What lay beneath them made my heart clench with fear and confusion. It was my wife’s likeness—her clothes, her hair, everything appeared so real—but as the covers slipped further down, I saw the truth. The figure was lifeless, a mannequin dressed in my wife’s nightgown, a grotesque replica that sent chills racing up my spine.

The officer turned to me, his expression a blend of sympathy and urgency. “Sir, I need you to come with me,” he urged gently. “We need to figure out what happened here.”

I nodded numbly, my mind a tangle of thoughts. How had I not known? Who had done this? And if this wasn’t my wife, where was she really?