book-reviews – The Getting Literal Writing Alcove

Tradition remembers what reason forgets.

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Sea salt drifted onto the pews in the cliffside chapel of Southstorm, the crystals settling without belonging.

The once proud hues of the walls had dulled into silence –no one crossed the chapel’s threshold on Sundays any longer. No weddings. No one attended services.

The locals spoke of Lucinda Blighton, a young, fresh-faced bride whose abrupt disappearance stunned the seaside town in 1963.

No wedded bliss in the chapel after Lucinda –they said that she took a long walk to the centre of the sea before anyone could take wedding photos.

Lucinda Blighton and her fiance strode arm-in-arm into the chapel, taking in its once-majestic altar and ornate stained-glass windows.

“Let’s do it here,” Lucinda’s voice rose –she couldn’t hide her girlish excitement.

“But what about them?” Her fiance, David, pointed to a local janitor sweeping the pews too quickly. “Lucinda, a local pub owner cornered me on the street yesterday. He sensed I didn’t belong here.”He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “He mentioned the Sunburned Bride –she appears at every wedding that takes place here.”

Lucinda wrapped her hands around his fingers. “Don’t tell me they quashed the sceptic in you!”

June 9th arrived –thoughtfully chosen. A cameraman stood at the entrance of the chapel, ready to stream the ceremony live on YouTube.

The camera captured the toll of the wedding bells. David, his gallant charm enhanced by his Armani wedding tux. A blushing Lucinda stood nervously in arm with her father, ready to grace the aisle.

The leaves on the surrounding trees began to rustle –too energetically. Static warped the footage –Cameraman James couldn’t capture anything.

“I take thee, Nelson, to be my wedded husband.” Lucinda giggled. “And you, David, will be number two.”

Shock filled Reverend Jones’ stare. He refused to finish the vows.

Heat shimmered in the centre of the flame. Then, a comely female figure, soft face half-shrouded beneath a veil.

Scorched.

On the screen of everyone’s mobile –and nowhere else.

David’s tux wrapped tighter around his neck. He choked on the seawater rushing up his throat.

The Sunburned Bride’s yell was that of a Banshee’s -newly released.

Her voice? Lucinda’s.

She continued speaking through her sneers. “You promised, David, you promised!”

Lucida’s fiance shared the same name as hers –the one who left her at the altar.

It wasn’t David’s kiss she wanted –it was his name.

From before.

Saltwater trickled from his eyes –but he wasn’t crying.

The chapel was deathly silent, save for the whispering wind –and a broken vow.

The moment was fleeting.

Lucinda was once more Lucinda –no more irreverent, just speechless.

David didn’t appear in the footage. No trace of him. No shadow. No scream.

His tux, carefully folded, lying on the altar.

The locals sealed the chapel once more.

Lucinda never said another word. Her eyes stayed glued to the sea, looking for David.

A council ordinance banned all weddings

The locals bricked the door. On a sign –“No vow past the 8th.”

But the chapel still hummed every June–“David.”

Not all ghosts scream. Some whisper –until someone answers them.

It wasn’t rage that kept her–it was the wait.

The forever wait.

If you say I Do in June, your eyes must watch –for hers.

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Tag: book-reviews

The Sun-kissed Bride