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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/SocietysMenaceCC on 2024-07-02 22:36:55+00:00.

I never thought I’d see Jessica Wright again. We were just kids, really—high school seniors wrapped up in the small dramas of our tiny town. Jessica was the girl everyone noticed, with her bright eyes and infectious laugh. I was the boy in the back of the class, quietly sketching her from a distance, too shy to ever make a move. Our paths crossed occasionally, but we were never more than casual acquaintances. Then, the accident happened.

It was a rainy night, the kind that turns the roads into slick death traps. Jessica’s car skidded off the highway and wrapped around a tree. She was gone before the paramedics even arrived. The town mourned, her parents were devastated, and for weeks, I couldn’t get her face out of my mind. I felt an unbearable guilt, a sense of loss that I couldn’t explain. I didn’t know her well, but somehow, her death carved a hole in my life.

Years passed. I moved away, went to college, got a job, and tried to forget the haunting memory of Jessica. Life became a series of routines, and for a while, it worked. But then, a few months ago, the nightmares started. I would wake up drenched in sweat, Jessica’s face floating just behind my eyelids, her eyes empty and accusing.

It wasn’t until last week that things took a turn for the worse.

I was sitting alone in my living room, the clock on the wall ticking loudly in the silence. It was just after midnight, the hour when the world feels the most still. I had just turned off the TV and was about to head to bed when I felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

My skin prickled, and I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the room. At first, I saw nothing. Just the familiar contours of my furniture, the soft glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains. But then, in the corner of the room, something shifted.

My heart stopped.

There she was. Jessica Wright, sitting in the old armchair by the window. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes… her eyes were black pits, void of any life. She was dressed in the same clothes she wore the day she died, soaked and torn. I blinked, hoping she would vanish, but she remained, staring at me with those empty eyes.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, trying to rationalize what I was seeing. Maybe it was a trick of the light, a figment of my overactive imagination. But deep down, I knew it was her.

I wanted to scream, to run, but my body refused to obey. All I could do was sit there, paralyzed with fear, as she continued to stare. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stood up. Her movements were slow and jerky, like a puppet on strings. She took a step towards me, and I could hear the squelch of her wet shoes on the carpet.

I bolted upright and stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table. She stopped, her head tilting to the side, as if confused by my reaction. Then, she took another step. And another. She was coming for me.

In a blind panic, I fled to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My hands shook as I locked it, the metallic click echoing in the silence. I pressed my ear to the door, listening. Nothing. No footsteps, no movement. Just silence.

I spent the rest of the night huddled on my bed, every creak and groan of the house sending chills down my spine. When the first light of dawn finally crept through the window, I dared to open the door. The living room was empty, the armchair vacant. It was as if she had never been there.

But I knew better.

The next night, she came again. And the night after that. Always at the same time, always sitting in that same chair, staring at me with those hollow eyes. I stopped sleeping, stopped eating. My life became a blur of fear and exhaustion. I couldn’t escape her, couldn’t understand why she was haunting me.

Desperate for answers, I reached out to an old friend from high school, Sarah, who had been close to Jessica. She was skeptical at first, but when I described the apparition in detail, her voice trembled. She admitted that she, too, had been having nightmares about Jessica, dreams so vivid they felt real.

We decided to meet and try to figure out what was happening. Sarah suggested we visit Jessica’s grave, thinking it might bring us some closure. That evening, we drove to the old cemetery on the outskirts of town. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. As we approached Jessica’s grave, a chill settled over us.

The headstone was simple, adorned with fresh flowers. We stood in silence for a while, lost in our thoughts. Then, Sarah spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I never told anyone this, but the night Jessica died, we had a huge fight. I said some terrible things… things I can never take back. I think she’s trying to tell us something, to make us understand.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. I realized that I, too, had unresolved feelings—regret for never telling Jessica how I felt, for never getting to know her better. Maybe that’s why she was haunting me, why she couldn’t move on.

We decided to hold a small ceremony, a way to say goodbye and ask for her forgiveness. As we lit candles and spoke our apologies, a strange sense of peace settled over the graveyard. I felt a presence, a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly. Jessica didn’t visit me, and when I woke up, I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I hoped that we had finally given her the closure she needed.

But my relief was short-lived.

A few nights later, the nightmares returned, more vivid and terrifying than before. Jessica wasn’t just sitting in the chair anymore—she was moving, coming closer, her eyes burning with an intensity that made my blood run cold. I could hear her voice now, a faint whisper that grew louder each night.

“Help me…”

I knew then that something was horribly wrong. Jessica wasn’t at peace. She was trapped, and somehow, I was the key to her release. I delved into old town records, searching for anything that might explain her restless spirit. What I found chilled me to the bone.

The night of Jessica’s accident, she hadn’t been alone. There was another car, another driver who had fled the scene. The police had never found the culprit, and the case went cold. Jessica’s death was more than just a tragic accident—it was a murder.

I shared my findings with Sarah, and together we dug deeper. We uncovered a name, someone who had a history of reckless driving and a known grudge against Jessica. Confronting him was our only option.

We tracked him down, a shadow of his former self, living in a dilapidated house on the outskirts of town. When we confronted him with the evidence, he broke down, confessing to everything. He had been drunk, angry, and when he saw Jessica on the road that night, he lost control. He had been haunted by guilt ever since, but fear kept him from coming forward.

We persuaded him to turn himself in, to finally face justice. The relief in his eyes was palpable, as if a dark cloud had been lifted. That night, as I sat in my living room, I felt a shift in the air. The clock struck midnight, and for the first time in weeks, Jessica didn’t appear.

Instead, I felt a warmth, a sense of peace that I hadn’t known in years. I knew then that we had done the right thing, that Jessica could finally rest.

But as I turned off the lights and headed to bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. The shadows in the corners of my room seemed darker, the silence heavier. As I lay down, I heard it—a faint whisper, barely audible but unmistakable.

“Thank you…”

I closed my eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep. But deep down, I knew that some ghosts never truly leave us. They linger, waiting for the right moment to remind us of the past, of the things we can never change. And in the dead of night, when the world is silent and still, I can still feel Jessica’s presence, watching over me, a reminder of the love I never had the courage to confess, and the girl who will forever haunt my dreams.