The Brides of Halloween
by (Hidden)
Horror Story: “No Frankenstein. No groom at all. The Bride.” Angelina’s Halloween party is going well until the guests’ secrets start coming out of the Bride’s mouth. There’s a black woman in the same dress that nobody else can see, and she wants Angelina for her host. But wait, there’s more in store if you have courage enough to read on. In the words of the Bride, “Love has her little surprises.” In the words of authoress, “You’ve been warned. Here comes the MFing Bride.”
Tags: Mind Control Lesbian BiSexual Fiction Horror Humor Extra Sensory Perception Paranormal non-anthro Interracial Black Female White Male White Female
The wind blows wherever it pleases. So it is with her — seeding thoughts where she likes, giving words, giving toys, taking. Tanisha has found her next one. She’ll join the others inside her; there are tens of millions already, and not one of them is lonely.
“Listen up, every motherfuckin’ one of you, the Bride is here,” Angelina says. “Let’s get this party going.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a black woman, her dress the same as hers. A mirror image. When she turns to smile at her, she isn’t there.
It is her house, her party. All her friends are there, many of their chums as well. The house, inherited from a relative she met a few times, who died in the night two months ago. She only inherits the house because she’s the same as that side of the family, a free spirit beholden to no one. Fearless, speaking the truth, no matter who it hurts.
What a wonderful world!
“Such an audience as you folks need something stronger than a pretty little love story. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now is your chance to, uh ... well, I’ve warned you! So, buckle up, here we go,” she says. And launches into a tale to amuse, frighten, amaze, and befuddle her so-called friends.
“Knock, knock. Who’s there? It’s me, Darlings, the motherfucking Bride. Ha-ha, the jokes on you or me ... but my lovelies, that isn’t the half of it. I see green, motherfucking trees. Bloody red damn roses, too. And I think to myself, I’ve laid out all these goddamn drinks and food; none of you freeloading bastards and bitches are drinking or eating a finger-friggin’ thing. You think I’m mad, but if I am, so be it. Love has her little surprises. It’s enough to make imbeciles of us all.”
“To the Bride of Frankenstein,” one man, whom she’s never seen before in all her livelong days, says.
“No, sirree, I’d prefer you not call me that. No Frankenstein ... no groom a’tall. The Bride, plain and simple. If there’s another, she’s the Bride too. Something’s cracking; into my brain it’s creeping, why do I do all the weeping. It’s fucking terrible, but all I can do now is live and bring you people fear and trembling. ‘Tain’t it funny, if I’m sad, why do I chuckle so loud?” With that, she throws her head back and laughs until it hurts.
“Have you heard the one about the grave robber who brought Baron Frankenstein an enormous prick for his creature under construction? No, well, he said, ‘A bit large, isn’t it? I’m building a man, not a cathedral.’ Ha-ha.”
The group goes wild.
“Oh, what a wonderful vision I am ... Behold, this beautiful body; this isn’t science. It’s black magic. Ha, the magic came from Mary, not her motherfucking husband, Shelley, and presto ... Voilà, here I am.” The crowd laughs with her.
“Men say, ’You must trust me, and you must obey me!’ Women answer, ’I will not obey you! I will not!’ Once again, the men, ’Don’t provoke me, Bitch!’ ‘But I will provoke you!’ “One day you stinking cunt, you’ll go to sleep, and won’t wake up.’ ‘Bullshit, I can’t sleep that long.’ ‘Oh, yes you will.’ ‘You’re a man to be reckoned with, so when you sleep, I cut off your cock, slash your nutsack free, and feed you Jacobs Creamy Crackers.’ My, my, I have such unhealthy thoughts.”
The crowd isn’t sure what they should do. She chuckles and gazes over her captive audience. She has, after all, entertained the core group with wild, tall tales before.
“Um, y’all are a hard audience. I’m unsure,” she says. “No, yes. Hum...” Circling the group, locking eyes with each, with a twist of her hand, a knife appears; she slashes at air and returns to the center of the crowd. The knife, at some point, vanishes. And no one is sure when or if it is ever there.
“Where the fuck am I? Oh, I remember. Men of virtue, far and few between. Can’t spot a one of them out there. Must I cut you boys to make a point? Lesbians thrill the virtuous, immoral, and amoral man the same. Voyeuristic fun, but fuckin’ one, no, no, Nathan, never works. Lesbians have something to say. Me too! And I’m saying it for all of us.”
“No more fucking men.”
“Quite literally, don’t do that if you’re the same as me. If they all disappear tonight, ‘t’sn’t soon as I’d like. But that, my beautiful guests, is a joke. No, not really; it isn’t...”
Shading her eyes, the Bride scans the people. “Ha, ha, fooled you! It is...”
Gathering her thoughts, she starts over. “Let me see, shall I calculate or estimate? Which is right, one of you’s a cheapskate, one’s a flyweight, one of you gestates, one fixates, one of you’s on their dream date, holy prostrate, what a group. Oh, me, oh my, there’s a murderer among the sheep. Is it a he or is it a she, he she, which will it be? The winner of the grand prize is yet to terminate. I mean, be determined.”
“Where the fuck am I? Back to the past, and away we go ... For over two hundred years, I’ve struggled to gain my independence. Right inside this fucked up head, it’s happening as we speak.” She stabs her head several times as she says it.
“Hollywood ... all their fault. Those blasted movies fucked me up the ass. The Curse of Shelly plagued my author. She didn’t write it; he did and let her take the credit. It’s utter horseshit. But that’s what men say. Fuck you bastards all to hell. She wrote the stories, I know; I was there. I lived in her brain before I lived on the page. Only I didn’t live in his edited version of my own story.”
“Oh, woe is me, it’s all aye-aye, a tear in me eye, thy parting is such ... fuck that!”
Moving around, gesturing, she goes into a trance when the black woman reappears. ’So like your Aunt, my lover. Tell them the truth, you do it, reach into their minds, feed their secrets and lies to them in mouthfuls until they choke on their own rot.’
“Mm, what a delicious thought. Once again, the Curse of Shelly; the one concession she made was to kill her real hero off before I was born. Children, that’s me! Once Percy Bysshe Shelley died— what a fuckin’ name— she planned a sequel to set right what he fucked up. The Curse held too, and it killed her mind before it murdered her body.”
Circling around the room, keeping her eye on the black woman, she goes on, “The most complex thing known to man isn’t himself. It’s a woman, the single or collectively— women. We dumbfound you, and because of that, you destroy, crush, rape us, believing we’re the fairer, weaker race. It isn’t that we’re a different sex; we’re a different breed than you. More perfect. More beautiful. More intelligent. More forgiving. Loving. And you, being fuckin’ men, must conquer and control.
“I said it before, ’Oh, it’s magic. Do you believe in magic?’ Men can’t be satisfied with magic; they must pull the curtain back, break the hands of the magician, and stomp her tits for extra measure. And you call me, MONSTER. Fucking hell if I don’t wear the nom de plume well.”
On and on she goes, “People love a monster, so I’m back from the dead for all of you. Truthfully, I may provoke you! Death is a physical thing, not spiritual. You can’t kill me; I come back when you do.”
“Is it your first time?”
“That’s no question for a lady.” While the black woman eggs her on. “I am lesbian, watch me soar. Mary freaking Wollstonecraft Godwin fracking Shelley’s creation hasn’t perished. The authoress is alive and well and breathes life into my lungs. One moment to the next, there she is, in my head, in my soul, in the knife’s blade you think you see, then it’s gone.”
“I’m slain, throat slashed, guts pulled out; they puts it down to Jack’s work. She’s gone, she’s gone, never more to live.”
“Guess again. The world only thought I died. But I’m revived. Fiction no more, I’m flesh, I’m blood, and sexier than the rest of you.”
They think she’s doing an impression of the movie The Bride. She isn’t. “Dearest Mary, yada, yada, hides me away for my protection. Someday, my princess will come, and cum and cum and cum again. Ha-haw he-haw tee-hee, it’s fun and games as long as men have their way. Umm, for them, enjoyment. For us, not so much, jus’ mind games galore.
“Boys’ and girls’ bodies are easy to come by; souls ... not so straightforward. Souls live on; some don’t move on.”
“Prick me, do I not bleed? If you wrong me, shall I not revenge? If women are like men, we will resemble you in that. What is man’s course if humiliated? Revenge. Why, revenge. Why not? The villainy you teach me, I will implement on you, and it shall go hard for you. But I’ll be better in my instruction.”
A cold rushes through the room, but Angelina is the only one it touches. Spreading her arms, she shudders, shaking from head to toe. “Hell’s bells, that’s magnificent,” Angelina says. “A tongue jus’ took me to Nirvana. Doctor Franks, what do you want with a dead girl? To make love all night. Eeewwwee, that’s creepy. Franks, get it? The assumed name of Frankenstein, in Revenge. Or is it Evil?” Smacking herself on the forehead, “Revenge ... don’t you people read Shakespeare or watch scary movies?”
Turning to the other side, she locks eyes on a man she doesn’t know. “Hush, children, what’s that sound? It’s another man going to town. But she’s unwilling, and you’re a brute, so watch out, son; another revolution’s going down. And Dianna takes one look at you and says, ’Oh my ... here’s a man’s been mistreated in his life.’ The joke’s on her; you weren’t. You’re the one who dishes out bad therapies.”
“And boy-howdy, did you do them to her! Yeah, you’re her therapist. Break the word down, the rapist!”
Her mind bores into him; he’s violated, and he understands.
“How’d that feel, lover boy? Like a stab in your gut and a slash across your throat. That, sir, is resistance. It isn’t futile. Resistance to the tyranny of men is obedience to women’s free will.”
“We’ll bend you, we’ll break you, we’ll make you eat us out forevermore. You, sir, know exactly what I mean. Ya Putting on the Ritz, Monsterous fashion, ain’t cha? Yet another joke.”
With that, he rushes out the door, his partner, Angelina’s friend, scurrying after him.
“Stop, Dianna, is it something I said? You know he stuck it in your ass. No, no, it’s a joke, a pun, all in fun; why y’all leaving? Come back, you’re leaving me bleeding. Hun, you can love him till the end of time. It doesn’t cost a dime.”
The woman leaves even though it’s all the truth.
“A woman should do as she pleases, just like a man. Mary taught me that. But if I struck a nerve, I apologize. Hmm, I thought it was hilarious. You folks were laughing; you thought it was funny, right?”
“He doesn’t because he buries those whose lips open to others. Don’t worry, she’s safe, cause it’s another jest and they’re in on it. Had you going, didn’t I?”
The black woman smiles in the corner of the room. Angelina locks eyes with her, leering back at her. As the crowd claps, laughs, and closes in around her.
“Forgive me, I hurt her feelings. And I’m hogging all the slogging. Give a girl some room. It’s a party, but I’m not the center of it. Life’s hard. Alone is bad. Friends are good.” They part for her, and the black woman’s no longer there.
“By the way, before you get down and dirty behind my back, what do you think of my ripped and torn bridal dress? Isn’t it so 1930s chic? The black lady in the corner’s dress matches mine. Could it be weddin’ bells in my future? I think yes.”
They all agree with her. Despite that, the black woman in a wedding dress is nowhere to be seen.
“Enough bullshit, my lovelies. Mingle, eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we’re all hung over and saying, What the fuck...”
And so they did.
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