The Visitor

Fiery patches of red and orange cloth hung in the trees, and the happy murmur of music and laughter bubbled through the forest. The crowd of friends and family lulled to a respectful silence as the bride paused on the blossom laden path.

The white of her smile could be seen even beneath her veil, red for the season when she met her match, contrasted by the black of her plaited hair. Hands reached out to touch her shoulders, arms, the length of her dress, welcoming her to the new age of her life. Her loved ones hummed in unison. Her heart beat faster. The world was a misty haze under the crimson veil and her breath was hot beneath it. She looked up, her beloved giving her a strained look. She reached him, clasping his outstretched hand.

Someone grabbed her elbow but she didn’t look back. The pair stood facing each other under a braided archway of ocean bleached branches and tiny colorful wildflowers. The crowd hummed a traditional celebratory song, and something cracked under the groom’s flowing tunic. The song didn’t break, but something now bubbled under his skin.

A person in the crowd gasped. The bride looked up at his face in love, just as the fabric of his tunic split and his mouth opened up in a silent scream. His face exploded.

The crowd moved in a frenzy, tripping over each other, screaming. A hairless monster moved through the groom’s body, opened up through his face and rippled out in a bloody mist through his ruined skin.

Beneath the red veil the bride blanched, ripping herself backwards in horror. She struggled beneath his grasp as the face of her lover was strewn away, replaced with gnashing, too sharp teeth. She screamed. It didn’t matter. She struggled and turned towards the crowd filled with her friends and family.

Someone. Anyone. Help.

Her mother’s scream rippled through the sun soaked wood as she reached for her daughter. The groom's claws ripped through cloth and skin and he sunk his unholy maw into the tender part of her neck, interrupted only by the silver of a tiny heart shaped locket.

It was red she saw at the end, her tears mixed with her blood pooling into the crimson of her dress.

…

Thursday bit down on her lip thoughtlessly as she gazed, bored, at the expanse of the Cradle. From her gargoyle perch atop a high backed stool, she had a better view of the flat expanse of the wet world beyond than from her stationed post behind a faded counter.

Every day the same. And yet, she watched. Any hint of movement caught her gaze. Any stranger that passed by the manor a rare and welcomed distraction. This was the only stop for a hundred miles, but no one really bothered to take the path of the Cradle anymore.

What once had been a sacred pilgrimage was now a nuisance, rarely traveled although it was the most direct route from the coast. Lazily boarded fences stretched across most parts of the expanse, although they were more for appearances than anything.

Anyone could make their way in, she thought. It’s evident enough by the amount of bodies that turn up here.

A glance behind her shoulder, though she knew it was silly.

And anything could make its way out.

Latil padded out from the spot in the sun where he slept. He blinked in the afternoon light, a single slitted pupil gazing up to peer into her own.

„Good morning, lazy.“

„It’s not my fault you two legs are born without knowing the importance of naps,” he purred.

Movement on the horizon caught Thursday‘s gaze. Something moved close to the end of her vision, so slow it was impossible to tell if it was coming closer or inching further away. Latil followed her gaze, saying hopefully, „It had better be a pig. I‘m tired of your green things.“

„Then go to the wilds to hunt!“ Thursday shot back.

„Spoken by one who only pretends she is brave enough to tread there herself.“ Thursday hopped off the stool, pushing it behind the faded blue black wood of the counter.

„I‘m off to tend the place, try not to waste your whole day sleeping.”

“It’s only wasting if you consider it so,” Latil lazily dragged his black tongue over a powerful paw.

…

The garden was lush and teeming with life. Hot, thick air clung to Thursday’s skin and she breathed in deeply, relishing the moisture. With restraint, the water she breathed back out was in its original form, in the air. She could not afford the price of using magic for anything other than utilitarian purposes.

With a sigh she sat on a bamboo corded matt and tended the herb garden, the stalks breaking with a satisfying crunch. Sweat dripped from the crooks of her dark elbows by the time Thursday’s messily woven basket was full of fat berries, the sun high in the sky.

She looked to the horizon, to the shape now almost discernible just as Latil burst from the black wooded wide doors of the manor.

“Blood,” Latil snarled out, head whipping about, a predator’s gaze focusing ahead.

“Get inside and stay there,” Latil ordered.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Thursday retorted, basket discarded and hand already reaching for the knife at her thigh. Without waiting, Latil pounded through the dew wet grass, steam pouring through the undergrowth.

A person. Latil halted in front of them, tail swishing, back arched. Not far behind, Thursday gasped. It was a girl. The most beautiful girl Thursday had ever seen. For a moment Thursday lost her footing, cold terror twisting her gut. The girl before her was red. Red, and wet, and drenched head to her bare feet in blood, save for the nearly indistinguishable glint of silver around her neck.