Chapter 4 The Initial Evening

Emily backed away, her breathing in short gasps. The dress lay out on the floor, its silky fabric rippling-no, stirring-as if whatever was hiding under it had just breathed.

Mrs. Holloway didn't stir. She stood there, looking at the gown, her lips compressed into a thin, unhappy line. "It's awake now," she said.

Emily's flesh crawled. "What do you mean, 'awake'?"

The elderly woman gazed at her, darkness shrouding her tired eyes. "You managed it. That's all that is required."

Emily shook her head. "That's stupid." But she didn't sound truthful.

The dress ceased to move. The shop fell quiet once more, though the atmosphere had changed-dull, heavy, as if something unseen were observing them.

Emily breathed deeply and attempted to remain calm. "Look, I get the history lesson, but I don't think in curses. There must be a rational explanation for all of this."

Mrs. Holloway let out a deep sigh. "There is. And you won't like it."

Emily folded her arms. "Try me."

The old woman's face hardened. "The dress selects its bride. And now, it's selected you.".

A sarcastic laugh escaped Emily's mouth. "What does that even mean?"

Mrs. Holloway crept down to her knees and grasped the gown. "Take it."

Emily backed away. "Absolutely not."

"If you don't," the old woman warned, "it will follow you."

Emily drew a quick breath. She didn't believe in this hocus pocus. She wouldn't believe in it. But a cold thought crept into her mind.

What if she left... and the dress still ended up on her?

Mrs. Holloway might have noticed her face because she nodded solemnly. "You're already tainted. You can fight it, or you can learn the truth."

Emily gritted her teeth. She loathed this. She loathed the fear twisting in her belly, the feel of the air in this shop being off. But journalist's instincts made her think that there was something more to this tale that no one else had been brave enough to say.

She breathed out. "Okay. I'll do it."

A flicker of something-pity, maybe? Regret? -appeared on Mrs. Holloway's face, but she handed over the dress.

As soon as Emily's fingers touched the fabric, a cold wave washed over her, dark and otherworldly, as if she'd just fallen into an open grave.

The whispering began again, curling around her ears.

"See you soon."

Later That Night

Emily tossed the dress over the armchair in her motel room, eyeing it warily. The fabric lay motionless, unblemished in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

She laughed and shook her head. This is ridiculous. It was just a dress.

A haunted one, Mrs. Holloway had insisted.

She took out her notebook and began jotting down notes. The dress had a tragic past, to be sure, but the deaths could be accounted for-accidents, illness of the mind, sheer bad fortune.

Emily closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She had to sleep.

She switched off the lamp, casting the room into darkness.

Minutes ticked by. The night was quiet.

Then...

Rustle.

Emily's eyes flew open.

She sat up, her mouth frozen in shock. The room was quiet.

Then-

Rustle.

Her eyes leapt to the chair.

The dress had moved.

The veil that had fallen over the bodice of the gown now rested over the edge of the chair-as if someone had brushed their hand against it.

Emily's heart raged.

Then she heard it.

A soft, slow moan.

The chair was shifting.

Something ethereal was taking its place.

And then-a whisper, right in her ear.

"Try it on."

Emily screamed.