The Bride of Death

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


A young woman in the upstairs of an unassuming house soon discovers why it was abandoned.

Submitted: December 02, 2017

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Submitted: December 02, 2017

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An eerie crooning filled the dark hallway I was standing in. It came closer, emanating death and evil, and chilling me to my core. As it immoblilized me, it kept me from the warm inviting light just a few feet away. The Music changed to a melancholy and desperate hum, it filled me, forcing me to move forward, towards the dark oak door I had tried so hard to avoid. Desperately I tried to wrench myslef free from the spell cast by the Music but my body no longer obeyed my commands.

The door opened and I was inside of that dreaded room. The opening behind me slowly closed and any chance of escape from the madness I was experiencing became a distant, mangled hope.

The Music began to play faster and faster, forcing me to reach for the long white dress hanging in the corner. My trembling arms pulled the chalky velevet over my  head, suffocating me in the numerous folds of fabric. The dress seemed to hold me prisoner inside ofr its stiff embroidery and tight fitting form.

My hands reached for an ivory comb, its points were as sharp as needles, raking through my hair like a skeletons hand through ancient white cobwebs. My arms went out, reaching for an array of bottles and potions. The hands I had trusted for so long now became servants of the Music as they applied a dust from a poison green bottle, it settled on my face like a mask of death. A small pot held a blood red paste, and it was smeared onto my mouth by my own unwilling fingers.

The Music forced me to stand, and my legs carried me towards a solitary mirror at the center of the darkened room. Even with the curtain of black around me I could see the terrifying countenance in the reflection. It was a woman, dressed in a bone white wedding dress, her face was as pale as death; framed by a curtain of raven hair. The only places of color were her lips, like a crimson wound, and her eyes, my eyes I thought and I could feel the Music making me go mad as I saw that they were indeed mine, blue and terifie standing out against the countenacne of horror. A single thought invaded me, I'm losing my mind; as my hands closed on the hilt of a silver pistol, and I turned to to the door. The feeling of warm control flooded through my body and a surge of coursing fury and giddness filled me, I burst into maniacal fits of laughter as I walked, trembling, towards the oak door, the Music never ceasing to play.


© Copyright 2018 r. m. galen. All rights reserved.

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