Chapter 4: The Bride's Stillness

Grandpa said, “Don’t panic, everyone. The bulb’s blown—I’ll change it.”

He grabbed his old flashlight with the cracked lens and climbed onto a creaky stool. The crowd parted, holding their breath. You could hear the rain dripping off his boots as he reached for the spare bulb above the register.

He swapped the bulb. The store was bright again.

When the lights snapped back on, everyone let out a collective sigh, tension leaking away. The hum of the coolers returned, a familiar comfort—if only for a second.

Jason sneered, glaring at the man. “Hear that? My wife spoke. Now get lost.”

He swaggered back to his table, chin high, daring anyone to argue. His friends snickered, the bravado returning with the lights.

The man’s face tightened. “That wasn’t the bride who spoke.”

His words killed the laughter. His eyes darted from face to face, desperate for someone to believe him.

Jason jabbed a finger. “Liar! That was my wife—everyone heard! Start trouble again and I’ll end you!”

His voice was cold—no more jokes. The threat in the room was thick as static before lightning.

Grandpa glared. “Son, it was Rachel’s voice. If you keep this up, I can’t help you. Leave now.”

He sounded older than ever, tired of the drama. His hand drifted to the Louisville Slugger behind the counter—a silent warning.

The man frowned. “Sir, I was born with sharp hearing. When the lights went out, the voice came from the southwest, but the bride sits in the north. It wasn’t her. Someone’s trying to use the corpse bride to kill.”

He scanned the room for support. All he found were hard, suspicious stares. People shifted in their seats, avoiding his gaze.

Thunder rattled the store, making my teeth buzz.

Someone muttered a prayer, knuckles white on the table’s edge.

Everyone traded uneasy looks, whispering among themselves.

Rumors crackled through the room—kids whispered, old ladies clutched their crosses, and the younger men looked ready to handle things if it came to that.

Grandpa scowled. “Son, leave now. Don’t stir up more trouble. If you anger the folks here, you won’t get out so easy.”

His tone was final. In a town like ours, the community’s word was law. Outsiders rarely got a second warning.

He started pushing the man toward the door, but the man wouldn’t budge.

The man pleaded, “Sir, if we don’t destroy the corpse bride, no one within fifty miles will survive.”

Desperation crackled in his voice. His hands shook, but he stood his ground—rooted by fear or conviction, it was hard to tell.

Grandpa snapped, “That’s enough! Get out!”

He shoved the man outside and slammed the door behind him. Outside, rain poured and darkness crept in.

You could hear the downpour hammering the roof, water running in rivers down the windows. The air inside felt heavy, as if the storm wanted in.

The man pounded on the door, voice muffled but desperate. “Sir, there’s something wrong with the bride! She hasn’t moved since I came in—like she’s nailed to the spot. She doesn’t look alive at all!”

Every word cut through the storm, nerves fraying. Folks started glancing at each other, unsure who to believe.

Thunder cracked, making everyone’s skin prickle.

A couple kids squealed, and grownups shushed them, eyes darting to the unmoving bride.

The townsfolk exchanged whispers, all eyes turning to the bride.

The room was quieter than a church on Good Friday. Even the air felt thick, like the whole store was holding its breath.

Jason barked, “What are you all looking at my wife for? She spoke—you heard it! Why believe that nut?”

He tried to sound mad, but his voice shook. His hand tightened on his beer, knuckles white.

Just then, the bride’s arm twitched.

My breath caught. Part of me wanted to run, but my feet wouldn’t move—like the whole store was glued to the floor.

A gasp swept the room, chairs scraping. For a second, hope flickered in Jason’s eyes—maybe it was all just nerves.

Jason tried to laugh, too loud. “See? My wife’s arm moved!”

The laugh bounced off the walls and died fast.

The man’s anxious voice called through the door, “It’s almost dark! The charm can’t hold much longer—let me in to destroy it!”

His voice was frantic. Outside, the sky was black, the last rays of sun gone. Inside, we all stared at the bride—praying she wouldn’t move again.