Eyeless corpse 2
1572 Words
“Aileen… I’m so sorry…” the woman behind her muttered, grief thick in her voice. “Even my old man, a sailor all his life, had close calls. It’s just how the sea is…” Her voice trailed off. Tears welled in her eyes. Her husband had nearly died months ago, spine broken by a falling mast—saved only by sheer luck.
Aileen stood still, unmoving.
All she could hear was the wind.
But Rhys had come home yesterday. He was home now—playing with their daughter.
Then someone nearby whispered, “The soft parts always go first, out there in the sea.” They chalked the damage up to time, to decay.
“No! This isn’t Rhys! I was here this morning with him and Lilith!”
The wind stilled. All eyes turned to her. No one noticed how the dark clouds above clenched tight, dimming the sun that lit the dock.
“Aileen, what are you saying?” A fisherman broke the silence. “I saw you this morning, carrying Lilith here. I figured you were still waiting for news of Rhys.”
Aileen combed frantically through the past two days in her mind, searching for a rational explanation. But every answer pointed to one thing—Rhys had come home. Rhys was at home yesterday.
“No… no!” She reached out to touch the corpse, but jerked back instantly. It was freezing—far too cold to be her Rhys.
That couldn’t be him.
Leaving behind the murmuring crowd and the lifeless body, Aileen shoved past them and ran, cutting through the street. Her Rhys was home. She knew he was home.
Last night’s storm had left puddles everywhere. Pale light filtered through the clouds, colorless and cold. From the direction of the harbor came shouts—broken, scattered—mixed with the clatter of metal and the breath of the sea against the rocks.
Aileen stood at her doorstep.
Inside, she saw a familiar figure moving slowly, calmly. Rhys. Holding Lilith in his arms. One hand under her neck, the other supporting her little back. His posture was natural. Practiced. Lilith lay on his shoulder, fingers gripping his collar, eyes half-lidded in that sleepy-but-fighting-it kind of way.
There was nothing wrong with the scene. Not on the surface.
But Aileen lingered too long in the doorway.
Something was… off.
The rhythm.
Every one of the man’s movements lagged a fraction too slow. As if each motion was calculated before being made. He smiled—warmly—but almost never blinked. His voice was gentle, yet when he hummed Lilith’s bedtime tune, the melody missed its mark. Even the soft pats on her back were off-beat, mechanical.
Lilith seemed to notice—just barely—how Rhys paused the moment the door creaked open. But she didn’t say anything. Just shifted in his arms and mumbled, “Daddy’s hand is hot…”
“That’s because he touched the iron pot just now.” The scent of the stew had just started to fill the house. It was her favorite—steamed oysters. Rhys would always make them if he had the chance.
“I’m back,” Aileen said, cutting into the quiet warmth between them.
Rhys turned—not his head, but his whole body—to look.
When he saw her, his face lit up. He jogged over, Lilith in arms. “Where did you go?” Lilith blinked awake, pout forming, but then she spotted her mother and stretched out her arms with a giggle.
Aileen smiled softly. “I went out to get some flour.”
She took Lilith into her arms, brushing her cheek against the child’s hair.
Then she looked into his eyes.
The shape was right. It was his gaze—the one that had looked at her a thousand times with softness.
But now… it was a little too perfect.
Like an emotion painted on.
She said nothing. Just held her daughter close, nose pressed to her hair, as if to stay anchored.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Rhys’s voice came, hesitant. With Lilith in Aileen’s arms, he had to settle for holding the hem of her shirt.
“Will you come with me for a moment?”
“Of course!” Rhys moved toward the door, but Aileen grabbed his sleeve.
“The stove. Turn off the flame first.”
Obediently, he turned back. Then returned with a seaweed cake in hand. “Here. I made this—it’s still warm. The smell hasn’t faded yet.”
Aileen raised an eyebrow.
He quickly added, “I… I learned to make it. Just recently.”
“I’ve never seen you make seaweed cakes. Did you learn it from that street vendor, Ana?”
“Yes! That’s right. Ana.”
But there was no vendor named Ana. Not anymore. Seaweed cakes were something only a few old-timers still made.
“You don’t like it…?” Rhys’s hand drooped. He placed the cake down, adjusted his face back into a smile, and tugged at her shirt again. “Let’s go.”
The wind outside was sharp. It pulled the breath from her chest. Rhys followed her out into the street. The village was steeped in a foggy grey-blue. The stone roads were slick, as cold as Aileen’s spiraling thoughts.
“I have to show them,” she panted. “They said you were dead. I need them to see you.”
Rhys said nothing. Just ran alongside her, the same soft smile on his face. Too soft. Too fixed. His eyes, locked on her profile, glittered like glass—not alive. Not surprised.
As they turned the corner, a neighbor peered out. And didn’t seem to notice Rhys at all. A dog across the road snarled, then whimpered, backing away under an eave, tail tucked, as if it had seen something it shouldn’t have.
Aileen didn’t look back.
The crowd still surrounded the corpse. Some wept. Others whispered prayers.
“Move—let me through!” Aileen shouted.
She pushed forward, standing before the body. Her voice trembled. “You’re all wrong. You’ve made a mistake. Rhys isn’t dead. He’s right here, with me.”
She turned around.
Rhys stood at the edge of the crowd, Lilith still in hand, wrapped in that same odd haze.
He looked down at the body. And didn’t react. His glasslike eyes reflected the scene without emotion, as if he had no need for it.
A shiver crept up Aileen’s spine.
“Look…” she forced a smile. “He’s right here. Standing beside me. Alive.”
An older woman touched Aileen’s shoulder gently. “I know it’s hard, dear. But don’t scare the child. Go pick her up, will you? She’s standing too far away.”
But Aileen couldn’t move.
She watched as “Rhys” walked through the crowd. No one flinched. No one noticed. He passed like a breeze—unfelt, unseen. The air itself parted for him.
“You… really can’t see him?” Aileen whispered.
No one replied. Heads bowed. Prayers muttered. Someone covered their nose.
She turned to a fisherman and grabbed his sleeve. “Didn’t you see him? He’s right there—it’s Rhys—he’s alive!”
The man looked at her with pity, then gently pulled away. “Aileen… I know it’s painful. But you have to accept it. That body—it’s Rhys. Everything matches. Don’t… scare us like this.”
Her hand slipped from his arm. He stepped back, just slightly, wary.
She felt like she was standing at the edge of a fractured world—one foot on warm familiar earth, the other dipping into the heart of a storm.
Slowly, she turned.
And looked at “Rhys.”
A few seabirds scattered from the dock, wings flapping, fleeing.
Someone in the crowd looked over—but not at them. Only at her.
“Aileen… please,” the mayor’s voice came. He looked worried. “You need to stay calm. Lilith is still young, you can’t—”
“Did you see him?!” she screamed. “Did you see him?!” Her finger pointed directly at “Rhys,” her voice cracking like glass.
The mayor hesitated, glanced to her side, then said quietly, “There’s no one there, Aileen.”
Silence fell.
Aileen could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her chest.
“He’s here…” she whispered, turning back. She took “Rhys” by the hand. “Tell them. Tell them you’re here.”
He looked at her. Unblinking.
Lilith, beside him, quietly held onto his pinky. Calm. Unbothered.
“Aileen, please… look at Lilith, she’s frightened.”
Clouds thickened on the horizon. A black shadow crept up the sky.
Aileen stared at him. She felt hollowed out, like something had been pulled from her bones. She let go. His burning hand slipped through her fingers.
“…Alright,” she said softly.
And turned away.
Behind her, voices whispered.
“She’s gone mad.”
“Grief’ll do that… Poor girl.”
“What about the kid…”
No one looked back.
The wind tore through her hair. She lifted Lilith into her arms. The child still giggled in his direction, as if seeing a father she knew.
Aileen thought, maybe it no longer mattered who believed what.
Maybe the whole village was caught in something unseen.
- Writer
