til death, darlin

[EWcoodies]

"What a darlin' surprise! T'think the bride delivered erself dincha!"

Rang a wheezy voiced man through the thick, wiry cords of his skunk-striped mustache. He was heavy-bellied, in a pair of worn overalls, dirtied with oil stains and old, undone patchwork scuffed back into holes. Impatiently slicing through the midst of his greeting, a distraction in the form of a short and stubby woman barreled through the underside of his hairy, scratched and bruised arm, immediately going to grope (y/c)'s hand within the both of hers. Inspecting every line across (y/c)'s palm, she finally concluded satisfaction in her discoveries with a stiff nod. "You're perfect," she finally looked up through her greasy, black, uneven bangs, beaming a grin up into the eyes of the girl. She would be the perfect, newest family addition, her palms read she was destined to be the one! "Pardon 'ir rudeness," the woman interrupted her own silent, wide-eyed stare, seemingly waking back up to reality. "Why, you must be just darn freezing stiff out here. Please wontcha comin'n shake a leg out n dry. Cant letcha catch cold just yet," A restrained chuckle emitted from the elderly couple, humored by their own stale jokes. Had it not been for the extended patio roof-top, the pouring rain may have only added to the soaked self of the bride to-be. How terribly awful to leave a woman in such unforgiving weather on her special day! Really, though, getting sick on such an important day as today was unacceptable.

"We've been dying to begin the ceremony, wontcha come on in (right on in)!" Echoed the man off his wife encouragingly. The woman tossed her thinning braid over her shoulder to then resume a few strict yanks, coercing the girl into the warm, humid home by her relinquished hand. It emitted a wet, mildew scent, hued in with the soft stench of smoke from an old, putout fire. The house was as dark and gloomy as the drowning world outside, allowing only the rhythm of rain to drum against the unseen, seemingly boarded window panes. Hardly a candle lit, it was just bright enough to keep up with the two; though, regardless, the woman never let loose (y/c)'s hands to give her a second thought about where she was heading towards. "You know, it wasn't easy to find a willing bride," Explained the lady, "it 'mazes me we afforded such a beautiful lady as yerself. My baby.. will be so darn happy! Caused us quite abit of grief these last few months, but you remind me of a lil lass fancied back then." She stumbled about her words seemingly nervously, sounding almost unsure about recollecting her sons past. At some point during her mumbles, her husband had disappeared elsewhere, now leaving the women to talk among themselves. "An' don't be shy, don't be shy not at all. Now, you can just go 'head and call me Ol Ma, I don't think I look too old, though, an' him," She batted back behind the two, at where the man, her husband, had previously detoured off from, "yer Ol Pa. Can't be 'round while we get you all pampered 'n pretty for the cerem- er- wed'n you'know."

Ol Ma finally found a room to stop at. It was hardly anymore lit, just offering two candles on uneven dressers beside a long, body exposing mirror. In front of it was a singular, wooden rocking chair facing the mirror eerily, and folded onto it was an off-white, dusty gown made of silk, lace and layers and layers of mesh. "I'll be right yonder the door, n' right on back to check up on you now, don't be shy," Ma turned into a happy pig, squealin at the end of her statement, briefly overtaken by ecstasy. "Don't be too slow now neither, we are all just so darn 'cited to marry you off! Are yer folks comin by s'well? We're so excited to be a big ol family! Can't even 'membe-" her voice muted slightly behind the slam of the bedroom door, but could be heard ongoing, quieting the further past the room she departed from, talking to herself the entire way. Leaving (y/c) to get changed into the presented attire, inevitable silence gave time to consider how she fell into such a situation in the first place... Being married off to a paying family, one that lived pretty deep in the northern mountain ranges, hours from the nearest city. It didn't seem they were rich, so the thousands spent to pursue (y/c) seemed to be gambled on fulfilling a void... A void invested into their promised son, or 'baby' as they referred. Several mysteries remained unanswered, and to any wise woman, it was certainly, clear as day that compensation played a hefty weight to the trade. Perhaps their son was ugly, maybe even had a small, unsatisfactory penis.. Or perhaps mutated and disfigured altogether? There could be several deceiving details at foot, but which could realistically be the right assumption considering the circumstances?

Regardless. Money was money, right? Seventy-five thousand dollars for a willing bride was quite the advertise, wasn't it? All that was required was a fit, hard-working woman willing to satisfy her partner to any extent... Objectifying, certainly, but it was simpler than a 9-5. Home built into the contract too, no other overpriced expenses needed to be considered. Surely, there was room for a game plan at some point later on to get the money, maybe get out a bit quicker than a lifetime? The only downside to this transaction seemed to have, funnily enough, was maybe the lighting situation. Maybe even the room she was in that consisted only of a mattress on the floor, these two, leaning dressers and a rocking chair that was.. now groaning with every unmotivated rock. Not to mention the signal wasn't all too good either, maybe they had wifi?


A knock at the door. "Darlin' how much longer you s'pose you need?"

 

[MoominLiv]

There was a hard ball in the pit of Bree's stomach, like a large, heavy stone in her gut. She hadn't yet told her family about this for fear that they would stop her, and the thought of their faces when they found out was like a knife twisting in her heart. But she had no other choice if she wanted David to survive. Seventy five thousand dollars would certainly help pay those medical bills that seemed to pile higher with every passing day, weighing heavier and heavier on her family as that horrid illness slowly sapped the life from her brother. Bree reached out for the dress and ran her fingers over the old, slightly yellowed satin. Just like everything in this place, it looked like something straight from a documentary about old Appalachia, and she almost expected to hear the twang of a banjo at any moment.

"Ugh…" Bree wrinkled her nose as she lifted up the wedding gown, her eyes watering slightly at the flurry of dust that puffed into the air. "It smells like someone died in it…"

Still, she didn't want to make a bad impression on her first day, so she sighed and stripped off her clothing— a pair of brown waterproof boots, a plum colored sweater, and thick gray jeans— the wet fabric dripping onto the floor and marking small dark circles on the faded, dusty hardwood. To think that this would be her life now, an old ramshackle house that smelled of must and mothballs, was both sobering and depressing, but Bree was willing sell herself off like a piece of livestock if it meant her brother would survive. It was strange, though… How on earth did this family have enough money to pay the promised seventy five thousand? If they had that much to spare, you'd think their house would be better than an old lean to that looked like the setting of the summer's next big slasher horror film. Who was she to question how they spent their money, though? All that mattered was that they had it and her family would receive it.

The wedding dress slithered over her skin in a silken whisper, the lace rustling as she attempted to straighten the bountiful skirt. It was slightly itchy against her bare flesh, and she suddenly understood why women used to wear slips beneath their clothes back in the old days— she couldn't fathom walking around like this all day! For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at nothing in particular as the realization that her life would never be the same dawned upon her. She clenched the skirts of the dress in her fists, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. She could still run, couldn't she? She could find a window and shimmy her way out of it, running off into the woods and making a new life for herself.

But when she thought about her brother, she knew it wasn't an option. He would die without the treatment, and this was the only way to raise enough money in time. If she left now, she might as well be sentencing him to death. Sure, his illness had made her life difficult, but she still loved him, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she gave up now. After a quiet sniffle and a swipe of her hand over her damp eyes, Bree took a deep breath and crossed to the door, stepping into the hall tentatively.

David… just think of David. He's gonna get better because of this. she told herself internally, her eyes cast low as she shuffled forward, her brown waterproof boots occasionally peeking out from beneath the dress' voluminous skirts.

"I'm ready," Bree stated softly, looking away from Ol' Ma for fear that the woman would see the dread painted on her features.

made by zenith

 

[EWcoodies]

Similar to before, Ol Ma trapped Bree's hand into her own, hardly paying mind to the the emotional distress the bride was in the depths of. An eerie, seemingly echoed replication of the classic wedding chime hummed from her lips, guiding the girl with more urgency than the grace given with their previous stroll. "It won't be awful, youll go on and be makin the lot of us so much more.." Ol Ma tsked, seemingly forgetting the word she was looking for, "relaxed maybe it,--now-- oh honey-" Finally, the old woman glanced back to see the girl drowning in her emotions. "Now aren't you even pretty when you're startin to snot," a twang of frustration dripped from her words, her eyebrow twitching with her her passive comment. "It won't be all bad, its all in good cause aint it now. Money's been sent, all you've gotta do is be the wife we givin so much way for," she nodded, lifting her dirty, wrinkled finger knuckle to wipe away the puddling at her canaliculi. However, before doing so, she hesitated and dropped her hand altogether, seemingly fearful to make contact any more than she already had. Her eyes fell to the girls hand. "Bee, wasn't it?" not even knowing her new daughters name, regardless, she continued before she could be corrected, "Don't blink. Don't blink the best you can," She confirmed her seemingly abnormal advice with a stiff nod, before turning and proceeding forward again, practically dragging Bree behind her. Unlike before, the house was now swarmed with candlelight, a stick in every corner, and several on mantels in every space between. Each room they passed catered to a different artificial scent, but smoke inhabited all. If Bree dared to glance into open doors, she'd see one if not multiple persons staring back at her, dressed in dark cloth, humming the same, dreadfully eerie wedding tune. Louder, and louder, the humming intensified. Behind them, their cloaked selves emerged from their spots, now following close behind the both of them until they reached a sanctioned off doorway.

"Father," beckoned Ol Ma, releasing Bree before disintegrating into the crowd of night matching entities. Ol Pa, despite now being in a robe and hood of his own, could easily be recognized by his protruding belly, and roughened up overalls peaking out from the lower skirt hem of the covering. "Bree, youve promised to keep our baby company, through thick and thin, day and night," from the crowd Ol Ma whooped "and seventy grand!" (the crowd chuckled softly in response), "And now may you meet your soulmate," Ol Pa opened the door. "darlin, death has taken one of you, may you at last guide her into the next life after youve been taken s'well.." The crowd intensified around Bree, shoving her aggressively, closer and closer to the door until she was forced inside, possibly bruised-- if not-- the downward spiral of stairs would certainly contribute.


It was pitch black, silent. Feel free to sleep, Bree-- you've had such a long, long day... Your arms and legs may be a bit swollen for a while, the stairs weren't exactly something they allowed her to prepare for. Most of all, the damaging knot on your head, Bree. Really, you should just.. rest. Let it all fade to black.



Hours passed before a groan emerged from the corner. Or perhaps the groans had just been quieter before. The room seemed to earn a faint glow from a thin, rectangular basement window at the very top of the tiny rooms ceiling. A beaded wire dangled from above to an ancient bulb long blown out. Across the ceiling, ugly splotches of poorly applied paint decorated it and the walls. Under the stairs was a long, wooden box.. A tool box? Maybe old decorations? An assortment of glass-sounding trinkets littered the floor in their abnormal shapes and sizes, crunching with a misplaced foot onto them; the light was not bright enough yet to fully identify colors of distinct properties of really anything down here. Another groan.. though it sounded like the mumbling of muffled company. Perhaps she wasn't alone down here.

"I'm starving, Ma, please!" a pitchy voice begged from within the wooden container. Violently shaking the lid for only a second or more, it fell to a standstill, clearly too weak for any more effort. "Please, i'll behave, let me out! I'm so hungry please, I'll be good--" The case was sealed by three latch hooks on the outside of the casket, the far ended one already made loose.

 

[MoominLiv]

Now, Bree might not have been the next up and coming member of Mensa International, but she knew ominous when she saw it. The endless humming sounded less like 'Here Comes the Bride' by Wagner and more like 'Funeral March' by an occultist version of Chopin, the echoing tune sending shivers down Bree's spine. At that moment, her instinctual fight or flight reaction kicked in, all thoughts of her brother having vanished as quickly as morning fog on a summer day. She tried to struggle, digging her heels into the hardwood and clawing at the arms that held her tighter than any vise.

"What are you doing?! Let me go!" she screamed, but her panicked voice was lost amidst the endless drone of dozens of humming strangers. "Stop it! Don't—"

It was too late. The ground beneath her feet vanished, and she could feel nothing but air. That split second seemed to last for an eternity, her body frozen in time as she careened through the smoky air. Then, she hit the ground again, her body slamming into the stairs over and over as she tumbled downwards, the moth-eaten gown tangled around her legs and arms, looking more like a funeral shroud than a wedding dress. By the time her body reached the bottom of the staircase, she was already halfway to unconsciousness, every inch of her body singing in pain as she lay in a limp, unmoving pile.

How long she laid there, as silent and still as a corpse, she could not say, but when she finally came to, her head was pounding and her entire body was sore. Bree blinked slowly, her nose filled with the scent of dust and age, before carefully drawing herself up into a sitting position and rubbing at the aching lump forming on her head.

Those crazy bastards… she thought to herself, looking up at the door she had been pushed through. Did they expect the fall to kill her? Or were there more steps to this insane scheme of theirs? Bree didn't know, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to find out.

"I'll kill them…" she whispered hoarsely, trying to crawl towards the stairs. Glass shards cut into her palms as she painstakingly made her way forward, her hair tangled and clinging to her sweaty skin. "I'll kill—"

There was a rattle and a thumping sound, vaguely reminiscent of the time a raccoon got stuck under her family's front porch. Bree's heart skipped a beat at the sound, her mind racing and her flesh prickling with an instinctual wariness as she whirled around. Was there an animal trapped down in the dark with her? Nice raccoon… good raccoon… be a good little varmint and Bree will give you a biscuit… Just don't bite her…

Bree drew back slightly, her eyes darting about the space and scanning the dark, shadowy corners in search of some lurking beast. She was just about to relax when the container rattled again, a voice emanating from the wooden box as the hinges creaked and clattered ominously like the chains hanging off the ghostly form of a phantom. A shriek of shock escaped Bree, making her scramble backwards out of fear, her feet skidding across the cold, dank floor of the basement, her eyes glued to the box. Was the person in there someone like her? Had they also been tricked and trapped down here? But why were they in the box? Her mind was spinning, her breath caught in her throat and her skin prickling with anxiety.

"H- hello…?" she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. No response. Then, the container shook once more. Bree could feel her stomach drop as if she had just reached the peak of a massive roller coaster and was beginning to careen downwards at top speed, her nails digging into the filthy floor as her breath became ragged with sheer terror. There was a brief moment where she considered just ignoring whoever was in there and simply worrying about her own escape, but when she thought about how she would feel if the tables were turned and she was the one trapped in that…

Coffin?

Yes, for all intents and purposes that might as well be a coffin. Lord only knew what the true shape of it appeared to be in a decently illuminated environment.

"D- don't panic… I'll help you…" she whispered in a voice husky with fear and scratchy from screaming. Slowly, slowly, she crawled towards the box, her aching body screaming for her to stop. Bree's hands were shaking as she reached for the rusted clasps, trembling to the point where she was struggling to even grab onto the twisted pieces of metal. "Hail Mary, full of grace…"

Bree hadn't been to church in years, but the prayers spilled from her lips without thinking, an instinctual reaction. She was helpless here, with no way of protecting herself, and just like some medieval peasant all she could turn to was some strange and omniscient being, a being she wasn't even sure she believed in.

"…the Lord.." her voice broke slightly as she undid the first clasp. "…is with thee…"

The cold metal scraped across her filthy skin as she continued to whisper, her mouth dry and sticky. She could still stop. She could just back away and find a way to escape on her own. There was still time. But Bree couldn't do that.

"…blessed art thou among women…" she practically sobbed as she unhooked the second and final one. "…and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…"

made by zenith