MicroHorror

The man handed the bride a champagne glass. She raised it and drank merrily.

“May I have a dance with the bride?” he said.

The man was tall and good looking, with dark hair and brown eyes. He looked to her vaguely familiar, but she could not place him. He could have been one of the cousins of her many bridesmaids, or a brother of her classmate. She just couldn’t be sure.

But as he extended his hand to her, he smiled. He seemed harmless enough.

And it would be disrespectful not to allow him to have this one dance with her, wouldn’t it?

She looked around and saw her new husband in a corner of the room, laughing with some of his groomsmen. He was too far away for her to catch his eye. She realized that the man had taken her hand and was gently steering her to the dance floor.

Zasha caught a glimpse of herself in one of the overhead mirrors. She almost did not recognize herself in all the finery. The wedding gown held every ounce of her body in place. Her bare shoulders and arms were the only things that were not constricted. Even her hair was done up with a tiara in the front, the veil spilling from the back.

The partygoers were loud and happy. She sighed as the man swept her up in a casual embrace and started to dance with her to the slow music. He hummed softly, his voice a smooth baritone.

“I assume you’re a friend from my husband’s side of the family?” she said lightly. And she lifted her head, punctuating her words with an almost businesslike smile.

“Oh, I’m afraid not.”

“Do you know my Father?”

His smile was gentle. The kind of smile you’d give a child who doesn’t understand you.
“No. I’ve come for you.”

Now she was feeling truly alarmed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Just as she was about to pull away, he turned her in his arms and pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ve come here for you, Zasha. I gave you a little something. An antidote. You’ll see; it will start to happen soon. When they die… and they all will die… I want you to come to me. I will be on the only ship left in the harbor.”

He let go of her and ran out the door.

She ran behind him, as best she could in her dress. And when she felt hands pulling her backwards, she nearly screamed.

It was her husband, Matthew.

“Zasha, where do you think you’re going, woman?” he teased. And he kissed her mouth and held her tight. The crowd clapped and screamed in approval at their display of affection.

She said nothing. It seemed insane. As the night wore on, more dances, more kissing, more wine, she was almost able to put it out of her mind. Soon the time came for Zasha and Matthew to return to their bungalow for the evening.

In the room, they drank more. They made love and afterwards stared through the window to the stars out on the shore.

Zasha only noticed the masthead of a single ship as she drifted off to sleep. But by then it was too late.

When she woke, Matthew lay still beside her.

Too still.

She cried and screamed and called his name. But he was dead.

She left the bungalow and began to search the island, looking for help.

And there was no one. Every single person she came across was dead. Some in the streets. Some in their beds. When she reached the banquet hall she screamed. Some of the people had fallen at the very tables, looking almost as if they’d fallen to sleep.

But they were not.

She turned towards the harbor, remembering the words of the stranger. Only a single ship was docked there.

And she knew he would be waiting for her.

• Copyright: © 2008 Lori Titus