Poison Gown

I always aim to write these as stand alone stories, but I think I didn't succeed this time! I recommend reading this one first. It is very short, I promise!

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Maybe if I sell it? Or burn it? Would that stop the nightmares?

Moving it to her mum's house hadn't helped. Tina sat in Mary's kitchen, gripping the note tightly.

"Mum?"

"Yes?" Mary smiled, as if this letter wasn't creepy. As if the gifted bridal gown wasn't strange. Might as well be cold white slime dripping down her body.

"Do you know who this woman is?"

Mary's smile stuttered, the light in her eyes dimmed.

"We should thank her, right?"

Tina felt it all over her body: this was important. She looked again at the picture of the beautiful woman wearing it. Just a normal photograph, so why did it feel... faded? Like when they show a picture of someone on the news because they've died.

"Can I hang on to this?" Tina stood, tea mug untouched, tucking the letter into her jacket. "Just until I've sent her a thank-you. And maybe a picture of me wearing it, what do you think?"

Mary's face lit up again.

"Oh, yes, that'd be lovely. You sure you're not too busy with the wedding?"

"Really, mum. I want to."

Tina left through the garage, pausing to rifle through the carboard recycling until she found the box the dress had been delivered in. She tore off the return address.

That week, she took a day off and drove to the woman's house.

Janis paled when she answered the door.

"Janis? Janis Bell? I wanted to thank you," Tina rushed the words out, afraid the door would shut in her face. "For the dress," she added.

"You'd better come in."

The hallway was gloomy. Every wall was covered with photographs of her daughter.

"What can you tell me about-" Tina hesitated, gesturing at the pictures on the walls.

"Clara," the woman said, her mouth drawn tight as if to stop her lips trembling. "She died."

Tina felt... nothing. It was like she'd already known. Words stuck in her throat. I'm sorry. That's terrible. How...?

"It was her man," Janis was saying, but Tina's gaze had fallen on a photo that showed Clara smiling in that dress on the arm of a handsome man. Tina felt the gut-punch of recognition.

That's Alec.

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Edit: I'm so sorry, but these days, as soon as a story starts atracting spam comments, I turn comments off.

Comments are still open on the story before this one, White Whispers

Word count excluding title, subtitle, and authors notes: 366

Submitted on Thursday 22nd August at 22:07

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This one continues my 235 day streak since 1st January.

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

Here's another one about wedding-y shenanigans:

A recent Runner Up placement for one of my Wanky Poems:

And now for something completely different:

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Thank you again!