Seven Days to Return

1. The Dead Returns

3:00 a.m.

The old neighborhood was shrouded in darkness, its dim streetlights casting elongated shadows on the damp pavement.

No one in the Wang household was asleep.

They sat in the living room, their faces pale with fear and disbelief.

Because Wang Desheng—a man who had been buried exactly seven days ago—was now sitting calmly in the center of the room, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Dad…" Wang Yuan, the eldest son, spoke in a trembling voice, his eyes fixed on the man before him.

"You… how are you…?"

Wang Desheng slowly lifted his head, his lips curling into a stiff, unnatural smile.

"What's wrong?" His voice was hoarse, layered with an eerie rasp, as if his throat were filled with sand. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

Wang Yuan staggered back, cold sweat sliding down his temples.

Seven days ago, he had buried his father with his own hands.

He had watched the casket being lowered, had shoveled the last bit of soil over the grave, had stood in mourning before the newly placed tombstone.

And yet now, Wang Desheng sat there—whole, unblemished, almost too perfect.

His complexion was unnaturally healthy, his skin smooth, his clothes spotless. He looked better than he ever did when he was alive.

Something was terribly wrong.

Madam Wang, his wife, was trembling, her eyes brimming with tears. She hesitated, then slowly reached out a hand toward the man she had once called her husband—

But she couldn't bring herself to touch him.

"Desheng… is it really you?"

Wang Desheng blinked, then smiled—but the smile was off, as if he were imitating a human expression without fully understanding it.

"If it's not me…" his lips parted wider, exposing teeth that were just a little too white.

"…then who else could it be?"

2. "He" Is Different Now

Word spread quickly.

By morning, curious neighbors had gathered outside the Wang household.

"Old Wang, you must have the hardest life of all—not even death could take you!"

"Maybe it was some kind of medical miracle? Could he have been in a coma?"

"Desheng, do you remember anything from before?"

Through it all, Wang Desheng simply smiled, listening with quiet patience, occasionally nodding as if in agreement.

But his family knew—he had changed.

Before his death, Wang Desheng had been short-tempered and irritable, easily angered over the smallest things.

But the man who returned was too calm, too agreeable, too… perfect.

He never got angry.

He never raised his voice.

He even ate the foods he used to despise.

And the strangest part—

He never slept.

On the third night, Wang Yuan awoke in the early hours and groggily walked toward the living room.

That was when he saw it.

His father was sitting alone in the darkness.

Not asleep. Not moving. Just staring at the clock on the wall.

The hands pointed to 3:33 a.m.

"Dad?" Wang Yuan called hesitantly.

Wang Desheng slowly turned his head toward him—his expression utterly vacant, his eyes as lifeless as a doll's.

"…I couldn't sleep."

His voice was flat, devoid of warmth or emotion.

A deep, ice-cold fear crawled down Wang Yuan's spine.

The thing in front of him was not his father.

3. The Photograph

On the third day, Sandra and Jamie received an anonymous email.

There was no text. Just an attached photo—

A family portrait of the Wangs.

The picture had been taken the day after Wang Desheng "returned," showing the whole family standing in their courtyard, smiling before the towering old locust tree in the background.

At first glance, nothing seemed unusual.

But then Jamie spotted it.

She zoomed in, her pulse quickening—

Wang Desheng's shadow was facing the wrong way.

While everyone else's shadow stretched away from the sunlight, Wang Desheng's shadow was drawn toward it.

Jamie's fingers tensed around her phone. She enlarged the shadow further—

And froze.

The shape of the shadow wasn't human.

It wasn't mirroring his posture.

It was kneeling, hands clutching its head, as if in agony—or as if trapped.

Jamie immediately forwarded the photo to Sandra.

Sandra stared at it for a moment before speaking in an icy tone.

"This thing… is not human."

4. The Seven-Day Limit

On the sixth day, the town's cats and dogs began to disappear.

Jamie found a dead cat near an old tree at the village entrance. Its body was completely drained of blood, its flesh clinging tightly to its bones like a mummified corpse.

Sandra crouched beside it, her expression unreadable. "Something fed on it."

Jamie exhaled. "Wang Desheng?"

Sandra gave a slow nod.

"If this is really a case of corpse resurrection, then it's likely feeding on the living to sustain itself."

Jamie's stomach twisted. "Tomorrow is the seventh day."

Sandra closed her notebook, her voice calm but cold.

"If this follows the 'Seven-Day Return' legend, then by midnight, it will either fully merge with the body… or lose control."

Her eyes flicked toward the Wang household in the distance.

"…And if it loses control, we'll have to stop it."

5. The Seventh Night

Midnight.

The town clock struck twelve.

And all the lights in the Wang household went out.

Darkness swallowed the house whole.

Wang Yuan's breath hitched as he turned toward his father—only to freeze in horror.

Wang Desheng's face was changing.

His skin was stretching, twisting, his mouth ripping wider, exposing too many white, unnatural teeth.

His eyes rolled back into his skull, leaving only whites.

"Mom—!!" Wang Yuan screamed.

Sandra switched on her flashlight—illuminating the horror before them.

The shadow on the floor detached from the body—rising, shifting, twisting into the shape of something inhuman.

Jamie gripped a yellow talisman, her voice steady. "You shouldn't be here."

Wang Desheng's body jerked unnaturally, a deep, dual-toned voice escaping his lips—

"Why… are you stopping me?"

Two voices.

One human.

One… not.

Sandra stepped forward, eyes cold. "Wang Desheng is dead."

She pressed the talisman onto his forehead—

The creature screamed.

It convulsed violently, its form rupturing, distorting, its shadow ripped away from the body.

Jamie's fingers clenched. "Go back where you belong."

Boom.

With a final, ear-splitting shriek—the thing shattered.

And Wang Desheng collapsed to the ground.

Motionless.

Truly dead.

6. Epilogue

Wang Desheng was buried again.

This time, nothing crawled back.

Jamie stared at the tombstone, lost in thought.

"So… was this a one-time occurrence? Or was it…"

Sandra's voice was cool. "A ritual."

Jamie exhaled. Then, glancing sideways, she smirked.

"If I die, would you—"

Sandra cut her off, voice sharp.

"If you die, don't come back."

Jamie chuckled. "Alright."

But she didn't notice—

As Sandra turned away, her fingers curled ever so slightly.