Rariton, New Jersey

"Dearly beloved…" Father Jacob Patterson said to the congregation of thirty of the bride and grooms closest friends and families gathered at the Catholic Church of Saint Ann in Rariton, New Jersey. "We are gathered here today to bear witness to the binding of these two individuals; Steven and Carol. Steven and Carol were the bride and groom, they had been together for four years and were madly in love. They weren't without their problems, however, but who in a relationship could say that it was all peaches and cream. Or that's what Jeremy Smith said to himself as he sat in the audience and watch his girlfriends sister marry the biggest douche he had ever met. But it wasn't his place to judge, and it didn't affect him. All that he cared about was the maid of honor, Carol's sister, and his fiancée. Her name was Heather and they were engaged for almost a year now and had yet to set a date but there was no rush. Jeremy was sitting on the bride's side and casually crossed his legs and glanced at his wrist watch. This was going to be one hell of a long service and he was just getting ready to prepare himself for it when an odd feeling took over his entire body. He was cold, extremely cold. And sweating. His entire body started to shake and the bride's great uncle, who Jeremy was seated next to looked over at him and whispered "Are you Okay, son?" but before he could dismiss the old man's worries with a charming smile as he always did he started to cough. Just a small cough at first which he could stifle with the sleeve of his black suit jacket, but it quickly turned into a ragged, heaving cough which he could no longer control. He started to wretch and Father Patterson stopped reading and the entire congregation turned towards him. Some looked worried while others, such as bride-zilla looked upset. Heather looked at him and mouthed the words what's wrong but Jeremy waved her worries away and stood, coughing as he excused himself from the isle and walked down the carpeted center isle towards the exits which would lead him to the restroom.
Jeremy entered the bathroom and nearly fell face first on the floor but caught himself on the sink and began to cough and wretch even louder. He looked at himself in the mirror; he was wearing a black three piece suit, black bow tie. He looked good enough to eat with his impeccably styled black hair but now not so much. He was deathly pale, blood had started to trickle from his mouth and his eyes were nearly bulging from his skull with each cough. Just when he thought that he was going to literally die, right here and now in the shitter at a church, his coughing stopped just as quickly as it had started. The color returned to his face, his eyes became clear again from tears and blood vessels and his throat wasn't even ragged or bleeding anymore. Jeremy turned the faucet on and splashed cold water in his face. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face off. After he threw the wet clump of material in the waste basket he looked in the mirror again and began straightening out his bow tie and the rumples of his suit. He didn't understand what just happened. He was saying just as much when the lights flickered. Only slightly at first before returning to normal and Jeremy wasn't even sure if it had actually happened but it happened again. This time they didn't return to normal. Jeremy looked up at the fluorescent bulbs above him and saw them flicker and dim. He then felt cold again, the hairs throughout his frame stood on end and a chill crept up his spine. He looked back towards the mirror and behind him he saw a shadow so dark it was as if it had sucked the light from the room and the bulbs above dimmed just for it. Before Jeremy could even scream his surprise the shadow swooped above him and shot down his throat. The lights flickered violently, throwing the room into darkness one moment and intensely bright light the next, the toilets flushed, the sinks turned on and off and Jeremy Smith, a twenty six year old investment banker, engaged to the woman of his dreams, died before he even hit the floor.
Michael Thompson, great-uncle to the bride was standing outside of the bathroom reaching for the door handle to check on Jeremy when he heard a loud rush of air and a sound which brought him back to his days as an air traffic controller aboard the USS Hornet back in '43. with speed that surprised the eighty one year old man he swung the door opened and barreled inside of the room to find Jeremy standing there, looking around as if he was inspecting his surroundings. The noise was gone, but it was very cold in the bathroom, so cold that Michael buttoned his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself.
"Jeremy? Are you okay?" he received no response. Jeremy sighed heavily and closed his eyes saying the words "Free." In an alleviated tone. The voice, although belonging to Jeremy, had a different quality to it. It was too cold and sinister making Uncle Mike more than a little uneasy. "Jeremy?" he asked again. "Are you okay? We're all worried about you." Jeremy looked at himself in the mirror. He cupped his chin in his hand an seemed to inspect his face before turning his attention to the rest of his body in a sort of cursory check. "Yes." He said again with the tone. "This will do. This will do just fine."
"Jeremy?" Michael asked again, his voice faltering. He finally looked at Michael who gave an involuntary step back. His chest started to hurt.
"Hey, Mikey." Jeremy said. "I've never been better. How are you?" Michael's left arm hurt badly and it felt like a bus was parked on his chest.
"I…can't…breath." Michael groaned.
"Oh no?" Jeremy asked backing away so Michael could fall on the floor dead. Jeremy knelt next to Michael and reached inside of his jacket pocket to remove a pack of Camel non-filtered cigarettes, a brand that Michael had been smoking since he was in the Navy. Jeremy patted the dead Michael's nose with the pack. He was already turning gray.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that these things will kill ya, old man?" Jeremy asked before chuckling deeply.

Jeremy burst through the doors robustly right at the point when the Priest asked, "For if anyone can give a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace." He walked down the center isle, the heels of his dress shoes polished to a high sheen making a thunderous click-clack sound with each step. A cigarette hung between his lips and he took a long drag off of it as he approached the center of the congregation. All heads turned to see the man whom they all adored standing there smoking a cigarette and interrupting this special day. He stopped and removed the cigarette from his lips and held his arms out. From the perspective of those directly in front of him he was blocking out Jesus on the cross suspended in the air above the hall. He began to speak Latin and an exaggerated fashion.

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Te decet hymnus Deus, in Sion,
et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem.
Exaudi orationem meam;
ad te omnis caro veniet. Amen.

The Priest, a man of the cloth, was confused as to why Jeremy would speak the Requiem Aeternam. It was a chant for the dead, not for a wedding. He would know soon enough, they all would.
Jeremy went limp then as he stood acting as if he was the son of God on the cross. "Don't you just hate that prayer?" he said. "And as for reasons why these two should not be wed, allow me to give a few." One of the ushers stood and walked towards him, he was a friend of Jeremy's and he would take him outside to get some air but as he approached Jeremy touched his middle and index finger to his forehead and he went as stiff as a board, falling backwards to the floor, dead of a brain aneurysm. "Let me speak; reason number one. White." He said gesturing to the bride and her dress. "This girls seen more dick than a porn star." The groom went to step forward but Jeremy pointed at him too and he froze in place. "As for the groom, he cheated on her at his bachelor party, I should know, I was there." Everyone exclaimed their surprise and the father of the bride started to speak.
"I don't know what's wrong with you, but you better just-" he was cut off when Jeremy looked at him and said "Hush." The father of the bride fell back in his seat, choking on his own tongue. the father's wife was calling for help from someone but no one helped, they were all frozen in their seats. None were sure why, but they were all petrified. A deep seated emotional response to whoever stood before them, even Father Patterson.
"And then…" Jeremy seethed deeply. "We have the man who will marry them. A man of the cloth, a man to be trusted, a man who has sex with boys." Father Patterson's lips moved but produced no sound other than a light whimper and his eyes stared blankly ahead. Too afraid to look the man in the eye. Jeremy with a flick of his wrist brought the father's eyes to his. With a wink Father Patterson dropped dead to the floor. Jeremy walked out of the main hall, laughing as he went, as soon as he crossed the threshold he released the people from his spell and all sorts of screaming, crying, and cursing could be heard. Coming towards Jeremy was a man carrying an Assault rifle. It was Carol's old boyfriend from four years ago and he never got over her. He always said that if he couldn't have her than no one could. All that he needed was a push in the right direction, which is exactly what the thing did that currently inhabited Jeremy Smith's body. The ex walked right past Jeremy as if he didn't see him and walked into the main hall. Jeremy didn't look back but if he had then he would have seen the look on his fiancee's face as she pleaded for him to come back.
The doors slammed shut, and the ex boyfriend opened fire on the gathering of friends and family. The screams and retorts of gunshots followed Jeremy out into the parking lot and as he was crossing the street the Church of Saint Ann exploded. The resulting fireball stretched to the other side of the street, engulfing everything in its path, including Jeremy. But as it retreated back to its point of origin Jeremy emerged from the other side unscathed. He bent down and brushed a bit of dust from his shoe, straightened his tie and popped a cigarette between his lips. He lit it and it tasted good. He tried to remember the last time he tasted anything. Four, five centuries? He couldn't remember and it didn't matter. All that did was that the night was young, he had himself a good, healthy, young body that he could use to indulge until his proverbial heart gave out.
The reaper blew the smoke skyward and headed in a seemingly random direction as sirens started to intermix with the bleating of car alarms throughout the neighborhood.
It was good to be alive. Paste your document here...