Horrors from Around the World

Night 005 - The Bride in Red (1)

The mist that wove through the ancient village of Fengxi carried a bone-chilling cold. It was the kind of mist that clung to the skin and left a bitter taste in the mouth. It whispered through the cracks in the homes, curling under doors and creeping through windows. Tonight, despite the distant echo of celebratory drums, the streets were abandoned. No villager dared step outside, for fear of the wedding that none would attend.

At the heart of the village, the Zhang family manor stood tall and foreboding, its once-proud walls now stained with years of neglect. Red lanterns hung from every corner, their light flickering in the thick fog like dying embers. The red banners that adorned the entrance, meant to symbolize joy and prosperity, now twisted in the wind like bloodied shrouds.

Inside the manor, Zhang Liang knelt before the ancestral altar, the incense in his hand shaking. His eyes stung from the smoke, but the heaviness in his chest wasn't from the burning incense. It was from the knowledge of what lay behind him.

His bride, Ying Yue, sat on the bed, cloaked in the traditional red wedding gown. The red veil covered her face, hiding the truth beneath—the truth that no veil, no ceremony, could disguise.

Ying Yue was dead.

The silence in the room pressed against Liang like a vice, broken only by the distant, hollow rhythm of the wedding drums. Their echo mocked the situation—this was no real wedding. This was a twisted mockery of life, of love.

The Zhang family had arranged this marriage months ago, striking a deal with the Lu family. Ying Yue was beautiful, quiet, and obedient—everything Liang's parents had desired in a wife. But Ying Yue hadn't wanted this life. She hadn't wanted to be sold like cattle for the benefit of her family's fortune. And when the weight of her fate became unbearable, she had taken the only way out she could see: a rope, knotted and thrown over the ceiling beam of her childhood room.

The villagers had whispered about it for weeks. But the Zhang family, ever prideful and cruel, refused to let death ruin their plans. Even in death, Ying Yue would be bound to Liang. They had paid for a ghost marriage, a minghun, binding her spirit to him forever. It was a blasphemous rite, one rarely performed, and always at a price.

Now, in the suffocating quiet of the grand chamber, that price was becoming clear.

Liang's hands trembled as he lit the incense, his reflection flickering in the polished bronze of the ancestral altar. His parents had forced him into this—he had no choice but to obey. But he couldn't ignore the sick feeling that churned in his stomach, a deep, primal terror that clawed at the back of his mind.

Behind him, the figure of Ying Yue sat unnaturally still, draped in the blood-red robes that should have symbolized a new life, a fresh start. Instead, they looked like the robes of a corpse bride, her life snuffed out before it had even begun.

A low groan echoed through the manor, the wind pushing against the walls like the breath of something unseen. The red lanterns outside flickered wildly, casting strange, dancing shadows that seemed to move with a will of their own.

Liang swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hadn't turned around since entering the room, hadn't dared to look at her. But now, he felt the weight of her presence, heavy and oppressive, as though the air itself had thickened with her silent rage.

His mind wandered back to the last time he had seen her alive. She had been so quiet, her eyes hollow, her face pale. He had thought it was nerves, that she was simply overwhelmed by the prospect of becoming his wife. He hadn't known—hadn't cared to ask—what thoughts lurked behind those empty eyes.

He hadn't known how much she hated him.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound drew his attention—like the rustling of silk, faint but unmistakable. His heart leaped into his throat. His hand froze mid-air, the incense stick still burning between his fingers.

Slowly, with dread weighing him down, he turned to look at the bed.

Ying Yue hadn't moved. Or had she?

Her body was stiff beneath the red veil, but there was something different about her now. Her head tilted slightly forward, just enough for Liang to notice the unnatural bend of her neck, as though something had yanked her head violently forward after death.

His breath caught in his chest. He blinked, convincing himself it was a trick of the light, his mind playing games with him. But no—she was not the same. The veil, once draped smoothly over her face, now seemed askew, as if something had pulled it, revealing a glimpse of the pale skin beneath.

A wave of nausea rolled through him. He clutched the altar to steady himself, his knuckles white. He tried to tear his gaze away from the figure on the bed, but his eyes were locked on her, his mind racing with thoughts he dared not entertain.

The air in the room grew colder, the temperature plummeting so quickly that his breath began to fog in front of him. The flickering lanterns outside dimmed, their light barely penetrating the thickening shadows that crept along the floor, crawling toward the bed like tendrils of darkness.

Then, without warning, the incense stick in Liang's hand extinguished, leaving him in near-total darkness. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound deafening in the eerie silence that followed.

The rustling sound came again, louder this time—closer.

Liang spun around, his pulse racing. Ying Yue's body had shifted again, her shoulders now slumped forward, as though she were being pulled by invisible hands toward the edge of the bed. The veil slipped further, revealing the chalky, lifeless skin of her cheek.

Liang's legs trembled. He took a step back, his entire body trembling with fear. He wanted to run, but his feet were frozen to the floor. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as the weight of the air pressed down on him, suffocating him.

He wasn't alone.

A low, guttural whisper filled the room, like the rasp of a breath dragged from a throat long decayed.

"Liang..." The voice was soft, but filled with malice. It was Ying Yue, though not the voice he had ever heard in life. This was something darker, something from the other side.

His blood ran cold. Slowly, his eyes moved toward the bed, dread creeping through his veins like ice water.

Ying Yue was no longer sitting. She was standing, her body unnaturally stiff, her head hanging at an odd angle. Her veil had fallen to the floor, revealing her face—pale, bloodless, with bruises dark as midnight ringing her neck where the rope had dug into her flesh. Her lips were cracked and blue, and her once-beautiful eyes were nothing more than empty, black pits.

Liang stumbled backward, his body shaking uncontrollably. His back hit the altar with a thud, knocking over the incense holder. Ash scattered across the floor, but he barely noticed. All he could see was Ying Yue—her dead eyes fixed on him with a hunger that made his skin crawl.

"Why did you take me?" she whispered, her voice like the hiss of a snake. "You bound me to this world... to you..."

Her feet dragged across the floor as she moved closer, her limbs jerking awkwardly with each step, as though her body was being forced to move against its will.

Liang's chest tightened. He gasped for air, but his lungs refused to fill. He could feel her, feel the hatred radiating from her like a wave of icy fire. Her death hadn't released her. It had trapped her in a prison of rage and pain, and now, she was coming for him.

"You will suffer," she rasped, her fingers reaching for him, pale and skeletal in the dim light. "I will take from you what you took from me."

With a burst of adrenaline, Liang shoved himself away from the altar, his body moving on pure instinct. But the shadows twisted around him, wrapping around his ankles, pulling him toward her. He fell to the floor with a crash, his hands scraping against the rough wood.

Ying Yue loomed over him, her face inches from his. Her breath was cold against his skin, like the touch of death itself.

"You will pay," she hissed, her grip tightening. "You will suffer, just as I have suffered."

The last thing Liang saw before the darkness claimed him was the twisted smile of his dead bride.