Chapter 3: The Wedding of the Dead

“I don’t know. The photo’s in his house. If you’re interested, we can go together.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t find my body, or figure out why I couldn’t move on. I could only let Tyler bind my soul to his side, unable to break free. The old man followed me and Tyler home, waiting for tomorrow’s candle-lighting and the opening of the memorial, hoping to discover the truth. I felt a strange sense of relief, not being alone anymore.

He whistled a tune as he floated along, hands in his pockets. I almost laughed—if I could. It was strange, having company again, even if it was another ghost. For a moment, I didn’t feel so lost.

I stood beside Tyler again, looking around for the old man, but didn’t see him—he must be hiding. Tyler wasn’t in a suit today, just a gray tracksuit I’d never seen before, starting the ritual. When did he buy this? It looked all wrong on him.

The tracksuit looked out of place—he always preferred jeans and button-downs. Maybe he was unraveling more than I realized. I watched him, wondering if I’d ever really known him.

The burning on my wrist yanked me out of my thoughts. This time, even in the daytime, the red cord connecting our wrists was clearly visible, pulsing faintly. I flexed my fingers, feeling the tug, wondering if I’d ever be free.

“Mariah, tonight we can have the wedding.”

Tyler looked deeply at the photo, but his gaze seemed to look through it, as if searching for something else. I felt a chill.

His voice was soft, almost gentle, but his eyes were cold. The words sent a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Maple wood wards off evil, railroad spikes bind the soul, then suppress with a soul-sealing circle. With a mark over the ‘life’ word, your road to the afterlife is cut off.”

The old man appeared, shaking his head as he stroked his beard. “Adding red cord and human blood to deepen the bond, then a ghost wedding—you can bind the soul for generations, borrowing luck to nourish yourself. This method is clever, but cruel!” He sounded almost impressed, but there was disgust in his voice. He leaned in, whispering like he was sharing a secret. “Most folks don’t go this far. Takes a real twisted heart.”

Binding the soul and borrowing luck? The words stabbed into my heart. Even though I was dead, the pain was worse than when the railroad spikes pierced my chest. I didn’t know when Tyler learned such sinister arts, and hated him even more for being so ruthless to me—leaving no way out.

I clenched my fists, wishing I could cry, wishing I could scream. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. My thoughts raced.

“Girl, calm down! Don’t become a vengeful spirit.” The old man quickly sent out a white light, and warmth enveloped me, gradually calming me down. “Once you become a vengeful ghost, it’ll be even harder to move on.”

The light felt like a hug, softening the sharp edges of my anger. I let it wash over me, breathing in and out, even if I didn’t need to. I tried to steady myself.

“Sir, is there a way to break the spell?” I watched Tyler walk through my body into the bedroom, then turned to ask the old man. My voice was barely a whisper.

“There is. If you find your body and pull out the railroad spikes, the spell will break.” He thought for a moment, then offered the solution. His words gave me hope, a flicker of light in the darkness. I clung to it, desperate.

“But I’m trapped in the house. Even when the red cord appears and I can follow Tyler out, I can’t go more than ten feet from him. How can I find my body?”

The limitations were suffocating. Every time I tried to stray, pain yanked me back, like an invisible chain. I wanted to scream.

“His next step is a ghost wedding. When the coffin is opened, you’ll see your body.”

The idea of seeing my own corpse made my stomach turn. But if it was the only way, I’d do it. Anything to break free.

“But he’ll be dead by then—what’s the point of a ghost wedding?”

I remembered what the old man said last night: that Tyler would die and his soul scatter in ten days. My heart clenched.

The thought of losing him, even after all this, made my heart ache. Love and hate tangled together, impossible to separate.

“I’m curious too. Fine, I’ll go with you. Let’s see what your fiancé is really up to.”

The old man stroked his white beard, his expression relaxing into a smile. Luckily, there was hope. Luckily!

He winked at me, as if this were all some grand adventure. I almost smiled.

Tyler didn’t drive. The old man and I followed him, changing buses several times, finally reaching Maple Heights at dusk. Under rolling black clouds, even in summer, the huge wooden archway gave me chills. The road into the village wasn’t far, and soon we arrived at his parents’ house. The air smelled like rain.

The town looked frozen in time—old houses, sagging porches, the smell of rain in the air. I shivered, remembering childhood ghost stories whispered around campfires. This place was straight out of one.

Tyler’s parents looked haggard, cheeks sunken, both physically and mentally exhausted. Tyler took my memorial photo from his bag and placed it on the mantel. Their eyes darted around the room, never settling on the photo for long. I wondered if they saw anything when they looked at me.

“Dad, Mom, it’s time. Let’s have the wedding tonight!”

His tone was calm, almost bored, like he was talking about a stranger. Mrs. Grant nodded, hope flickering on her face, while Mr. Grant sat smoking a corncob pipe, pain etched deep in his eyes. No one showed regret at the sight of my memorial. It was like I was already gone.

The room was thick with tension. The smell of tobacco mixed with old wood and dust. I waited for someone to protest, to say something, but no one did. The silence was heavy.

“Girl, who’s the memorial next to yours?”

The old man’s question made me look away from Tyler’s parents to the left of my photo. I felt a prickle of dread.

[In Loving Memory of the Deceased Son Travis Grant]

Travis—not my enemy, but I died because of him. I gritted my teeth and told the old man, “That’s Travis, Tyler’s twin brother. Before nailing me down, Tyler admitted the whole family conspired to kill me to use my lifespan to revive Travis.” The words tasted like acid. I watched the old man’s face darken, his eyes narrowing.

“Impossible to revive. The blood in this house is thick; Travis’s soul is probably being nourished by his parents’ blood.”

As soon as he said that, Tyler’s parents rolled up their sleeves and cut their skin, dripping blood into the candleholder in front of Travis’s photo. Their forearms were covered in scars. The sight made my stomach twist. The blood sizzled as it hit the wax, the smell metallic and raw. They did it without flinching, like it was just another chore.

“Can Travis really be revived?” After rolling down her sleeves, Mrs. Grant looked sorrowful, and Mr. Grant’s eyes were full of pain.

“Don’t worry, Mom. The book says Travis won’t die—just wait until after the wedding.” Tyler comforted her softly. His words sounded rehearsed, like he’d said them a hundred times before. Mrs. Grant clung to them, desperate.

“To be unfilial is to bury one’s own soul. Does Tyler want the family destroyed?” The old man stroked his beard, thinking, then asked, “Girl, how did Tyler kill you?”

“He tied me up while I slept, then used nine rusty railroad spikes dipped in black dog blood to nail my mouth, palms, soles, eyes, crown, and heart.”

The memory made my skin crawl. I could still feel the cold metal, the weight of his hands pinning me down. I shivered.

“Was the heart nail hammered eighteen times?”

“Yes.”

Remembering the pain and despair, even now as a ghost, I couldn’t stop trembling. My whole body shook.

The old man put a gentle hand on my shoulder, steadying me. His touch was cool, but grounding. I took a shaky breath.

“Your ghost wedding partner isn’t Tyler, but Travis. But this Travis isn’t the real Travis.”

I asked for clarification, but the old man wouldn’t explain—only saying the truth would be revealed when the coffin was opened. I could only wait, nerves buzzing.

His words echoed in my mind, a riddle I couldn’t solve. I watched Tyler, watched his parents, watched the shadows grow longer. The waiting was torture.

Back at the house, Tyler didn’t eat or drink, rarely spoke, just sat in his room with his eyes closed. The old man and I kept watch over the memorial in the living room. I tried calling Travis’s soul from the photo, but the old man said there was no ghostly aura—his soul wasn’t there. The house felt emptier than ever. I listened to the tick of the old clock, the creak of the floorboards, waiting for something—anything—to happen. My mind spun.

I stared at the photo. This Travis isn’t that Travis? Nothing made sense. My thoughts whirled.

Something seemed to flicker in my mind, but I couldn’t grasp it. Travis, Tyler… The names tangled together, just out of reach.