A Bride for the Damned

*

“Are you sure this is the right place. It looks so … spooky,” my wife asked as she peered through the rain soaked windshield.

“It is unless the GPS is lying,” I said, as I brought the car to a gradual stop. I stared out into the darkness. The pale headlights cut through the thick sheets of rain, etching out the exterior of a small house, it’s windows hollow like the sockets of a skull.

“It certainly doesn’t appear to be the quaint little bed and breakfast I booked online does it? Well … Happy anniversary?”

She turned and looked at me, did her best to smile and placed her hand on my arm. Even in the muted lighting she was adorable. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail. Her soft brown eyes stared up at me through her thick glasses. I’d often joked that they were made out of used pop bottles.

“We’re cursed. It’s like our wedding day all over again. At least, this time, there isn’t a caterer for one of our drunken relatives to knock out.”

I laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

I leaned forward and wiped the moisture off the windshield.

“None of the deliveries I ordered have shown up either. It’s a shame. I went all out, ordered flowers, wine, a basket of strawberries; your favorite. The sales girl was so helpful too, she promised it would all be here before we arrived. Looks like another strike out for the home team.”

“It’s alright, it’s the thought that counts,” she said, leaned forward and kissed me on the check, her lips as soft as velvet.

“Thanks. Well, it’s all paid for and we’re here. The instructions said that the keys would be in the mailbox. I’ll grab them and all our luggage.”

“You sure you don’t want any help?” she asked.

“No, it’s alright, stay put and I’ll be right back.”

She smiled slyly.

“Don’t be gone long stranger.”

I opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. My sneakers hit the ground and sank, the mud clawing at them like a famished animal. The rain pelted me, soaking my denim shirt. I pulled my foot free, ran around the side of the car, and fumbled to find the latch to the trunk. It sprang open. I reached in, grabbed our two suitcases and made a mad dash for the front door.

Odd, I thought as I sprinted past a freshly gauged out gash in the mud, are those tire tracks? They looked surprisingly fresh, maybe the delivery driver had made it after all.

I reached the porch, thankfully, it was covered. The rain still found a way through, drooling onto the crooked wooden boards below. I searched the mail box, found the keys and … the door was already open.

“Boo!”

I jumped, my heart almost piercing my rib cage. I turned and saw my wife standing behind me, grinning like a goblin.

“Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Well, aren’t we a little jumpy. Did I scare you? I’m sorry. I changed my mind. I thought I’d join you after all.”

She leaned in and pawed at my chest. There was a spark ignited in her eyes, one I hadn’t seen in ages. I looked down, she was wearing the green floral sundress I’d bought her for her birthday. The neck line plunged like a knife revealing her small tender breasts. She threw her arms around me and I felt the warmth of her body.

“I can’t remember the last time we had the weekend all to ourselves, can you?”

“No … it’s just …”

She pulled away.

“What’s wrong honey bear?” she asked

I turned, my attention drawn back to the black sliver between the door and the frame.

“The door is open.”

“What?” she squeaked.

“Yea, not by much. It doesn’t look like it was forced open. The owner may have just been in a rush to leave before we arrived … or.”

It was already to late, panic had seized control of her, I could see it simmering in her eyes.

“Should we call the police?” she whispered, her lips quivering.

I checked my phone.

“There’s no reception. Maybe there’s a land line inside?”

“Inside,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go inside?”

I stared at the weather beaten door, my courage held together by a single thread.

“Well … we’ve come all this way, we should at least try, right?”

I reached out and gently pushed on the door, It whined as it swiveled on it’s rusty hinges. I peeked inside. A long shadow stretched out across the entire room. The furniture was intact and nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I reached in, blindly searched for the light switch, found it, and flicked it on – nothing.

“Powers out.”

“Should we turn around, head back into town and try to contact the owner?” my wife asked, as she peeked above my shoulder into the dark gloom.

“Let me check the fuses quick. It might just be a short.”

There was a loud boom as a streak of lightning stretched out it’s boney fingers across the dark night sky. My wife yelped and pushed us both forward into the house.

We skidded to a halt. I regained my balanced, pried her off my arm and closed the door. She was shaking like a lost pet.

“Honey bear, I’m scared,” she said, her eyes leaping from one dark corner to another.

“It’s fine. If I can’t get the power back on there’s no point in us spending the night here anyway. We’ll turn around, find the fanciest hotel we can with the biggest fireplace they have to offer, snuggle up and order a ton of room service.”

“Promise?” she whimpered.

“Promise. Do you want to wait in the car?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me? and get mauled by a rabid rain soaked bear? Oh no thanks. I’m sticking with you.” She hooked her arm around my elbow and glued her body to mine.

I looked around. Everything lined up with what I had seen in the photos online, but looked like it had been passed through a nightmarish filter. It was drab and muted, the colors pinched from a pile of rotting leaves. Every line looked warped, every volume bloated. Nothing moved, yet it felt like it was slowly pressing in on us from all sides.

Thankfully, the floor plan was still fresh in my mind. There was a kitchen, dining room and a living room on the first floor, three bedrooms on the second floor and of course, the basement.

“Cozy, right?” I asked, trying to lighten the mode.

She looked up at me and scowled.

“It looks like something out a horror movie. This is your idea of romantic?” she asked.

“I swear it looked like a sweet little country cottage in all the photos. One thing is for sure, none of this bodes well for my review.”

I turned on the light on my phone.

“Ready?” I asked.

She nodded meekly.

I walked to the basement door, dragging her behind me. I reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It wiggled like a putrid tooth and opened. A steep set of crooked wooden stairs led down into the dark abyss below. As I stepped forward, I felt like I was sliding down the throat of a hungry snake.

“It’s so dark,” she whispered. “Are you sure we need to go down there?”

I looked up, and saw a thick bundle of cables descending into the darkness.

“We just need to follow that and it’ll lead us to the fuse box.”

We reached the basement floor, it was a slab of rough concrete. The walls looked like they had been gouged out of the dirt and beaten into the shade of a crude pit. A narrow maze of rusted metal shelves beaconed us forward. I kept my eyes on the cables, and entered.

“Do you smell that? Is there something burning down here?” my wife whispered.

She was right, something did smell like it was burning. It was vile, acidic, like charred plastic.

Her fingers dug into my arm like nails.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind, I think I will go wait in the car.”

We turned a corner and …

“Look at that,” I gasped. “Do you see it?”

“I’m trying not too. What is it?” my wife whimpered and buried her head in my chest.

“I don’t know …” I said as I inched closer.

It was like a page torn out of an old horror comic book. A spiral of bizarre looking symbols had been drawn on the floor, or painted, can paint glow? because they did. Whatever it was, it pulsed red like a beating heart.

The source of the smell was oozing from three strange black mounds that were circling the symbols. Each one was surrounded by a ring of ash. They were still burning, a thin gray tendril of smoke coiling up from their shriveled husks.

“Are those robes?” my wife asked.

“Maybe … I think the ash might be all that’s left of their original owners.”

“What … what do you think they were trying to do?”

“I have no idea,” I replied.

“Do you think they succeeded?”

I stared at the strange glowing glyphs. They were like nothing I’d ever seen before. The way the lines and shapes coiled around each other seemed unnatural, sinister, were they humming?

“Brad?” my wife whispered.

“Brad!” she barked.

“What? I’m sorry, what were you asking?”

“I was asking if you thought they … you know what, it’s not important. Can we please leave now?”

“Yea … yea you’re absolutely right. Whatever the hell happened down here, it’s not what we signed up fo …”

Something wet hit the concrete floor behind us, then again … and again – foot steps!

“Don’t … move,” I whispered.

“Ok,” she said, her voice quivering.

I craned my neck back and peered over my shoulder into the darkness. I heard the sound again, lurking in the shadows, dragging it’s feet, if they were in fact feet, across the concrete floor.

“When I say run … run.”

“O …” It was already too late, a void draped in shadows rushed towards us like a freight train.

“Run Jen… run!” I yelled as I tried to dive out of it’s way. I failed and was thrown across the room. I slammed into the wall, felt it suck all the energy out of me and slumped down onto the floor.

I heard my wife scream, and chorus of loud bangs and crashes. I tried to shout, but my brain was a jumbled mess of faulty wires and damaged circuits.

“Jen …” I croaked, as my hand feebly reached out for her.

She was gone.

A ghostly hush fell over the entire basement.

I fumbled in the dark, searching for my phone, found it, face down and picked it up. The screen was shattered but the light still worked.

“Jen … Jen!” I shouted as I jerked the phone back and forth, searching for her in every corner.

I tried to stand, but was pulled down by a sharp pain anchored in the back of my head. I dragged my body up, stumbling forward as the floor rocked back and forth. I reached the stairs. They’d been caved in under the weight of a blunt force. I prodded at the loose boards, found the spots that could still support my weight and headed to the first floor. The furniture had been knocked over and a trail of puddles the size of bowling balls lead towards the second floor. As I stared down at them, I tried to block my mind from imagining what they could have possibly been made by.

Was this all just a cruel joke, was I being filmed? I had to be, it was the only rational explanation. Some one was having a laugh at our expense. They’d spooked my wife and she’s run off, probably to hide in a closet. I needed to find her, get us both out of this stupid house and bury it in a negative review so vicious, so vile, that they’d never be able to dig themselves out of it.

“Brad … Br …” I heard my wife’s voice, faint, from above me. I charged up the stairs.

The first thing I saw was a glowing rectangular halo at the end of the hallway. It was bleeding out through the frame of the master bedroom, it’s ghostly light corrupted the floral wallpaper, giving the painted vegetation a sickly, putrid appearance.

There was power, how could there be power? I hadn’t turned it back on.

I inched closer towards the door, drawn to it like a moth. I heard the thunder again. It howled and shock the house like a thin cardboard box. I pressed on, wading through a strange current that was pulling me towards the door. I reached out, grabbed the doorknob and thrust it open. I fell forward into the room.

“Jen,” I yelled and …

She wasn’t there, the room was empty.

I tried to process what I was seeing. The room was a portrait of suburban bliss. It had all the necessities: a large four poster bed with a headboard carved out of a thick block of oak. Two dressers; one for him, and one for her, and a cluttered silver vanity mirror with a small metal stool. A walk in closet lead to a separate room. I’d also discovered the source of the eerie light: two table lamps, both of which were plugged into an outlet.

It was exactly how I’d envisioned our bedroom once we’d finally shed all our debt and transitioned from renter to owner. Sadly, the year had been difficult, it’s toll, straining our newly budding marriage. I often found her at our small kitchen table, hunched over a small note book, her cheeks stained by tears. I could never find the right words to say, or think of the right thing to do. Yes, I’d made my fair share of mistakes, but tonight … tonight was suppose to be special, a celebration, a chance to restart and forg … I heard a noise from the back of the walk in closet. Every hair on my body bolted upright and I stared, wide eyed into the empty space. I saw nothing.

“Jen?” I asked, my voice shacking uncontrollably.

I crept forward against the loud vocal protests of my feet which dragged underneath me. My eyes were glued to all four corners, waiting for a swarm of razor sharp teeth to lounge out and tear my throat open.

I walked into the closet, unscathed.

The size was deceptive. You could park a car in it and still have plenty of room to open all four doors. Both walls were lined with dresses, dozens, if not hundreds of dresses and not a single suit. They were vintage, the type that were fashionable back in the fifties. They were aquatic pastel; greens, blues, turquoise, and foam as well as volcanic reds and forest browns.

Some had sleeves, some did not, teasing a bare shoulder. The necklines were equally scandalous, plunging down the front like a knife. The tops were anchored to a full skirt that blossomed like a flower. It was a shame that they went out of style, I thought as I pressed on.

I found the source of the noise; a pearl white high heel shoe had fallen out of a shoe rake. It was one of several. In fact, there were enough that you could choose a different shoe for every day of the month. I reached down, and picked it up. There was something hypnotic about it’s glossy finish, the way it’s lines gently curved from the heel to the toe. It had some weight, and was larger than I would have guessed, in fact, I bet it could actually fit m … I heard a metallic hiss from behind me.

I spun around, clutching the shoe like a dagger. I zeroed in on the noise, it was coming from the vanity set. I stepped back into the room. A small antique radio had come to life, tuned to no particular station. The empty static howled like a wounded animal.

I walked slowly towards it. I could feel my heart hammering against my chest. My head was drowning in a sea of fog. The room started to spin. I needed to sit down, even for a moment and think. I flopped down onto the metal stool and stared into the vanities mirror.

I was a vision of pure horror, the lines of my face were drawn tightly back, the bags under my eyes stained purple, my short hair messy. My hand, acting on it’s own initiative, reached out, picked up a brush near a jewelry box and started to pull at the tangled knots.

The radio picked up a distant signal.

Remember girls, appearances are important! Find time in the morning to perfect your beauty regiment.

Good advice, I thought as I yanked at the untamed mess. I stared into the murky deeps of the mirror. My cheeks had softened, the colour slowly returning to them. There was life again in my eyes, the purple hue underneath melted away as a pale soft rose formed above my eyes.

Make lists of what you plan to accomplish each day. No fuss, no muss! Don’t let those chores pile up ladies or you’ll be buried under a mountain of laundry.

My lips appeared fuller, pouty, the type models paid a small fortune for.

And don’t forget, after a hard days work your husband expects a piping hot meal prepared and ready for him when he walks through the door. And be sure to wait for him, ready with a welcome home kiss.

I felt a wisp of long blonde hair brush against my cheek.

And if it’s your anniversary, don’t forget to surprise him with something extra special.

As I stared into the mirror, I noticed something odd. Had there always been a box on the bed? How could I have possibly missed it? It was huge, white with a red candy strip down the center. It was open, with pink tissue paper spilling out of it. I turned, stood up, walked over to it and looked down. I saw a pink corset the colour of cotton candy with ivory white ruffles decorating it like frosted icing. It had four garters with metal clasps and a matching pair of G string panties. An unopened package of white thigh high stockings was also tucked inside of the box.

Remember ladies, men love to unwrap gifts, especially if they are you.

“Honey … honey bear.”

I heard a voice whispering in my ear. I spun around and looked, but there was no one there.

“Jen? … Jen, where are you? This isn’t a game. It isn’t funny.”

“Honey … honey … honey bear.”

The voice, like a ghost, flew down the hallway and escaped.

I stormed after it, my feet swinging out underneath me like a puppets. I reached the stairs and almost fell down them. I stumbled onto the first floor and tried to get my bearings.

“Honey …”

The kitchen, it was coming from the kitchen. I bolted forward, my eyes locked on the door, there was no escape this time. This time, I have you, I thought as I burst through the door and …

Nothing, the kitchen was empty.

My head throbbed, aggravated by a sharp pain gnawing at the soft tissue. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight, it felt like all of my thoughts were ricocheting off the hallow bone walls inside my skull. Why was I standing in an empty kitchen again?

“Honey …”

I looked around. It was a beautiful kitchen. The floor was composed of black and white tiles. It had every modern convenience you could possibly desire: a fridge that looked like a sleek white torpedo, an island stock piled with every pan and utensil you could dream of and an oven that looked like the tail end of a fighter jet. The walls were lined with cabinets. The sink was positioned below a window with sleepy plaid curtains. It was a slice of heaven, served on silver plate.

“Honey …”

I turned to look at the door to the dining room, that … that was were the voice was coming from. I was certain of it. On the other side of that door was my …

There was a sudden, high pitched howl. The timer, my roast, I’d almost forgotten about my roast! I snapped out of my trance and rushed over to the oven and flung the metal door open. It was fine, the roast was fine. I heard water bubbling, looked up and checked on the vegetables. They were simmering just below a boil.

“Honey …” the voice croaked again.

“Just a moment dear, diners almost ready. Sorry to keep you waiting, you must be famished,” I said as I stirred the peas.

A bowl, a bowl, were did we keep the bowls? I turned and searched through the cabinets, opening them, one after another until I found one perched high above me. I stretched up onto the tips of my toes and reached for it.

Thank goodness for high heels, I thought as I grabbed it.

I smiled, everything really had come together perfectly … and so had I.

I looked down, and admired the full skirted dress I wore. The neck line dipped down, revealing my perky breasts. It was one of my favorite dresses. I’d been meaning to find a special occasion to wear it and today was the perfect day. The red popped like a ripe strawberry, the white polka dots crisp like a morning frost. The top was tight, the fabric hugging my busty chest. I’d had to wrestle with the zipper in the back, but I’d managed. The skirt radiated from my waist like a toy carousel, a thick petticoat helped model it’s shape.