Here Comes the Bride
I made it to the church just in time. Traffic was bad, and worse, I was a little scatterbrained. I had never been able to get that part of my brain to work. Oh well.
I came in running, everyone looking at me, but I managed to slide into a seat in the back row of chairs.
The sky was dark and a chill was in the air. Who get’s married at night? There’s no time for a party afterword. We were all missing dinner and I didn’t see any tables set up for later.
If they didn’t want me to eat with them, so be it, he could get a burger on his way home.
The groom walked up, said hello to people, then stood beneath a flowery arch. As I looked around, I saw a lot of people I knew. Old friends and people resembling the groom close enough that they had to be family.
No one from the bride’s side.
In truth, I didn’t know her well. We had been introduced once at a party ages ago. I also wasn’t that close to the groom. I had been surprised to get an invite. But hey, if someone wants you to be there on their special day, it’s good manners to show up.
There was some light music playing through a speaker. Frank Sinatra. I never really got the hype behind him. He just plain boring.
The music changed to “Here come the bride.” I stood and turned.
People screamed.
That was the bride alright, looking gorgeous in her dress without a veil. Crimson blood ran from her mouth, down her neck, staining her dress. She walked evenly, her head held high. Sharpened canine teeth like fangs.
I looked to the groom.
He looked terrified.
I ran. I wasn’t the only one to do so.
Just the only one that got away.
Michael Frutig 