Something Borrowed, Something Blood-Soaked

by Christa Carmen

  Belinda flicked her wrist. The hologram church disappeared, as did the smoke. The dolls’ ruined bodies remained in pieces on the table. The black-eyed Mother-and Father-dolls disappeared into Belinda’s pocket.

  “Annie, Abbie, get your things. Your mother and father will be home soon, and we have to be gone before they are.”

  “Can’t we wait for them to come back to say goodbye?” Abbie asked.

  Annie placed a hand on her sister’s arm. “No, Abbie. We can’t.” She helped Abigail off the couch. “We will leave something for them to remember us by,” Annie finished, sounding more grownup than she felt.

  Belinda smiled her peculiar, partial smile. “Whatever you think is best, my Daughter.”

  —

  Annie struggled to dress Abigail as her mother had always done.

  “Don’t cry, Abbie. You saw what they did. We have to go with Belinda. It’s the only way.”

  “But why?” Abigail asked miserably. Annie didn’t answer. Stay strong.

  When their bags were packed, Annie clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The only illumination came from a sliver of moonlight refracting through an otherwise murky window.

  Belinda appeared in the doorway.

  “All ready, I see,” Belinda said. “That’s good.” Sirens wailed in the distance. “We have less time than I thought and must be on our way. As Annie said, if parents cannot be relied upon to do right and teach their children the same, then those children have no duty to fulfill their roles as daughters.”

  Annie regarded Belinda through the darkness. The babysitter pulled something from the folds of her dress.

  “Come along, Annie, Abigail. Do not fret. This will be the last night the dark doings of your parents can threaten to stain your souls, a night after which the morning promises to be brighter. You have each other. And you have me. And I’ll give you one thing more. Think of it as a shield, if you will. A prayer to ward off evil…” She held out the torch to Annie and with a flick of her wrist, lit its tip.

  As Annie led her sister from the only home they’d ever known, touching the licking fire to the curtains, the couch, the coats, as they passed, Belinda recited the verse:

  My kin, their souls were dark and deep,

  They prayed their secrets I would keep.

  And now we’ve left, daughters no more,

  And pledge to even out the score.

  With that, the dark-eyed babysitter beckoned the two sisters forward, to decry dolls and death.

  ALL SOULS

  OF EVE

  STAVE ONE

  JACK’S DEPARTURE

  Eve’s ex-boyfriends were dead to begin with.

  Three dead exes is a terrible track record, but Evelyn, Eve, Jacobs—twenty-nine years old and still a sucker for a suit and a smile—had terrible taste in men; you will, therefore, permit me to postulate that Frank, Jim, and Adam each succumbing to his respective vice would not come as much of a shock.

  Did Eve know how that Ebenezer story went? Of course she did. How could it be otherwise? With everyone from the local theater company to the Muppets doing their part to usher the story into the twenty-first century, she’d seen countless takes on the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.

  I mention this because Eve was not only skeptical of the existence of ghosts, she found the prospect of an apparition visiting you with the intention of saving your soul while you were in your nightgown ridiculous. Hell, her grandfather was a real-life Scrooge and Eve would have bet the equivalent of the man’s fortune that, if a ghost proposed he share his wealth and promote good cheer or be cast into an early grave, the old man would have knocked the spirit right back out of whatever window it had gained admittance through.

  So Eve thought that Dickens’ old penny-pincher was a fine morality tale to tell the kiddies, but that there was no more truth to three specters appearing to change the fate of the protagonist than there was to a Jedi Knight, a Wookiee, and a few droids saving the galaxy from an evil empire.

  By the time a trio of ghosts had gathered on Eve’s balcony to argue over the fate of her soul, Eve would have an entirely different estimation of the supernatural. But alas, I am getting ahead of myself on this All Hallows’ Eve, and patience you must have.

  Once upon a time—of all the good days in a woman’s life, on the night before her wedding—Eve sat busy at her computer desk. She’d finally convinced her mother, an aunt, her best friend, and two cousins to depart for the evening, and only her sister—the maid of honor—remained by her side, looking over Eve’s shoulder at a seating chart that had become more convoluted over the last hour, not less.

  “What if we put Grandma Irene here?” Cara pointed to an empty space at a table where their Great-Aunt Louise and several of their mother’s work colleagues were already stationed.

  Eve squinted, rubbing her temple, and looked up at the younger woman. “Could you please take this home and finish it for me? I can’t look at another menu or playlist without my head exploding.”

  Cara managed to look both sympathetic and put upon. “I haven’t been out in town since Michael and I got together. I was planning on hitting the bars for a while, you know, see and be seen?”

  Eve dropped her head to the desk and groaned. “You suck,” she mumbled through a curtain of hair. “I did everything for you when you and Chris got mar—”

  “All right, all right, email it to me and I’ll make sure it’s done by tomorrow. Nothing like guilting a woman into doing your pre-wedding dirty work by mentioning the unmentionable.” Cara sighed. “I don’t know why you left everything until the last minute anyway.”

  Footsteps sounded overhead and Cara turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Who’s here?’

  Eve inspected the clasp of one of the bracelets around her wrist.

  “Don’t tell me Jack’s upstairs!”

  Kneading her forehead with the heel of her hand, Eve still said nothing. The footsteps grew louder and Cara glared at the landing as she waited for her sister’s fiancé to appear.

  “What’s all the goddamn racket?” Jack’s mouth twisted into a sneer so slight as to be almost imperceptible, but Eve knew the presence of Cara, hands on hips and ready for combat, was not what Jack wanted to see upon descending the stairs.

  “What are you still doing here?” Cara demanded. “You and Eve are supposed to sleep apart the night before the wedding.”

  “Calm down, I’m getting out of here now. It’s early, anyway.” He shifted his attention to Eve. “Have you seen my golf clubs?”

  “Golf clubs?” Cara’s voice rose to a screech. “You’re getting married tomorrow, when the hell do you have time to play golf?”

  Jack addressed his explanation to his soon-to-be-wife. “The ceremony’s not until five, so the guys are taking me in the morning.”

  Eve let out a deliberately measured breath. “I think they’re in the front room of the basement.”

  “Great.” He made as if to head that way, then turned back. “What about that gift card for the Winnapaug course? Seen that lying around?”

  Eve closed her eyes in thought. “Kitchen desk, middle drawer on the left.”

  Jack hurried from the room, ignoring Cara’s pointed stare. When he’d gone, Cara said, “Are you sure you don’t want to come out for a bit? Or at least have me and Michael come back here to keep you company? Just because Jack’s not supposed to be with you doesn’t mean you have to be alone.”

  Eve pushed back from the desk and yawned. “I’ll be fine, Car, really. I’m going to pour some vino, take a bath, and hopefully get enough sleep for these circles under my eyes to disappear.”

  Cara’s skepticism was written in the tilt of her head, the discerning expression on her face.

  I want to be alone, Eve thought, surprised by the anger that had bloomed within her. Why is that so hard to understand?

  “Okay,” Cara said, still sounding uncertain. She collected her purse and jacket from the couch, and peered ou
t the window into the waning sunlight. “Make sure Jack doesn’t stay much longer. And I’ll finish the damn seating chart, so don’t worry about that.”

  “Thank you. Have fun tonight. And don’t go too crazy. You’ve got a wedding to be in tomorrow.” Eve wrapped her sister in a hug.

  She saw Cara out and sank onto the couch. Still rubbing her pounding head, Eve had decided to skip the wine when Jack appeared in the doorway. “You find the gift card?”

  When Jack didn’t answer, Eve looked up.

  He was red-faced, practically vibrating with rage. He held a piece of paper in one hand, and forced a rueful, sarcastic chuckle Eve didn’t like the sound of.

  “What’s that?” Even as she asked the question, Eve realized what Jack held, what he’d found in the left-hand drawer of the kitchen, right where she’d directed him. How could I have forgotten that was in there?

  “Do you want to attempt to explain this? Or can we cut the shit and move right to the part where I call you a liar?”

  “Hey!” Eve exclaimed, but she was stalling for time.

  “Hey, what? Hey, you caught me, or hey, just kidding, Jack, even though we agreed we weren’t in a position for me to quit my fucking job and fuck around as a graphic designer without a single client signed up, I went ahead and copyrighted my stupid company name anyway?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t quit my job. I was playing around.”

  “Playing around, huh?” Jack took three long strides and shoved the paper in her face. “You paid sixty-five dollars for a copyright license. Tell me how that’s playing around.”

  Indignation caused Eve’s cheeks to flush, but she felt panicky, too, that Jack was really upset with her, despite her benevolent intentions. “It’s sixty-five dollars. I don’t think it’s going to break us.’

  “Coupled with the cost of this fucking wedding, it might.”

  Eve jumped to her feet and stalked across the room toward the bar. She took a bottle of red from beneath the cabinet, slid a long-stemmed glass from the rack above, and poured herself a generous serving. She pointed the bottle in Jack’s direction and raised an eyebrow in offering.

  He scoffed. “Enter Mrs. Fix-it. Always trying to smooth things over.”

  “How terrible of me to want things to be smoothed over between us the night before our wedding.” She swigged from her glass.

  “You only want things smoothed over because you’re the one who fucked them up. We talked about this. How will we be able to start a family if you’re working for yourself? That’s if you’ve even done well enough to have amassed any clients. You haven’t done that type of design work since right after college, when you were dating that chain-smoking loser of a deejay. You can’t—”

  Jack stopped abruptly and shook his head in disgust. “I’m not doing this right now. As your ever-helpful slut of a sister pointed out, we’re not even supposed to be under the same roof tonight. I wonder if she and Chris abided by that rule, or if she’s planning on doing better with Michael this time around.”

  He slipped into his coat and patted his pocket for his keys. “I’ll be at Clayton’s tonight, and on the golf course in the morning. Only call if you really need something. I think we could use the time apart tonight.”

  Eve felt a storm system move into her stomach and begin to churn.

  He’ll realize he’s overreacting before he leaves and tell me that he loves me. He’ll tell me we’re going to make this marriage work, that the graphic design company has potential, and that he doesn’t want to spend the night before our wedding upset with one another.

  Jack brushed past her, slipped outside without looking back, and slammed the door.

  Eve sat motionless on the couch for half an hour. When she was certain Jack would not be returning—that no apology was forthcoming—and with nothing else to do but carry on as if a lamentable but not entirely unexpected fight had not occurred the evening before their nuptials, she went upstairs to draw a bath.

  She swiped the remote from Jack’s side of the bed so she could flip through the channels while the tub filled. A movie was beginning; the guide identified it as All Hallows’ Eve.

  “Damn,” she said, remembering the holiday for the first time in hours.

  She ran back downstairs, set the candy out on the porch, and returned to the bedroom to immerse herself in the plot of a murderous clown, a VHS tape, and an unsuspecting babysitter on Halloween night.

  STAVE TWO

  THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

  By the time Eve peeled her eyes from the on-screen bloodbath, the water in the tub had gone cold. She drained two thirds of it, set the tap to scalding, and refilled her wine glass from the bottle on the floor. She then returned to her spot on the bed to witness the babysitter’s fate.

  The film ended as the water hit the emergency drain. Eve let the robe puddle around her feet, slid into the tub, and closed her eyes. As the heat eased the tension from her muscles, her mind drifted from psychopathic clowns to floral centerpieces, then blended the two, horror film melding with impending matrimony; mutilated bridesmaids ran from reception halls filling with blood, as if an elevator in The Overlook Hotel had opened onto the room.

  She smiled at the macabre slideshow her harried brain had produced.

  “You know,” came a voice from the edge of the tub, “you were always so pretty when you smiled.”

  Eve’s eyes flew open and she beheld Frank Quattrochi, ex-boyfriend from another life. Dead ex-boyfriend from another life. Eve yelped and pulled her knees to her chest, causing a small tidal wave to slosh over the side of the claw foot tub.

  “What the—? How are you—?” Eve looked to her half-drunk third glass of wine, and wondered if the mixture of stress, alcohol, and heat was causing her to hallucinate.

  Frank smiled. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Frank shrugged. “It’s All Hallows’ Eve. I’m here because I can be. The boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds is thin, so I’ve come to see you before you embark on the darker half of the year. And, incidentally, on your marriage.”

  Eve relaxed slightly. I’m speaking with someone I shouldn’t have ever been able to speak with again. She noticed that the water she’d displaced had gone through Frank to the floor below, and quickly looked away.

  “Can you hand me that towel and robe?”

  He held them out to her. Eve contemplated getting into the robe wet then figured that not only had Frank seen her naked before, he was also, somehow, a ghost and had likely witnessed her getting into the bath.

  She dried off and followed Frank out of the bathroom. There was a balcony off the master bedroom, and this was where Frank steered her now. She stood next to him by the railing and watched in amazement as he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

  “You didn’t get enough of those on your suicide mission here on Earth?”

  Frank shrugged again. “No point in not smoking now.” He looked to the street below. “How’s life?”

  “How’s life?” Eve laughed. “You come back from the dead after ten years and all you can ask is, how’s life?”

  Frank’s dark eyes crinkled. “How’s this, then? Do you miss me?”

  That was a more interesting question. “I’m not sure.”

  “You loved me once, right?”

  Eve bit the inside of her cheek. “Once, yes. That was a long time ago though.”

  Frank looked at her as if no time had passed at all. He held out his hand. “Let me refresh your memory.”

  Despite her trepidation, Eve lifted her hand from the rail, and reached for Frank’s.

  As their fingers intertwined, the moonlit balcony blurred. A moment later, it winked from existence. When Eve’s vision refocused, she was standing in the doorway of a darkened room. She turned, found Frank still beside her.

  Before them in a small, equipment-clogged deejay booth, a younger Eve, dressed in a red satin corset, black booty shorts
, and fishnet stockings, faced a version of Frank not much different from the one still holding her hand.

  “It’s... us. It’s the night we first met.” Eve paused. “What was I thinking with that outfit?”

  Frank smiled, put a finger to his lips, and nodded toward the people they’d once been.

  The other Frank’s hands flew over the keyboard as he searched for whatever song the next dancer had requested. A ring bedecked each finger, and he wore his thick black hair in a pompadour and sideburns, a Marlboro tucked behind one ear.

  The younger Eve looked lost. “Rather than introduce me to people, the manager told me to wander until I’d met everyone. So, yeah, I’m Eve, the new cocktail waitress.”

  The former Frank’s grin affected his entire face. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, his brows lifted into pleasant V’s, and smile lines bracketed dark brown eyes. “Nice to meet you, Eve. I’m Frank. How long are you going to make me grovel before you agree to be my girlfriend.”

  Eve laughed. “Right. Has there ever been a new girl you didn’t try that line on?”

  Before Frank could respond, a shimmery-skinned dancer in a purple foil bikini and eight-inch thigh-high pleather books slunk past Eve and into the booth.

  “You get my set ready, Frankie?” she purred.

  Frank gestured toward the screen. “You bet. I even found the extended version of that Ciara song you like.”

  “You’re the best.” The dancer leaned onto the toes of her boots to kiss Frank on the cheek.

  “Diamond, do me a favor will you? Tell Eve here how many women from the Crazy Horse I’ve dated.”

  Diamond arranged her glossed lips in a pout. “Why’re you teasing me, Frankie baby?” She turned to Eve. “I’ve worked here four years and Frank’s been torturing me and every other dancer, waitress, and bartender in the joint for that same amount of time.”

  Realizing why Frank had requested her input, Diamond scowled and looked Eve up and down. “If Frank’s going to ask out someone from the club, then my own mother really and truly named me Diamond Skye.”