My hands were still gripping the red gown in the wardrobe when I looked up and saw her. Her eyes seemed sharper now, colder, almost as if she could read my every thought.

“What are you searching for?” she asked again, her voice calm but heavy. Each step she took toward me made my heartbeat quicken.

I forced a weak smile, desperately searching for an excuse. But before I could speak, a knock came at the door. Our neighbor’s voice called her name. She turned quickly and left the room.

The moment she was gone, I yanked the gown out with trembling hands and shoved it deep under the bed. My chest rose and fell as I whispered to myself: “Tonight, the truth must come out. Since she keeps denying, I’ll watch what really happens.”

When she returned, I had to act normal, so I put on a playful smile.
“Honey,” I said casually, “I thought I misplaced my ATM card. I rushed home to check the wardrobe.”

She studied me closely, her eyes searching mine, then gave a soft smile and nodded. But deep down, I knew she wasn’t convinced.

She added, “Well, it’s fine. I also left the movie house because I wasn’t comfortable anymore. But… what about that ice cream?”

I chuckled lightly, pretending to relax. “Tomorrow,” I promised. “Honey, I’ve got gist for you.”

Her mood shifted instantly, my wife loved gist. We laughed, joked, and played like any ordinary couple. To anyone else, it would have looked like a happy night. But inside me, I wasn’t calm. Every word, every smile, I was watching her closely, waiting for midnight.

At about 10 p.m., another knock came at the door. I frowned. Who visits at this hour?

“Oh, that must be my friends,” she said quickly.

“Friends? You never told me anyone was coming,” I replied.

“Sorry, darling,” she said softly. “Their car broke down… they asked to stay here tonight.”

She walked to the door and opened it. My blood ran cold. Two women stepped in, both of them looked exactly like my wife. The resemblance is unbelievable.

I forced a smile, trying to hide my confusion, and welcomed them in.

Since we lived in a small one-bedroom flat, I offered to sleep in the sitting room while they used the bedroom. But sleep was far from me. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, my ears sharp, waiting.

Then close to midnight, the bedroom door creaked open.

My wife stepped out first, her face calm but unreadable. Behind her stood the two friends, each dressed in a red gown, just like the one my wife wore at midnight.

A chill raced down my spine.

They stopped in front of me, their eyes locked on mine. For a moment, it felt as though my wife was one of them, part of whatever secret they carried.

Then one of them spoke, her voice low and chilling.
“Some things are never to be touched… or it won’t end well.”

I froze. My mouth went dry. What did she mean?

The second friend’s eyes narrowed.
“Where… did you keep it?” she whispered.

And then… my wife’s gaze shifted to me. Her face was unreadable, her eyes fixed, as though waiting for my answer.

The air in the room grew heavier, colder. My heart pounded so hard I thought they could hear it. In that moment, I understood, they had checked for the gown, and when they couldn’t find it, they came for me.

To be continued…