THE WEDDING INVITATION
558 Words
The hooded priest stood motionless at the altar.
His glowing eyes never left Alexa.
"The wedding..." he repeated.
"...must finally be finished."
The ghostly guests bowed their heads in unison.
A cold wind swept through the clearing.
Damien grabbed Alexa's hand.
"We're leaving."
He pulled her back.
She didn't move.
Something was calling to her.
Not with words.
With memories.
With grief.
With a promise she didn't understand.
---
"Alexa!"
Damien's voice snapped her back.
She blinked.
The chapel doors slammed shut.
The candles inside went out.
Everything was dark again.
Except...
A single envelope lay on the ground at her feet.
It hadn't been there before.
The paper was old.
Yellow with age.
Its edges were stained with dried blood.
Across the front, written in elegant black ink, were the words:
To the Bride.
Alexa hesitated.
"Don't touch it," Edward warned.
"It's inviting you."
"But what if it has answers?"
She slowly picked it up.
The envelope was icy cold.
Breaking the wax seal, she unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was beautiful.
Almost delicate.
> Miss Alexa Ashford,
You are cordially invited to witness the wedding that fate interrupted one hundred years ago.
Your presence is not requested.
It is required.
Midnight.
Seven days.
Come willingly...
Or be carried.
The letter ended with a single signature.
The Groom.
---
"The Groom?" Alexa whispered.
Edward stared at the signature.
His face twisted in confusion.
"I didn't write that."
Damien looked at him.
"Then who did?"
Before Edward could answer...
The letter began to burn.
Black flames consumed the paper without leaving ash.
Only one sentence remained floating in the air.
HE IS NOT THE GROOM.
The words vanished.
A deep growl echoed beneath the earth.
---
Suddenly, church bells rang across Black Hollow.
Not one church.
Every church.
Lights flickered on inside every house.
Doors creaked open.
People stepped outside.
Without speaking.
Without expression.
Old men.
Young women.
Children.
All dressed in black.
As though attending a funeral.
Or...
A wedding.
They began walking toward the chapel.
None of them looked alive.
"They're sleepwalking," Alexa whispered.
Damien shook his head.
"No."
His voice trembled.
"They've been summoned."
---
An elderly woman stopped in front of Alexa.
She gently placed a silver locket into her hand.
"My grandmother gave this to me," the woman said softly.
"She told me to keep it safe until the true bride returned."
Before Alexa could respond...
The woman's eyes rolled back.
She rejoined the silent procession.
Alexa opened the locket.
Inside was a tiny, faded photograph.
On one side was Eleanor.
On the other...
A baby wrapped in a white blanket.
Behind the photograph, something was folded tightly.
Alexa carefully unfolded it.
It was a map.
Drawn by hand.
At the bottom, in Father Benedict's handwriting, were six chilling words:
The truth sleeps beneath the altar.
A violent tremor shook the ground.
The chapel doors burst open once more.
This time...
A man stepped out.
He wore an immaculate black wedding suit.
His face was hidden behind a porcelain mask.
In one hand, he carried a bouquet of black roses.
In the other...
A gleaming wedding ring.
He slowly turned toward Alexa.
Then, with a calm, chilling voice, he said,
"I've waited a century to ask you one question."
He dropped to one knee.
The ring caught the moonlight.
"Will you marry me?"
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