My five ghostly husbands
Chapter 270 Death poems

Chapter 270: Chapter 270 Death poems

The door clicked shut softly behind her as the owner winked and whispered, "Enjoy your night," her voice coated in suggestion and satisfaction.

Ruby gave her a slow smile, perfectly composed, and stepped into the room.

The door shut. The lock clicked.

Inside, the room was quiet...too quiet.

The air was thick with the scent of something floral and heady, somthing meant to relax the nerves or dull the senses. The walls were velvet red, the lights warm and dim. A chandelier shimmered above with soft crystal drops. On one side stood a large mirror, and in the center, a large silk-canopied bed with gold trim and cloud-like pillows.

And there beneath the sheets was a figure.

Still. Silent. The blanket rising and falling gently with breath.

Ruby’s heart hammered inside her chest. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

She took one step.

Then another.

Her throat felt tight.

"Karl?" she called softly.

The figure didn’t move.

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer, the dark robe brushing against the fine carpet beneath her feet. She reached the side of the bed, her breath caught somewhere between hope and dread.

"Karl," she said again, firmer now.

The figure shifted, finally.

He turned toward her slowly, his hair tousled, his face pale under the low light.

And when Ruby saw his face she froze.

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes widened.

Because—

**

Back at Ruby’s home, the atmosphere was heavy and quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around the walls like a blanket of worry.

Angeline’s husbands along with Pillu had come over, sensing the tension in the house and wanting to offer support.

They sat with Julian, Milo, and Adrian in the living area, where cups of untouched tea sat cooling on the low table.

"I hope they find Karl soon..." Max said softly, his brows furrowed. He glanced at Julian, who sat quietly on ground with his hands resting in his lap, eyes blank with worry.

Pillu nodded, his tone a little more upbeat, trying to comfort. "Yes, yes. Your wife is really smart. I’ve seen her—when she sets her mind to something, she doesn’t fail. She’ll bring him back."

Milo, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly sniffled and wiped his cheeks.

"I... I miss Brother Karl."

His voice cracked as he looked down, twisting the hem of his robe. "We don’t even know what he’s going through... What if he’s scared or hungry or... or crying..."

Kenji moved closer and gently placed a hand on Milo’s shoulder.

"Don’t think like that," he said softly. "Think about how strong your family is. Karl has people who love him. That’s more than most."

Julian closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly. "He always says stupid things... but he’s the one who always made the room feel loud and alive."

Adrian didn’t speak, but his fists were clenched lightly on his knees.

Max offered a soft sigh.

"He’ll be okay. Miss Ruby won’t let anything happen to him."

Milo nodded quietly, still wiping tears, but trying to be brave.

They all sat there together in that shared silence comforting one another, waiting... hoping for the sound of the front door to open.

Julian blinked, a little startled, as he noticed Brother Hugo usually the calmest and dangerous among Angeline’s husbands, sitting in the corner with a black leather diary on his lap.

His brows were furrowed, and he was scribbling with such intensity, it looked like the pen might rip through the page.

"...What are you doing, Brother Hugo?" Julian asked, curiosity and a tiny bit of fear in his voice.

Without looking up, Hugo replied in a dark, even tone:

"Death poems."

Julian’s eyes widened.

"...For who?"

"For whoever dared to kidnap Karl." Hugo’s tone was sharp and cold, like he was reading aloud from a haunted manuscript. "I hope they get chased by invisible hands every night... that they bite their tongue every time they speak... that every time they close their eyes, they see Karl’s sad face and fall flat on their nose in public."

He flipped the page with unnecessary force and continued writing.

"They will be haunted by a Evil spirits with wet socks. May their chairs always squeak at the wrong time. And may the witch who sold Karl trip on her own shoelace... daily."

Milo shivered. "W-Wet socks?" he whispered, hugging his pillow tighter.

Kenji leaned over to Max and whispered, "I think he’s cursing them emotionally and physically..."

Julian slowly scooted away. "O-Okay, Brother Hugo... maybe let’s keep the poems in the diary?"

But Hugo just kept writing, his eyes glowing with righteous fury.

"They messed with the wrong family." He muttered, "Justice shall rain from the skies... through the hands of an angry husband and his very terrifying wife."

Even Adrian, who hadn’t spoken much, nodded slightly.

"...I like that last line."

Everyone was a little scared of Hugo after that But deep down they were glad he was on their side.

Milo stood up slowly from the cushion he’d been curled on, his small hands resting on his knees for a moment. The others turned to look at him.

He gave them a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I’m... just going to get some water," he said gently, his voice quieter than usual.

No one stopped him.

He walked toward the kitchen with soft steps. The moment he was alone, his smile faded. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his forehead damp with sweat, and his chest rising and falling quicker than before.

His heart hurt.

He pressed both palms flat against his chest, like he was trying to hold something inside. The panic. The fear. The helplessness.

"Brother Karl... you dummy," he whispered under his breath, his throat tightening.

He took a few deep breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Once he felt steady enough, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a glass with slightly shaking fingers. He filled it slowly, letting the sound of the water calm his thoughts, then raised it to his lips and drank—slow, careful sips.

But his eyes stayed on the small window above the sink...

Staring out into the quiet village streets...

Wishing that somewhere, Karl was doing the same.

—To be continued...🪄