AUTHOR NOTE: The ritual described below is an English Halloween tradition, and it's supposed to divine a young lady's future husband. Just a lil note!
The van Dort family had lived in the village of Browston, Norfolk for longer than anyone could remember. Their ancestral mansion, set atop a hill on the far side of town, had been surrounded by myth and legend since the middle 19th century. Its long shadow covered the town at dusk, darkening the windows and hearths of the stores and homes much quicker than normal. It was their curse, the older residents would say. Touched by the devil himself. Everyone in town knew of what had supposedly taken place within that family, and while most just shrugged it off as a silly urban legend, they still kept a good distance from that "odd family on Gersham Hill".
Victor liked it that way. He really never enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the town below him, and the distance they kept from the house made the mansion grounds extra quiet. He didn't even mind that it was that blasted story that kept them away.
Well, didn't mind TOO much, at least.
"If you love me, pop and fly…" Victor turned and scowled at Amelia. She looked at him and giggled, putting another hazelnut on the fire gate, then sitting back to watch them heat up. "If you hate me, burn and die", She giggled at that line and looked up at Victor. "Which one do you think will fly, Victor?"
He sighed and sat next to her. "Aren't you a tad young to be asking about your future husband, Amelia?" She smiled mischievously and turned back to watch the hazelnuts. The two on the left were burning up quicker than the other one. Victor looked at her quizzically. "Who are they?"
She smiled dreamily. "The left one is Michael Fulton, the cute boy in my Art class, the middle one is the grocery boy at Mr. Hampton's Grocery, and the last one is Danny Angles." She stuck out her tongue. "I hate him, he always pulls my hair." The hazelnuts had all burned up by that point, and Amelia sighed in relief. "At least I won't get married to Danny…" Victor laughed and poked her.
"Far too young to be thinking of marriage, Amelia."
---
Halloween had come on a lovely day that year. Usually, it would be uncomfortably cold and windy, but it had stayed warmer longer that year than normal. The leaves had not yet dropped from the trees, causing the forest to burn brilliantly with the reds, oranges and yellows in the late afternoon sun. "Isn't it pretty?" Amelia said, as she readjusted her princess tiara for the 40th time.
No. It wasn't pretty. Victor shuddered violently and turned away from the forest. "Come on, let's get going." He pushed her in front of him, and started walking quickly for the next house. Amelia cried out in protest, but Victor didn't listen. He had to get away from that forest.
It scared him more than death ever would, if that were possible.
---
"Alright Amelia, one more house then we have to go home, understand?" She giggled and ran ahead to Mrs. Emerson's house. Victor shuddered. The sun had set almost half an hour ago, and the streetlights barely lit the streets enough to see where one was walking. The trick-or-treaters who were still out darted in and out of the shadows like ghostly moths…No, not moths, he thought.
Like butterflies…
With an audible yelp, Victor shook his head, desperately trying to rid himself of that memory. That dream…it was getting realer, more vivid…it came during the day sometimes, and it was always those butterflies…
"Victor? Are you ok?"
Amelia was staring up at him, eyes wide, cheeks smeared with chocolate. He shook his head once more for good measure. "I'm—I'm fine. I just…don't like Halloween, is all."
---
Grandpa was already waiting for them when they finally arrived home. With an excited squeal, Amelia darted over and threw her arms around his thin and bony waist. "Grandpa!"
The elder van Dort chuckled quietly and laid a hand on the young girl's head. "Careful dear, you don't want to break your old grandfather in half would you?" Amelia pretended to look downcast and mumbled an apology, then grinned and hugged tighter. Grandpa smiled and wearily shook his head in amusement, then regarded Victor with a mischievous smirk. "Well well! Victor van Dort the 4th, you decided to grace me with your presence this year. What's the occasion?"
Victor sighed and shot him a cynical glare. "Parents are forcing me to listen to your ramblings this year." He returned the smirk. "But, I suppose it IS good to see you, grandpa, even though you're as mad as a March hare."
The old man sat down by the fire and chuckled. "I don't know where you get your personality from, young man. Certainly not MY side of the family."
Victor laughed. "I certainly hope not."
"Now Victor, that's enough." His mother walked in at that moment, shaking a cooking spoon in his face. She glared at him. "You be on your best behavior tonight, or the consequences will be severe, understand?" Victor rolled his eyes and shrugged, earning him a swift rap on the head.
"OUCH!"
Amelia burst into laughter as Victor rubbed his sore skull. His mother sighed and sat down near Grandpa. "Forgive my son, Mr. Van Dort. He's a bit…thick-headed, I'm afraid." She patted the older man on the shoulder, and said, "Now, why don't I grab the apples and nuts and you can begin your story?"
Grandpa smiled. "That sounds lovely, Christine." Nodding, Victor's mother stood and headed for the kitchen. Victor followed and helped carry the traditional snacks to the fireside coffee table, as he had done every year since he had been old enough to walk. He shook his head. He couldn't remember a year that had been different. Always the same, right down to Amelia sitting on Grandpa's knees as he lit his pipe in preparation to begin. Victor glanced casually to the blue armchair nearest the fire. That had been his spot for the past 14 years. Robotically, he began to walk over and sit, but decided on a whim to remain standing near father's chair, which was currently empty. His father, like always, would come in five minutes late and ask if he had "missed the good part". Five minutes later, his father rushed in.
"Wicked drive home, everyone. Sorry I'm late. Did I---"
"---Miss anything?" Victor finished for him, rolling his eyes. Everyone stared at him in mild shock. He just sighed again. "Father, you ask that question every year. You should know by now that, no, you haven't missed anything because we wouldn't bloody start without you—OUCH!" His mother had hit him again.
His father just laughed as he took his seat. "I know, I know, but tradition is very important!" He turned, eagerly, to Grandpa. "Speaking of which, go on with your story. We're all DYING to hear it." Victor started to mumble that he wished he could die, but his mother glared at him and he quickly became silent.
Grandpa smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Right, then. The story of the Corpse Bride." He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. "Now…how did it begin?"
Amelia giggled. "You know how it started! 'Once upon a time…'"
"Ah, yes", Grandpa said, mussing her hair gently. Like always. He cleared his throat again. "Once upon a time, your great-grandfather van Dort married a corpse." He paused, and turned to look at Victor. "It was entirely by accident, as he was engaged to be married to---"
"Great Grandma Victoria!" cried Amelia, bouncing slightly.
The old man nodded. "That's right. However, he was a bit nervous and couldn't remember his vows, so he went to the woods to practice." His face grew serious, and he let his eyes wander around the room from face to face. "Solemnly, your great-grandfather recited the vows, repeating them perfectly, right down to putting the ring on a twig that stuck out of the ground." Victor felt uneasy. This was his least favorite part. The rest of his family leaned closer in anticipation. His grandpa twisted his mouth into an eerie half-smile, and said in a voice barely above a whisper, "But it wasn't a twig at all. It was the finger of a bride, long dead and buried on her wedding night. He had married her unwittingly, and she had waited for that for a long time. With an unearthly wail, she rose from her grave and whispered—"
"For the love of god, STOP!"
All snapped their heads to stare at Victor, who was clutching the side of his head and shaking slightly. "J-Just stop, all right!" he practically screamed, causing his grandfather to drop his pipe. Victor shook his head and scowled. "You—you can't POSSIBLY believe that, can you? It's too…unrealistic! It's STUPID!" The rest of the family gasped. His mother made a motion to get up, but Grandpa stopped her, standing up shakily to face Victor. Victor backed up slightly, eyes wide. His grandpa had never looked so angry.
"Young man…" His voice was just slightly above a whisper, and he glared at Victor again. "Do you suppose we tell this story for no reason? Do you think that it's just a silly story your crazy grandfather tells every year just to annoy you?" Victor gulped audibly, and shook his head. Grabbing his cane, Grandpa hobbled slowly over to Victor, his eyes never leaving the younger man's face. "Why do you think we tell it then, if not just 'because', hmm?" He struggled with a response, but his grandfather didn't stop. Grandpa scowled and poked him sharply in the ribs. "We do it because we made a PROMISE. We promised Emily we would never forget her, and I'll thank you to remember that."
Victor opened his mouth in protest, but the silent glares he received from the rest of his family silenced him. Indignant, he ran from the room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. He slammed the door, and flopped onto his bed. Well, at least THIS year was different, he thought bitterly. Sighing, he turned and stared at the photograph. He ran a finger over the top of it gently, and said, "It didn't happen, did it?" The man in the photo just stared back, unable to respond. Victor rolled over again and looked out his window. The moon shone bright in the night sky, and Victor smiled sleepily. Yawning, he closed his eyes.
The last thing he saw was a butterfly.