"Now then, Samantha," the bald minister said through gritted teeth, "For the thousandth time, do you take Dashiel to be your lawful, wedded husband or not?"
Sam crossed her arms and glared at her fiancée standing next to her. He had his arms crossed as well, but had his turned away from her, refusing to acknowledge her presence.
"I would like to go home and have dinner with my wife sometime TODAY, Samantha," Minister Lancer growled.
"Fine," she muttered.
"Samantha!" her mother shouted from her seat, "You're supposed to say, 'I do!'"
"I did!"
"You're supposed to say it the proper way!"
"At this point, I don't really care," the minister interrupted, "I'll accept a 'Fine.' Now, Dashiel, do you take Samantha to be your lawful, wedded wife?"
"Mother!" Dashiel whined.
"Dashiel, darling," Mrs. Masters answered through a smile that did not match her eyes, "We've talked about this. Just say, 'I do.'"
"But I don't-"
"I said say it!"
"Adventures of Huckleberry Finn!" Minister Lancer slammed the Bible shut, "I can't take it anymore! Do you two want to get married or not?!"
"No!" the couple shouted in unison.
"Then why are you wasting my time?"
"Forgive our children, Minister Lancer," Pamela said apologetically, "Their just having a bit of some pre-wedding jitters."
"Really, dearie?" Ida asked, "Is that what we're calling absolute contempt for each other now? Pre-wedding jitters?"
"Toss yourself off the bell tower, you useless windbag!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"As I was saying," Pamela continued as she patted Sam's hand, "The children are just a little nervous."
"I'm not a child!" Sam yanked her hand back.
"I assure you, they'll won't be able to get enough of each other at tomorrow's celebration."
"You think so, dearie? They certainly look like they've had quite enough of each other before we even arrived."
"The next celebration we'll be having is your funeral, you overgrown newt!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Mother," Sam said irritably, "Can't we please just forget about this stupid wedding business and go back home?"
"Samantha, you are home, remember?"
"Wait," Dashiel snapped, turning to his mother, "You mean I have to live with her, too? You didn't tell me that part!"
"Well, what did you think was going to happen?" Mrs. Masters snapped back, "You'd get marry and she'd just leave?"
"Yes!"
"Mother, please!" Sam pleaded.
"Samantha!" Pamela shouted, "I'm not going to be around forever!"
"You mean you're finally going back home to Hell, dearie?" Ida asked.
"You'll be the one going straight down to Hell if you don't shut up, you crazy old loon!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Your father and I can't take care of you forever! You're going to need a good, fine husband to take care of you!"
"You call Dashiel a good, fine husband? Besides, I don't need a husband! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Just let me show you!"
"Yeah!" Dashiel shouted, "Let her go die out there alone!"
"Dashiel!" his mother replied, "That is no way to talk about your future wife!"
"You're not going out there in this world by yourself!" Pamela continued, "Not until Hell freezes over!"
"Technically," Sam snorted, "It has. In Dante's Inferno, the last level of Hell is completely frozen over."
"That explains a lot," Ida said, "I'd thought the day my son would marry the devil's daughter would be the day Hell froze over."
"Go wheel yourself into a snake pit, you lumpy sack of onions!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"The Vanished Diamond," the minister muttered, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to lessen the pain of his incoming headache.
"You know what," Mrs. Masters finally said in a loud and authorative voice, "All of this wedding stress we're having is not helping us one bit. I say we take a break and try this reheasal again in an hour."
"Good idea!" Minister Lancer said quickly before muttering, "And I'll see if someone else can marry these loons."
Sam felt her mother grab her arm and drag her out of the church.
"Honestly, Samantha," she lectured, "What has gotten into you? I can't think of a more embarrasing display in this family."
"You mean besides from yourself, dearie?"
"Go jump into a frozen lake, you withering weed!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Nothing could possibly be anymore embarrasing-" Pamela stopped and looked down at her daughter's chest, "Samantha, where is your corset?"
"It was too tight," she answered, finally able to yank herself free, "I couldn't breathe in that stupid thing."
"Honestly, Samantha! You're supposed to wear a corset! How do you expect to be a proper lady if you don't wear a corset! Oh, I am so embarrased! Just imagine what Dashiel was thinking!"
"If Dashiel knew, dearie, I'd think he'd be a bit more eager to go on with the wedding," Ida chuckled.
"Throw yourself out the window, you chattering old witch!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"Besides," Ida continued, "I think Sam's got the right idea. Why do we need to wear these uncomfortable things anyway? I say burn them!"
She wheeled herself over to the nearest candle and grabbed it from its holder.
"Here, dearie," she said to Pamela, "Let's start with yours!"
The next thing Sam knew, she was watching her grandmother chase Pamela round and round the hallway in her wheelchair holding her candle like a torch, cackling madly all while her mother yelled insults as she fled from the old woman. Her father chased after the two while yet again attempting, though not succeeding, in controlling the chaos. Sam thought this would be a perfect opportunity to escape through the church doors right in front of her. As she exited through the doors, she could her grandmother sigh in frustration.
"Fine then, dearie. If you won't let me burn yours, then I'll burn mine!"
"Mother! Please don't!"
"You're even more insane than a mad hatter, you despicable dingbat!"
"Dear god, Mother! Put your corset back on!"
Sam paused to say a thankful prayer that she wasn't witnessing whatever was going on inside before breaking into a run. Where she was running, she didn't care, as long as it was away from the wedding. After a few moments, she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Still panting, she sank down underneath a cypress tree and leaned back onto its trunk. She looked around and noticed the tombstones surrounding her. This must be the graveyard she had seen at her arrival. When she was able to breathe comfortably again, she stood back up and slowly started to walk again, taking care not to disturb anything.
There was nothing really spectacular about this place. It looked just like all of the other cemetaries she had been unfortunate to visit during her relatives' funerals. Instead of bright flowers, thorns and branches covered each grave, their markers all weathered and cracked. Most of them weren't even readable anymore either due to caked dust and dirt or through forces of nature.
As she continued to walk, Sam noticed a spot of color at the corner of her eye. She turned her head and saw a group of bright purple and blue violets growing on top of one particular grave. Curious, she walked towards the site and read the tombstone. Unlike the all the others, this one was perfectly clear.
Daniel David Masters
April 4, 1864 - August 24, 1888.
"Oh my god," Sam gasped, "You died five years ago? What happened?"
A strong gust of wind pushed against her and caused her fall onto her knees, knocking the journal she had stowed away into her pocket onto the ground. As it landed, it flew wide open, allowing the wind to toss through its pages until it reached the final entry.
August 24, 1888.
Ever since Father died two weeks ago, I have felt nothing but dread everywhere I turn. My sister has told me that I'm just still in mourning and this feeling shall pass. I don't believe that and I can tell she doesn't believe it, either. She can feel it, too, and it's starting to scare her. She's too proud to admit it, but I can see it in her eues. I don't know what, but something is seriously wrong.
Sam finished reading the entry and then pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Great," she muttered, "As if I needed another reason not to marry Dashiel."
A soft breeze blew through her dark hair as if offering its sympathy to her predictament.
"You would probably make a better husband," she continued, "At least you sound smarter than him. I've got to admit, you look more handsome, too."
The gentle wind returned, playing through her hair.
"You're welcome. I hope we can meet someday when it's my turn to die. Wait, I've got it," She reached for her amethyst brooch fastened to her dress and placed it onto the grave. "We'll turn the tables on everyone. My parents might be able to force me to stay with Dashiel now, but they can't force me to stay with him in the afterlife. Now, you're my husband. And when I go into the afterlife, I'm staying with you!"
"Samantha!" she heard her mother call out, "Samantha, where are you? You were supposed to return to the church fifteen minutes ago!"
"Oh my, dearie," Ida sighed, "It's not true after all."
"What on earth are you babbling on about now, you old roach?"
"I thought witches couldn't walk across hollowed ground, but since you're doing just that, dearie, it must mean it's not true."
"I can't wait to toss you into one of these graves, you old prune!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
"I'd better get going," Sam sighed as she picked up the journal, "It won't be long before Mother finds me. See you in the afterlife."
As she walked towards the sound of her arguing family, another gust of wind blew across the grave and carried a violet along with it. She held out her hand as the violet gently landed into her outstretched palm. She smiled down at the flower for a moment before tucking it behind her ear. Tonight, she would have find a way to pin it into her hair. But right now, she had best not keep her mother waiting.
"Tell me, dearie, do stakes and crosses not work for vampires as well, or is it just you?"
"I'm going to dance upon your grave when you die, you wheezing old raisin!"
"Mother! Pamela!"
