by Cross, Amy
Hearing the sound of pages being turned, I look up at Vanessa, who has stopped in front of us. Her hands are trembling as she looks through the bible.
“Why did I never pay attention at weddings, huh?” she asks, her voice wracked with fear. “I don't even remember what's supposed to be said.”
“Just get on with it,” I whisper, shuddering at the thought that I'm so close to the bride.
“Hopefully she doesn't want the whole ceremony,” Vanessa continues. “Just the -”
Suddenly the bells fall silent.
“Oh God,” I stammer under my breath.
Next to me, the bride remains completely still.
“I think you have to lift her veil,” Vanessa whispers.
I turn to her. “No way.”
“I think you have to, Owen!”
I shake my head.
“Lift the bloody veil!” she hisses. “Can we please just get through this? Once it's done, hopefully she'll let us leave!”
I hesitate for a moment, wanting to tell her once again that this whole idea is insane, but finally I realize I have no choice. With trembling hands, I reach over and take hold of the veil. To my surprise, I find that I can actually feel the delicate lace against my fingers. I pause for a moment longer, and then I slowly lift the veil up. At the same time, I close my eyes for a moment as I carefully move the veil aside, willing myself to be brave and open my eyes. I don't want to see her awful face, not directly.
I hear Vanessa let out a faint, shocked gasp.
My heart is pounding as I let go of the veil.
“Open your eyes, Owen,” Vanessa whispers.
I shake my head.
“You can't get married with your eyes closed,” she continues. “Open your bloody eyes so we can get this over with!”
Forcing my eyes open, I look directly at the bride as she continues to stare straight ahead in the moonlight. She's horribly disfigured, with rotten and discolored flesh that barely clings to her moonlit skull. She appears to have been burned at some point, with the flesh on the right side of her face seeming particularly damaged and her nose entirely missing. Sections of bone glint in the moonlight, and her right eye is just the hollow cavern of a skull, while her left eye looks to have shriveled until it's barely visible at all. Her lips have been burned away too, leaving her teeth visible, but this entire gruesome visage is framed by delicate strands of dark hair that hang down in curls.
“Should I start?” Vanessa whispers. “I'm gonna start.”
“Get it over with,” I reply.
“Do you think she can even hear us?”
Looking at the side of Katinka's face, I see that her ear looks to have been mostly burned away.
“Maybe,” I mutter, turning to look up at Vanessa. “Probably. Whatever. Just do this, so we can leave!”
She looks down at the bible and turns to another page, and then she hesitates for a moment. I've never seen Vanessa look so scared. She's always been the one who keeps herself together in tough situations, but I guess this is too much, even for her. There'll be time later to figure out what caused all of this, and to explain what seems to be a joint hallucination, but right now I can't think of a single thing to say that might make this situation any better.
“Dearly beloved,” she stammers finally, sounding as if she might suddenly turn and run at any moment, “we're gathered here today to celebrate the union between... between this man and this... woman.”
She swallows hard.
“Get on with it,” I whisper silently, bowing my head.
“I don't know the rest,” she admits.
“Just do the basics!”
She takes a deep breath.
“Owen Mark Stone,” she continues, “do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until the day you die?”
I nod.
“Say it,” she whispers.
“I do,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“And... Katinka Ashbyrn,” she adds, “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedding husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until... I guess, until the day you die?”
We wait in silence. After a few seconds, I hear the faintest whisper coming from the spot next to me, as if the bride has said the magic words under her breath.
I turn to Vanessa and see that she looks just as helpless as I feel.
“Great,” she says finally, forcing a smile as she closes the bible, “then I suppose I...”
Her voice trails off for a moment.
“Well,” she continues, “I mean, I guess that's done so... I guess I... I mean, if no-one here present has any objections, I guess I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The only sound is a gentle night breeze that's blowing through the clearing, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees.
“Owen,” Vanessa adds, “you may now kiss the bride.”
I stare at her.
“Let's go!” she mouths silently, as if she's worried about being overheard.
Too horrified to move, I turn and look at Katinka Ashbyrn. She's still staring straight ahead, but after a moment I realize that something seems to be glistening on her cheek. It takes a few more seconds before I realize that a single tear is rolling from the shriveled flesh of her remaining eye.
Suddenly Vanessa taps my shoulder.
“Let's go!” she whispers.
Getting to my feet, I take a step back. So far, Katinka seems completely still, as if she's forgotten that we're here.
“Hopefully that's enough for her,” Vanessa mutters. “The story always said that she wanted to be married, and that she didn't care who the husband was. Now it's done, so maybe she can rest in peace and that'll be the end of it.”
“Maybe,” I reply, although I'm starting to feel that this is too easy.
“Which way's the nearest exit?”
I stare at Katinka for a moment longer, before turning and looking toward the trees.
“Over there,” I say finally, grabbing Vanessa's hand and starting to lead her away from the ruined church. The cold grass crunches under our feet, as if it wants to give away our position, but when I look over my shoulder I see that the bride is still kneeling at the ruined altar. “There's a wall about fifty feet into the forest,” I continue, turning to look ahead, “and then we'll be on the main road. After that, I don't know what we'll do, but we have to get the hell away from this house.”
Glancing over my shoulder again, I see that Katinka is still kneeling on the grass.
“Six months ago you ditched me the day before our wedding,” Vanessa points out, “and now I just officiated while you married another woman. How's that for luck?”
I look back yet again, but suddenly I freeze as I see that the bride is standing now, and that she's staring at us now from the ruins of the church.
“Run!” I shout, dragging Vanessa between the trees. It's impossible to see anything at all now, with the forest's canopy preventing all but a few slivers of moonlight from breaking through, but I know there's a wall somewhere ahead of us.
“I still have her bible,” Vanessa stammers.
“Hang onto it,” I reply. “We need proof that this really happened. If it really happened!”
Despite almost charging straight into several trees, I manage to lead Vanessa forward through the darkness. I'm starting to worry that we'll never find the wall, that maybe I've become disorientated, but suddenly I bump against a high line of bricks. Looking up, I see the top of the wall towering several feet above us. I don't remember it being this tall, but I guess beggars can't be choosers.
“Okay, you first,” I tell Vanessa.
“But how will -”
“I can manage!” I hiss, already stepping behind her so I can help her up. “You're the one she was trying to kill, remember?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see nothing but the dark forest behind us. After checking to make sure that there's still no sign of Katinka Ashbyrn, I
turn back to Vanessa and start helping her up. She struggles a little, and my damaged left leg keeps me from offering her much support, but finally she's able to grab the top of the wall and start hauling herself up.
“Do you see it?” I gasp. “The road's on the other side!”
“I'll help you up,” she replies once she's reached the top. “Owen, I -”
Suddenly she freezes, silhouetted against the stars above me.
“Owen, hurry!” she stammers, her voice filled with panic. “Owen, you have to get up here right now! Move!”
I look back through the forest, and this time I see a faint figure moving toward us between the trees. Katinka Ashbyrn is coming, and when I turn back toward the wall I feel a sudden rush of pain in my leg. I reach up, trying to grab Vanessa's outstretched hand, but my leg buckles slightly and I drop down.
“Hurry!” she hisses.
I try again, and this time I'm just able to reach Vanessa's hand. She grips me tight and tries to hold on, but I'm struggling to climb up and I can tell I'm in danger of pulling her back down.
“Owen, she's almost here!” she screams.
Unable to use my left leg properly, I have to rely on my right, but I can already feel myself starting to slip. At this rate, I'm going to take Vanessa with me, and I know the bride will try to hurt her. I try one final time to haul myself up, before realizing that this is hopeless.
“I'll try the gate!” I gasp.
“Owen, no! You -”
With that, I slip my hand free from her grip. The last thing I see, as I fall back, is Vanessa toppling the other way as she falls off the top of the wall and over toward the road. I slam down against the ground, letting out a gasp of pain, and for a few seconds I can barely move at all. Finally I start to haul myself up, but the pain is immense and it takes a moment before I'm even able to open my eyes.
“Owen!” Vanessa shouts from the other side of the wall. “Owen, where are you? I'll meet you at the gate! Run!”
As soon as I look up, I see the ghost of Katinka Ashbyrn towering above me. I try to open my mouth, to beg her to let me go, but suddenly she lunges at me, screaming as she knocks me back against the wall. My head slams hard into the bricks, knocking me out instantly. The very last thing I see is her skeletal face leaning closer.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Katinka - 1859
“No,” I reply, frustrated by Mother's infernal babbling, “that is not necessary. I shall climb into the carriage beyond the gate, and then I shall be drawn through. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”
“But Katinka -”
“Let me be!” I hiss, turning to her. I am about to tell her that she must calm her nerves, when I spot movement at the far end of the lawn. More guests are arriving for the wedding, although there are still only a dozen or so people in the church.
I sent over one hundred invitations, and I received a great many positive responses. For some reason, however, the actual number of attendees seems rather low. And those who are here seem rather timid and fearful.
“You look lovely,” Mother tells me. “The dress -”
“I know that!” I snap, craning my neck to watch as Doctor and Mrs. Hunstable make their way past the tree-line. “I had hoped to fill the church,” I continue, “but I suppose one cannot account for the taste of one's guests.”
“Are you alright?” she asks. “Katinka, your face appears awfully greasy and pale. You have an almost waxy complexion!”
“I applied an extra dose of my beauty compact this morning,” I mutter, as a strong breeze blows across the garden. Fortunately, the weights I tied into the hem of my dress mean that the material barely flutters at all, although the downside of this arrangement is that the dress is terribly heavy. “Do not fuss around me, Mother.”
“But some of the paste is...”
Her voice trails off for a moment, and she seems positively alarmed.
“Katinka,” she adds, “my dear, perhaps you have applied too much. It's smeared rather thickly across your features. You look a little like a doll! Why don't you come back inside for a few minutes, and let me put you straight a little?”
I can't help sighing. Mother will never understand what it is like to be a modern woman.
“Go to the church,” I tell her, “and ensure that Charles is ready. I shall head to the road and wait for the carriage.”
“But -”
“And then everything will be perfect!” I continue. “Pippa was supposed to take on many of these tasks for me, but of course she's not around anymore, is she? Foolish girl, didn't she realize that I would need her?”
“It's hardly her fault she was murdered,” Mother points out.
“One never knows,” I say darkly, and for a moment it occurs to me that perhaps – for my own benefit – I should have let Pippa live a little longer. Still, the past is the past and I must not let such awful trifles disturb me on the most important day of my life.
“This is all so rushed and stressful,” Mother complains, fanning herself. “I rather think I'm liable to faint!”
“Don't you dare!” I hiss, stepping closer to her. In the distance, a few more guests are arriving, and soon the bells will ring out to announce the start of the wedding. “Go to the church, Mother! See to it that all is ready! I shall meet Mr. Hanks outside the gate, and I shall climb into his carriage, and from that moment on...” I pause for a moment, struck by the realization that the big day has finally arrived.
All my planning.
All my dreams.
Everything has led to this day.
“Everything is going to be perfect,” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “I shall ride through the gates until I reach the church, and then I shall step down and go inside to be married. And everyone will surely agree that I am the most beautiful bride they ever saw.”
I pause for a few seconds, before realizing that Mother is still gawping at me like an idiot.
“Move!” I spit, pushing her away from me. Finally she starts stumbling toward the church, leaving me alone at the edge of the forest. I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, and then I make my way between the trees, heading toward the gate. I have to hold up the hem of my own dress, so that it does not drop into the dirt, and the weights are already making my arms hurt. Frankly, I am ashamed that I have nobody to help me with such things, but sometimes one must simply take matters into one's own hands.
If Father were here, he'd ensure that everything goes smoothly. As things stand, however, I am surrounded by fools and -
“Miss? Can you help me?”
Stopping, I turn and see that a scruffy-looking boy is standing just a few feet away, watching me with a hint of fear in his eyes. He looks so awful and dirty, and I'm quite certain he can't be one of the guests.
“Who are you?” I stammer, disturbed by a faint sense that I have seen this boy before. “This is private property! Get out of here, or I shall have you shot!”
“I don't know where to go,” he continues, stepping closer. “My father was put to the gallows a few days ago, and I don't...”
His voice trails off.
I feel a ripple of shock in my chest as I realize that this is the boy who was here the other day, stealing mushrooms with his father. I also saw him in town, hiding in one of the alleys while his father was put to death.
“I saw you there,” he adds. “At the hanging, I mean. And then I was thinking that maybe... Well, you were nice to us the other day. You let us keep the mushrooms we picked, and that's more than anyone else has done around here. So I thought perhaps... Well, it's just, you seem like the kindest person I've met in a long time, and I don't have anywhere to go.”
I stare at him for a moment. “How old are you?” I ask finally.
“Ten.”
“Is that all?” Staring at the boy, I can't help but notice that he seems dreadfully dirty. “Do you have no family? Other than your father, I mean.”
He shakes his head.
&nb
sp; “No mother?”
“She died.”
“And no home?” I ask.
Again, he shakes his head.
“You have nothing?” I continue. “Nothing whatsoever, and nowhere to go?”
“I'm so hungry,” he replies. “Can you at least spare some bread?”
I open my mouth to tell him that of course I can't spare any bread. At the last moment, however, it occurs to me that perhaps I am partially to blame for his situation. After all, I did rather allow his father to hang for a crime he did not commit, even if – in the grand scheme of things – the man was clearly a ruffian who deserved to die. It's very unfortunate that he left behind a boy who has no way of coping, and I suppose I could feed him and give him some fresh clothes, perhaps even take him in for a short while. I have no obligation to do any of those things, of course, but I have always considered myself to be a kind and godly woman.
“Please,” he continues, his voice becoming a whine now as he stumbles closer. “I'm so hungry, I think I might die!”
“Don't touch me!” I hiss, taking a step back. “Your hands are dirty, you mustn't sully my dress! I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you at all!”
“I've got nowhere else to go!” he stammers, reaching for my arm.
I pull away. “You mustn't touch me!” I tell him, taking a step back. “I'm sorry about your father, but there's nothing I can do to help you!”
“Please -”
“Keep away or I shall scream!”
He stumbles again, almost falling, and then he stops just a few feet from me. There are tears in his eyes and his bottom lip is trembling, but I have no time to deal with the child now. A moment later, as if to prove that point, I hear the bells of the church starting to ring out through the morning air.
“My wedding is about to begin,” I whisper, overcome by a sudden sense of profound anticipation. “I must get to the gate, the carriage will be waiting...”
