasn't possessed, then where did this drastic change come from?

After drinking a few sips of his coffee, he headed out.

While sweeping up the incense ash on the floor, I absent-mindedly looked toward the door, feeling like I'd forgotten something important.

Meat. Right! Where had the pork come from?

I clenched my fists as I walked to the refrigerator. The old fridge door squeaked loudly as it opened, and a wave of rotting stench hit me.

The small fridge was stuffed with decaying meat. The chunks were crammed tightly together, emitting a foul smell akin to dead rats. Every now and then, sticky globs of blood dripped to the floor, and white maggots crawled along the veins of the flesh.

I gagged. Suddenly, I remembered the tortellini I had eaten that morning, and I rushed to the bathroom and threw up violently.

No wonder Ted had been so kind as to make them for me. He was feeding me rotten meat!

But where had all that meat come from?

Ted had always been frugal, so we barely ate any meat in the house at all. That much meat must've cost several hundred dollars. Would he really have been willing to spend that much?

The more I thought about it, the stranger it felt.

Suddenly, I noticed something.

There was only one set of footprints in the incense ash by the door—mine. There were no signs of Ted's footprints at all.

Ted was much taller and bigger than me. When he used to beat me, he would often lift me like I weighed nothing. So technically, his footprints should have been larger and deeper than mine.

But now, only my footprints could be found in the ashes.

Ted… really was possessed.

Now that I knew he was possessed by a ghost, things were easier to handle.

My aunt was a famous shaman, and her daughter—my cousin Roxie Dunill—had inherited her skills and was now quite well-known in her own right.

I gave Roxie a call and asked her to bring her tools to my house to catch the ghost.

When she heard what I had to say, she sounded genuinely alarmed. She lived nearby, so in just a little over 20 minutes, she was already standing at my door.

I poured her a glass of water and invited her to take a seat on the couch. But she refused. Instead, she grabbed my hand tightly.

"Piper, I need to tell you something, but you need to prepare yourself."

Her hands were trembling, and her face was frighteningly pale.

"Ted Towery has been dead for over a month. He fell off a cliff. When they found him, his organs had been shredded by branches! You've been bewitched by a ghost, and that's why you forgot about it!

"He came back to take you with him! While he's not back yet, we need to run. Quick!"

I felt nailed to the spot. Some vague, bloody scenes flickered through my mind.

Seeing me frozen, Roxie hurriedly dragged me toward the door.

But at that moment, a shadow flickered behind the peephole in the front door—an eyeball seemed to glide past it. And in the next second, the door opened with a soft click.

Ted stood at the entrance, looking at me with a sinister gaze. "Babe, where are you going?"

I stiffened in place before reflexively looking up.

The light split the space on either side of the door into two separate worlds. Outside, Ted stood in the shadows, a plastic bag in his hand, steadily dripping blood.

Roxie's face turned deathly pale with fear. She whispered to me, "You absolutely mustn't let him know you've figured out his identity. Otherwise, if he goes berserk, neither of us will be able to escape. Just act normal and calm him down."

I nodded and stiffly walked up to Ted, my lips trembling uncontrollably from fear.

"You've been gone so long, so I just wanted to see what you were doing."

Hearing my words, his expression softened a little. "I went to buy groceries."

He pointed to the bag in his hand that was still dripping blood. "You really liked the tortellini this morning, so I bought more pork and basil."

I didn't know how to respond. I just stiffly took the bag from his hand and walked into the kitchen under his watchful eyes.

Ted and I had indeed gone up the mountains during Thanksgiving not long ago.

A colleague of his had posted photos of his trip to Liaston with his wife and daughter on social media, and his supervisors and colleagues all praised him for being a wonderful husband and father.

Ted got furious, kicked me hard, then told me to pack our things as we were going on a trip, too.

We bought same-day train tickets and headed to Mistblue Mountain, a scenic area about 60 miles from home.

But Ted was too cheap to spend over a 100 dollars on the admission tickets. Still, he wanted photos to show off, so he led me onto a small trail, planning to cut through the desolate mountainside and sneak into the scenic area from the back.

The undeveloped path was overgrown with branches, insects, and even snakes. I followed behind him, stumbling with every step, and soon, I was exhausted.

He cursed at me and continued climbing ahead without looking back.

After going a little further, I became so exhausted that I couldn't move anymore, so I sat down under a tree and fell asleep.

When I woke up again, I found Ted standing in front of me, his personality completely changed.

On our way down the mountain, the locals had indeed told me that the back of the mountain was a cliff. Even if one made it across, they still wouldn't be able to reach the scenic area.

Could Ted have died back then? And did his ghost rewrite my memories?

The thought that I had been living with a ghost for so long—and even eaten food made by it—sent a chill down my spine.

How were Roxie and I going to escape from its grasp?

Right then, Ted opened the kitchen door and walked in.

In a panic, I turned on the faucet and began rinsing the meat in my hands. The water diluted the blood and flowed down the drain.

The pork in my hands was pink and tender, firm in texture, and with clear layers—clearly high-quality meat.

Ted stood behind me and, without saying a word, picked up a knife. I jumped in fright and quickly stepped aside.

He barely reacted. He just calmly took the meat from my hands.

I watched as he threw the pork onto the cutting board.

The living room was completely silent. There were no sounds coming from there at all.

Roxie… Could she…

My throat felt dry. "Ted…"

He brought the knife down on the cutting board with a loud thud, then turned his head to stare right at me.

A chill shot straight up my spine, and I felt an icy sensation on the back of my head. My legs trembled, and I swallowed hard.

"What… What did you do to Roxie?"