The Pastor's 63rd Bride

The town of Havenwood smells of damp earth and blind faith, but I only came back for my sister Maria's funeral. She was Pastor Morris' s 63rd bride, and like the 62 before her, she died on her wedding night.

Instead of grief, my parents were celebrating, beaming with pride as they informed me that Maria had "ascended" and that Pastor Morris had chosen me to be his next bride.

My own family, then my best friend Wendy, and finally even my fiancé Matthew, betrayed me, selling me out to a man they believed was holy, a man who had murdered my sister.

I was utterly alone, tied to an altar, staring at portraits of his previous victims, wondering why anyone would celebrate such horror.

But when Pastor Morris offered me a choice of how I wished to "depart," something snapped, and my defiance brought an unexpected reprieve. Then I witnessed Wendy, my own best friend, ecstatic as venomous snakes bit her, realizing this wasn't murder, but a horrifying, willing ritual suicide.

Driven by a desperate need to understand the madness, I confronted the supposed "master," who claimed to be my long-dead great-grandfather and that these sacrifices saved our town. But remembering my real great-grandfather's true teachings about grace, not blood, I saw through the imposter's lies.

Realizing he was the blight twisting our town' s faith, I plunged the knife meant for me into him, shattering the collective delusion and freeing Havenwood from its long nightmare.

The town of Havenwood smells of damp earth and blind faith. I hate it here.

I only came back for the funeral. My sister, Maria, the town' s beloved Harvest Queen, was dead. She was the 63rd bride of Pastor Rufus Morris.

She died on her wedding night, just like the 62 before her.

But when I walked into my parents' house, there was no grief. The air was thick with the smell of roasting chicken, not sorrow. My mother was humming a hymn, arranging a vase of white lilies on the mantle.

"Gabrielle, you're back."

My father didn't look up from polishing his shoes. He was preparing for a celebration.

"Where is she? Where's Maria?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Her body is with the Lord, where it belongs," my mother said, her smile serene and unsettling. "She has ascended. A great honor for our family."

I stared at them, my stomach twisting. They were celebrating my sister' s death.

"She was murdered," I said, the words feeling like stones in my mouth.

"Don't be blasphemous, Gabrielle," my father snapped, finally looking at me. "It was a holy union. A blessing that has saved this town."

My mother walked over, her hands cool on my arms. Her eyes held a feverish light I recognized from the most fervent of the pastor' s followers.

"And now, the blessing continues," she whispered, her voice filled with a terrifying joy. "Pastor Morris has chosen his next bride. He has chosen you."

My blood ran cold. I pulled away from her touch as if she had burned me.

"No."

"It is a God-given honor, Gabrielle," my mother insisted, her grip tightening. "Our family will be twice-blessed. You will bring salvation."

"I'm not marrying a murderer," I spat. "I'm engaged to Matthew. We're getting married."

My father scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound.

"Matthew Clark? That deputy? He is a nobody. You will marry the Pastor. It is decided."

I felt the walls of my childhood home closing in. The smell of the roasting chicken was suddenly nauseating. I turned to run, to get out, to find Matthew, but my father was faster. He blocked the door, his face a mask of righteous certainty.

"You will not shame this family," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You will accept this honor."

"I will not," I screamed, my voice raw. "You can't make me!"

"Oh, we can," my mother said softly. She took a key from a hook by the door. "We will."

They dragged me to the storm cellar. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and the bolt slid into place, plunging me into cold, musty darkness. The last thing I heard was my mother' s voice, muffled through the wood.

"It's for your own good, Gabrielle. You'll thank us when you're in the Lord's embrace."

The cellar was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of earth and decay. I pounded on the door until my fists were raw, screaming until my throat was hoarse. No one came. The only response was the faint, celebratory music starting up in the house above.

I sank to the dirt floor, surrounded by dusty jars of preserves and old, forgotten furniture. My engagement ring, a simple silver band from Matthew, felt heavy on my finger. He was a deputy. He represented the law. He would help me. He had to.

Hours passed. I heard footsteps, and a tray of food was slid under the door. It was my best friend, Wendy Todd.

"Wendy? Is that you? Help me!" I scrambled to the door.

"Gabby, what are you doing?" Her voice was laced with something I couldn't place. Not concern. Annoyance. "Your parents are so upset. You're making a scene."

"They locked me in here! Wendy, they want me to marry him. The man who killed my sister."

There was a long silence.

"She wasn't killed," Wendy said finally, her voice sharp. "She was chosen. It's the greatest honor a woman in Havenwood can receive. You should be grateful."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Grateful? He's a monster!"

"He's a holy man!" she hissed back. "The 63 before you were just... unworthy. They weren't strong enough in their faith. But you... you're the founder's great-granddaughter. Maria was the Harvest Queen. Your family has a special place. And now you're throwing it away."

Her next words cut deeper than anything else.

"I would give anything to be in your place, Gabby. Anything."

The envy in her voice was unmistakable. It was raw and ugly. My best friend, the girl I'd shared every secret with since we were five, was jealous that I was being offered up for slaughter.

"You're insane," I whispered, backing away from the door. "All of you are insane."

"You're the one who's insane," she retorted. "Rejecting God's will. I hope you enjoy the cellar."

Her footsteps receded, leaving me alone in the suffocating darkness. The hope I'd clung to withered and died. My parents, my best friend... everyone I trusted was gone, swallowed by this collective madness. I was utterly and completely alone.