In the blackness I could feel myself rise, still strapped in the chair. It wasn't like someone was lifting me, more like – I don't know, I was floating?

I knew all this by instinct, something I rely on endlessly now. The only part of me left worth a damn.

I was only wearing that ridiculous thin white nightie, so I easily noticed the change in the air around me as I rose. Then I was flipped, very slowly, backwards. I presume I was still hovering.

I could hear tiny scratching sounds coming from the distance, perhaps, if I had not changed direction too, the other side of the room? I had been facing the bed before the darkness descended; the door was in the corner near the head of the bed, so I found it odd that someone could have gotten in.

Saying that, Weirdo had probably stashed away his strange 'servants' or something in there somehow and I hadn't noticed during my cursory view of the surroundings earlier.

"This is boring" I said as confidently as I could, wriggling my wrists against the tight, cutting grasp of the thongs.

"You aren't going to scare me you know" I lied, now wriggling my ankles, but the thongs felt like they bit deeper into my flesh with each move I made.

I was not under the impression that whatever has now whispering really fast in that strange language from my abduction, was going to kill me. If Weirdo's temper was anything to go by, then he had no doubt arranged for the Funeral Party to do some pretty terrible things to me before I was to 'marry' him.

Over my dead body.

I wished.

The scratching noise was getting louder and longer with its scrapes and it was getting nearer to my head.

The air felt as though it was passing my face slightly, as though I was being raised higher and higher.

The whispering was getting closer and I could hear that it was coming from several voices, I thought perhaps three different ones, but I wasn't sure.

"Who are you?" I heard myself say, just before I yelled out in agony as the straps holding me to the chair tightened their unyielding grip on me.

"Let me go!" I yelped as the pain coursed through my system. My voice was an agonising squeak, instantly firing memories of my life on the farm into the front of my minds eye.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head to try and lose those terrible images. I couldn't deal with that and the situation I was in at the same time.

"Please!" I heard myself say again as I was sure the pain in my extremities was going to result in me losing my limbs.

"Please" I heard a possibly female voice copy.

Then another uttered it.

Then another.

Followed by muffled giggling, all coming from somewhere above my head.

I let out a yell of world-ending agony as stars of pain burst behind my eyes.

Then a heavy, masculine laugh rang forth, just over my head.

Then the muffled giggling grew louder and joined in with it, all mocking me as I squirmed and yelled in abject pain.

I could, somewhere on the outer edges of consciousness, register that I was moving. I think it was upward, but I couldn't tell, until I fell.

I was in so much pain, that my brain couldn't register the horror of falling whilst my limbs were being slowly chopped off.

I felt myself smash into the floor, back first, still attached to the chair. My head cracked against the back of the chair which in turn had connected with the floor.

I felt myself slump sideways onto the floor, the thongs no doubt being disturbed by the impact.

I writhed on my side, against a cold, stone floor. I lay there, like a garden worm in a curious child's hand, struggling to free my mind of pain and fear.

There was sniggering coming from above me now, as if those four voices where stood over me, mocking me. I winced in pain, into the blackness around me, wide-eyed and searching for something to latch onto, some form of hope and relief.

Then more incomprehensible whispering, the male voice joining in, but it didn't sound like Weirdo's voice. Typical, I thought, even then in all that horror, that he had no doubt given an order but been too much of a damn coward to do it himself.

Just like my father.

"I just want to die" I sobbed, "please just kill me. End my suffering, please".

I am disgusted with myself now, if I am honest, I shouldn't have given in.

This made the sniggering turn into cackles and guffaws that stabbed my ear drums viciously.

It moved away though, as though fading into the distance, like someone had faded it out on a recording.

A prickle of hazy green light began to emanate from before my eyes, like a dot, that slowly grew.

I thought at first that I was in fact dead and this was the beginning of the afterlife, the one I didn't believe in.

The dot increased in size to revel not a light source, but a scene.

I'm sure how to describe it, like so many things that have happened here. How the hell do you describe all of this craziness? It defies logic and it defies reason, yet I can only tell you what I saw.

The green light that was revealing blurry shapes and objects that I could not define, grew so large in mass and so rich in intensity, that I eventually became immersed in it. The light was like a bright green light at first, but as soon as it gobbled me up and stuck me in the middle of it, it faded slightly to reveal a darker, but still dark green tinged environment.

I was lying on a cold stone floor, the slabs long and wide, but the mortar between them was chipped or missing. I could make out what looked like wooden benches, stretching out ahead of me towards some steps, which appeared to be covered in something thick and volumous, perhaps like foliage.

I groaned and grunted as I lay slavering on the floor, my cheek now hurting with supporting my head against the stone.

My voice echoed into a shrill, animalistic noise that bounced off walls I could not see.

Then there were hands, as quick as a blink, yanking me to my feet. My head lolled down to see at least two sets of black gloved hands gripping my arms.

I moved my head to the side and caught a glimpse of the member of the Funeral Party who had served me dinner earlier.

I had no strength in my legs, so when I deposited onto them, I simply dropped to the floor like a rag doll. I wrenched myself forwards onto my knees and began to vomit uncontrollably. Having not eaten, all that came up was stomach lining and some stomach acid, burning my throat and leaving a vicious taste in my mouth.

"Get her up" came a bark of a command from ahead of me and I was instantly dragged to my feet once more and held there in the vice-like grip of the Funeral Party.

The same voice, not belonging to anyone I had heard so far during my time in Weirdo's realm, now muttered something like "are we ready to proceed?" or "is she ready to proceed?"

My drooping head lifted with what little strength I could conjure up and I looked around me, trying to understand this new situation.

I was in a chapel, that much was certain, but it was in part ruin.

The rows of benches I had seen at first, where rotten and had mostly fallen off their supports. The ceiling was almost identical to the gothic bedroom I had been in. There were windows either side of the space I was in, which turned out to be the aisle, but beyond the benches. They were glassless and their stone fixings were eroded.

Ahead, loomed the altar at the top of half a dozen steps, all overgrown as I had first thought. The great window behind it was in an equally dilapidated state to the ones flanking the entire building.

Stood on the next to bottom step was a robed priest, who looked at ancient as the building in which he stood. He stood, book in hand, staring at me through the uneasy gloom. To his left and my right, stood Weirdo, who was staring at me also. He wore a black frock coat that came to his knees and a white wing collared shirt poked out of the top of it.

The priest glanced to Weirdo "it is midnight my lord, shall we start?"

Weirdo did not take his eyes from me, but grunted his affirmation.

It was then that the hands let go of me and I found myself, somehow standing upright.

I looked down properly this time and, to my sincere surprise, I had been changed once more into a beautiful white bridal gown. The collar went to my throat and the sleeves down to my wrists, but this did not reassure me that my dignity had been maintained.

My head spun. How had they managed it? How? Surely I would have felt it! I was conscious the entire time!

I closed my eyes, unable to replay things clearly in my head.

It took me a moment or two to realise I was moving, but this time, not under the steam of anyone but my own body. My feet moved forward of their own accord and dragged the rest of, unsteadily to the front, stopping next to Weirdo and in front of the ancient Father and his crumbling book.

The Priest made the sign of the cross, uttering words in Latin and far too quickly for me to guess, especially in my dazed state, or to comprehend. I understood the "I do" bit as Weirdo said his first, before me. When the elderly Priest paused and looked meaningfully at me, I kept my mouth shut, my head spinning still and my body weak with pain.

I was sharply brought back to reality when Weirdo suddenly snatched my right hand and stabbed his razor sharp nails into it, again, managing to bring blood oozing to the surface. I yelled out, dropping to my feet, sobbing.

"Say 'I do' Christine and this all stops, this all goes away. Everything changes." I heard Weirdo say softly in my ear, but when I looked up, he hadn't budged, but still held my hand, I vicious look in his eyes.

"I-I d-do" I heard myself say, that survival part of me managing to muscle its way to the front of my debilitated mind.

Weirdo removed his nails from my bloodied skin and instead, gently lifted me to my feet, keeping his arms around my waist to keep me standing.

The Priest finished, making the sign of the cross once more and nodding at Weirdo, before he stepped off to one side and shuffled off, his book closed and his work done.

Weirdo turned me round in his arms, very gently, until I was facing him.

"I hate you" I whispered, but it was all I could muster.

"I know" he whispered softly back, removing his blood stained right hand from my waist and gently caressing my cheek. I could smell the irony odour of my blood on his digits as they slid over my cheekbone.

The look in his magnificent eyes was warm and yielding.

I think I knew deep down what was going to happen next, but at that point I just quite simply, didn't have any strength left in me but to comply.

He brought his black lips towards mine, making me automatically go stiff and squeeze my eyes shut, yet, the odd thing (ha, what a stupid thing to say, 'the odd thing', like everything wasn't frigging odd to begin with), was that as his face pressed against mine for the inevitable kiss, it didn't feel like what I expected it to.

It sounds bonkers, I know, but I have to describe this.

You would expect him to smell of that deathly scent, right? That his lips were vile and bone dry and thin. That his lack of nose was a bit of a turn off to say the least?

Instead it was a bit like this.

His lips touched mine, but they were warm and full. His scent was like something that was built into you to make you instantly recognise and go weak at. His nose – this is the oddest part, was there. I felt it touch my cheek as his lips connected with mine.

I wanted to open my eyes to be sure, but something inside my messed up mind told me not to.

He slid his right hand to the back of my head and up until the tangle of blonde hair that lived there. I raised my hands to his face, but instead of finding dry, dead skin stretched across a skull, I found myself touching warm, real flesh. My fingers felt his strong jaw, then over his cheeks which were full, moved to his eyes, connecting with thick eyebrows and then a soft forehead.

It wasn't him. But it was him.

I can't describe it. No words. No words. I just don't understand it.

All the while our lips are touching, until his pressed harder against mine, slipping his tongue into my mouth.

I feel ill now admitting this to you, but I responded. I responded fervently and I have no idea why.

I pressed my broken frame against him and he tightened his grip on me in reply. I raked my fingers forcefully through his hair as we devoured each other. I rubbed this strange 'new' face and breathed in lung fulls of his enticing scent.

Reason seemed imprisoned womewhere at the back of my mind, but it hammered away telling me that what I was feeling and experiencing was just a hallucination, but I was too dazed and lost to respond.

I moaned into his mouth as I felt my body begin to ache for him to take this further, a sensation I had certainly never felt in my entire life. I had never wanted anyone before. This was utterly new to me.

He pulled away breathlessly, nipping at my bottom lip and panting.

"Don't – don't open your eyes Christine" he managed.

He was damn right, I didn't want to shatter the illusion of snogging the face off someone who felt as handsome as that.

I could feel myself start to come down from that place of elation and the fog in my head began to clear. Still, despite the fire and the passion returning to my blood, I did not open my eyes.

"It can't be midnight already" I said as I tried to catch my breath, still wrapped in his embrace.

"It is and we are married"

I felt a sobering jolt to my being – I was frigging married to this madman now? What's next? We re-enact the dates he and his dead girlfriend went on?

My mind boiled but then I found it instantly dispersed by the feeling of his lips against mine again.

I plunged my tongue into his mouth this time and we erupted into an almost violent passion as I took my rage and my frustration out on his mouth. He certainly had no qualms and responded with just as much vigour.

The ache below my navel was raw and harsh and wild now to the point where I was tugging at his clothes.

What was going on! I couldn't control myself, I just could not explain it, even now, sometime afterwards where I am certainly able to look back with anger and a clearer mind, I still wonder why.

He lifted me up, our mouths still connected and I felt myself moved once more, but the blackness was of my own making, with my eyes tight shut.

I felt myself lowered onto something soft, a bed it turned out and I felt him now in front of me, over me. I reached up with trembling hands to try and find the buttons to his shirt. He however, went for the more straight forward approach of just ripping my dress off my body, sending the buttons pinging and skittering about.

I was panting hard now with utter expectation. I wanted him. I wanted him too badly to wait for clothes to come off and I wanted him now.

"Please now, oh please now" I begged from beneath him.

"Christine" he rasped, his voice clearly barely controlled "are you sure you want this?"

I responded by tugging wilding at his trousers and writhing my hips upwards to meet his. I had never felt like that ever. Never, ever. I feel weird and somehow voyeuristic now, recounting it to you.

I don't feel bad, or wrong or used. If anything, I think he got used pretty well that night, by me.

After a few awkward moments of ripping off and removing clothing, we gave into what I can only describe as utter carnal lust. We threw each other about the bed, me relying on my other senses as I remained blind, especially at his constant plea's that I remained that way.

The only yelling I did for the rest of that night was when I experienced several utterly stunning climaxes.

Too graphic for you? I think I left the gory bits out. I didn't 'Mills and Boon' you did I? Bet you're a bit shocked though aren't you? I've not exactly given you reason to even consider the fact that Weirdo and I had at any point, shockingly mind-blowing sex together.

Another thing - turns out, his name isn't 'Weirdo'. Bet you're as surprised as I am, right?

During the throws of our 'wedding night', I asked him for his name, to which he replied "Erik, my name is Erik and I am yours forever".

As soon as we had utterly spent each other's energy reserves and collapsed into each other's arms, I toyed with the idea of opening my eyes and looking him.

He had begged me not to, as if opening them would reveal the decaying corpse who I had first met, with its noseless, twisted face and its thin, bony body.

The man I lay with was strong and muscly, his body toned and perfectly formed. His face was flawless, from what I could feel and was archetypal of what constituted as handsome. Put it this way, I could have been feeling the face of Leonardo's 'David', it was that perfect.

The fingers that were now caressing my flesh, drawing invisible patterns on my skin, were long, but manly, the nails very short and not remotely capable of stabbing me.

Yet the voice was identical. It was the same all the way through.

Out of all the weird, backwards and strange trickery I'd experienced since this freak turned up, magicking himself into some sort of god of love was certainly the craziest. Either that, or he had doped me up somehow and it was a seriously amazing drug.

But then, I thought, I had to know, I have to know who it was that created that hunger inside my body and turned me into this frenzied person I had no idea lived inside me.

I turned towards him, listening to his still ragged breathing and opened my eyes.