4 comments/ 10641 views/ 6 favorites The Ghoul's Wedding By: TamLin01 "The gruesome ghoul, the grisly ghoul, without the slightest noise, Waits patiently beside the school, to feast on girls and boys." -"The Ghoul," Jack Prelutsky *** The first time they came for her she was six years old, and it was Valentine's Day, which was also her birthday. Amina stayed up late with a flashlight that night, looking at the Valentines from her classmates and chewing the small, chalky candy hearts the teacher gave out. The cards were flat pink-and-red cartoons that didn't make sense: When she thought of a heart she imagined something meaty and hot, not a shape cut from paper. Cartoon characters and rhymes didn't seem to have much to do with love either. Love, she understood, was something that hurt. She liked the candy, at least. It was approaching midnight when she heard something scratching at the window. She peeked out of the covers, expecting to see a branch moving in the wind or maybe even a stray cat, but instead it was a man. He wore a long black coat and a hat with a wide brim, and his eyes looked like shiny pennies. He tapped the window with his sharp, unkempt nails again. He wanted to be let in. Amina knew not to trust strangers, but when she saw the man in black she got a bright and bubbly feeling, like when you see an old friend for the first time in years, even though she didn't think she'd ever seen this man before. She felt perfectly safe getting up and opening the window. When the man reached in he picked her up, and together they ran off into the night, she secure in his arms. His coat, she discovered, was not a foul-smelling thing, but instead smelled of savories and spices and things deep in the ground which were not yet rotten. When she was older she would recognize them as funeral scents. It was a cold night and she had only pajamas, but she didn't mind. With the winter wind in her hair she felt free. She was not surprised to discover they were going to the cemetery, with its aged trees and leaning monuments and angel statues with expressions of alien contemplation and the somber, shadowy opulence of the Millionaire's Row tombs up on the hill. She felt safe enough here with the stranger. He lifted her up and set her gently on the wall, and then clamored over it himself and helped her down, soft as a lamb. A single candle glowed on top of a headstone, and beneath it the grave was open and the box taken out. Two dozen people dressed in black gathered here, and they greeted Amina like old friends or beloved relatives. She was happy to see them too. The sight of the open coffin and the smell of grave dirt didn't bother her. Even when she saw what the night people were doing with the body they'd unearthed (her unspeaking protector soon joined them, leaving Amina perched on top of the headstone to watch) it did not seem sick or frightening. She watched with rapt interest. The smell of it was rich and gratifying. It seemed a good thing to do with a body, a natural thing. Bodies are put into the earth to be eaten, after all. Why should bugs and worms be the only ones to sample such fare? What a waste that would be. But when they offered her a seat at the feast, beckoning with long fingers and smiling with their too-white teeth, she hesitated and shook her head. The night people frowned and muttered, but Amina's silent guardian quieted them with a gesture and no one seemed to want to challenge him. They left Amina be. When it was over, he came to pick her up again, putting her back on his shoulders and carrying her to where her bedroom window hung open. She felt bad about declining, but she knew that it wouldn't have been right to eat. Not because of what was offered, but because it wasn't the right time yet. Something was missing... The man in black tucked Amina in and kissed her on the forehead, and as soon as he was gone she went right into a dreamy slumber, feeling warm and safe as she never had before. The next morning there was no evidence of her nocturnal sojourn, but she was confident it had really happened. It couldn't have been a dream; dreams were never so nice. At breakfast her parents piled food high on her plate, but she wasn't hungry for what they were serving. They must have seen something in her face, because their smiles faltered and then died when she looked at them. A furtive glance passed between them and, with an air of anxiety bordering on real fear, they left the table. Amina didn't mind. She preferred to be alone. She never told her parents what had happened, but she imagined they knew anyway, or knew enough to guess something like the truth. She never felt any burden to enlighten them further. They still loved her, but it was a cold, panicky affection, like they were afraid of what might happen if their displays of love ever faltered. For her part, Amina didn't think about either of them much. She knew the truth now: They weren't even really her parents. She was one of the night people. Doubtless her real parents had left her to be raised by these human people until she was ready to rejoin them. She couldn't say where this idea came from, but once it had occurred to her she never thought to doubt it. She was too smart not to know who her family was. When Amina was 20, she was visited again. It was Valentine's Day again, and it was also her wedding night. She had always understood that there would be a second visit. Her parents had died by then (a freak accident, a ferry collision), but in the meantime she'd met Jim. She picked him from one of her classes at the community college. He sat next to her and never said anything, but now and then he'd look at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking back. (He wasn't smart enough to know Amina was always looking.) He didn't talk--either to her or to anyone else, and she liked that. One day she trapped him after class and told him he should take her out. He tried to shy his way out of it, but she didn't let him. That was how things were for Amina: She usually got her way. Jim took her out like she said he would, and then he did it again, and after a while he forgot to be shy anymore, although he still never talked much. It went without saying they'd be married the next year, although neither of them had money for a wedding. Jim worked as a security guard at night and Amina working at the library, or the music store, or the farmer's market, depending on what day of the week it was and when her classes were. They made just barely enough to pay for the two-room apartment they got together. It was a small, drafty place, but Amina liked it. It was only a few blocks from the cemetery. The wedding would be a small affair, just the two of them and a few of Jim's friends, because Amina had no real friends (who would come out in the daylight, at least) and Jim's parents had such a virulent dislike of Amina that they refused to even put in an appearance. That was all right. Just the two of them was enough. Did she love him? Not quite. Certainly she loved his earnestness, and the quiet way he did every little thing without compromise. She loved how his hand felt, and the inviting warmth of his slumbering body in bed. She loved that he got up every day with no preconceptions and laid down each night with a sense of deliberate amazement. And she loved that, unlike her parents or anyone else she knew, Jim would never be so afraid of her that he would want to leave. If anything, fear made them closer. But she didn't love him completely the way he deserved. Something was still missing. After the wedding dinner they went back to the apartment. Jim promised that someday they would have a real honeymoon, just as extravagant as a woman like Amina deserved. She told him she didn't care about things like that (even though she understood that those promises were more for him than for her). Only one thing about the wedding night interested her. She led him upstairs to their front door with kisses, each lingering a little longer on his lips than the last. It had been his idea to wait until after the wedding; it was the only time in Amina's life that she hadn't gotten her way, and though she found this confusing it was also thrilling somehow. Now she was eager to have what had been deferred. The short trip from the front door to the bedroom was a flurry of activity as clothes were pulled at, pulled off, and in a few cases probably damaged. She had expected that Jim would be as passive a lover as he was everything else, someone who would require coaxing and guidance, but to her surprise he took charge right away, pushing her half-clothed figure against the door and crushing her mouth with a kiss that drew all the air out of her and left her almost lightheaded. Her legs parted and wrapped around him, the muscles of her thighs gripping tight and squeezing. Amina was strong; she never let on exactly how strong. But though Jim could not have overpowered her if it had really come to that, there was a firmness and assuredness about his touch that left no room for compromise. Amina, still bewildered, let him have his way. Where was this coming from? And where had it been? Jim's hands kneaded her naked breasts until she gasped, then sculpted the curves of her figure while his lips pressed again and again to the side of her neck and shoulders, making her shiver. She knew this was their first time, but she'd never bothered to ask whether it was his first time altogether (or, more accurately, she had always assumed it would be, so felt no need to ask). If so, he was intent on making up for lost time. The throbbing pulse of his erection was tangible even before he took it out. It made Amina think of a metronome, and then she giggled. When he pushed it in Amina gasped and then whimpered, clambering to wrap her arms and legs tighter around him while he sank the rest of the way inside her. The wet feeling seemed to go al. the way through her body and the pressure of his penetrating cock came to rest at the tip of her spine as all the jumbles of nerves in her body woke up and sang Her nipples swelled and hardened, pushing into his bare chest as her fingers skittered like pale spiders down his back, trying to find purchase on his ass as he thrust in-out, in-out. She wanted to grab hold with both hands and pull him all the way into her but couldn't quite reach. They went on like that anyway, until Amina's back ached and her knees felt weak but she still didn't want to give in. When Jim's cock contracted and then emptied a hot, wet, gratifying spurt inside of her she fell onto him, kissing his open mouth over and over until they landed in bed and fell asleep curled up in each other's arms, together and content. In her dreams, Amina heard the scratching at the window. When she woke up she heard it still. She knew without even pulling up the blinds what it was. She rose quietly, dressed and put on shoes, and left without waking Jim. It was another chilly Valentine's Day night, but a bright one, with a full moon that painted the world blue-black. Her escort waited at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn't changed at all, but she was too big to carry anymore. They walked together instead, and the trip made Amina feel very grown up. The quiet stranger looked at her from under the brim of his wide hat and for a second she felt self-conscious, thinking she should have worn something more flattering. But then she decided that was silly. He wouldn't care about things like that. This time Amina climbed the cemetery wall on her own, knees and elbows scrambling. A trail of flickering candles led to one particular grave. The night people were there, just as Amina remembered them--except, perhaps, that there were one or two fewer than before. Maybe they couldn't all make it, or maybe there was some more dire reason for the absences, one that accounted for the slightly melancholy tone of the night's festivities. She didn't ask. Amina felt at home in the graveyard. She fit here, naturally, side-by-side with all of them, sitting around the unearthed coffin. She listened to their stories of great funerals past, sang along when it came time for the very old songs, and joined in the game they played where they passed bones from one to the other with eyes closed and tried to guess which part they were holding. She even took off her clothes and laid down in the empty grave to see what it felt like. It was her special night, in her special place, with her special friends. Everything was as it should be. But she still did not eat when they offered. As dawn approached her shy chaperone walked her home again, pausing at the foot of the stairs. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smelled of incense and myrrh. When she slipped back into bed Jim woke, commenting on how cold she was. She kissed him until he quieted. After that things changed, like they had before with her parents. Jim was still kind, and loyal, and affectionate, and supportive. They worked and studied and spent nights together like they always had, but there was something brittle around the edges of their life. He knows, she thought. Maybe he'd followed her that night, or spotted her slipping out or back in. Maybe the scratching at the window had woken him and he'd investigated. Maybe she'd come back smelling of grave dirt and funeral spices. Or maybe he just knew without seeing or hearing anything, because he loved her and sometimes you just know things about the person you love. He knew, but didn't leave. It wasn't in his nature. She thought about taking him to the cemetery. She wasn't sure if the night people would be there (in fact she was almost sure they wouldn't be, and even if they were she wouldn't be able to see them unless they wanted her to), but it was all right if it was just the two of them. They could sing the songs and play the bone game, and she'd repeat as many of the stories as she could remember, and Jim could lie in the grave with her and--oh, it would be extra perfect. She realized now couldn't love Jim the way she wanted until he was part of the perfect nighttime world. When he was, he'd know the real her. And everything would be the way it ought to be. She thought about it, but she didn't do it. She was afraid that it would be too much for him. That he was too...human. If he reacted with horror, it would be the same as rejection. And that was something Amina could never stand for. In the end it didn't matter. The next Valentine's Day was the day of Jim's funeral. She'd woken up one morning to find him already dead for hours. His heart just turned off in the night. The doctors said it was probably caused by an arrhythmia, something that could have gone on for years without him noticing it. Jim never got any check-ups. Doctors cost too much. The funeral was a rainy day, full of black umbrellas. Jim's parents were there, of course, but they didn't talk to Amina. All of Jim's friends came, and Amina could barely remember any of their names. They all went to his parents' house later. They called it a wake, although Amina knew that a wake should properly be held before the funeral (she was getting a sociology degree with an emphasis on funeral customs). Most of Jim's friends were consoling, even thought it was clear they didn't really want to talk to her. One of them might have been hitting on her (he didn't know her very well). At the end of the night, after a lot of wine, Jim's mother offered a tearful apology and said they should try to begin again now that they were all each other had left of Jim. Amina said she'd like that, knowing that nothing would ever come of it. They offered to let her stay the night there, but she turned them down. She was anxious to be home. It was almost midnight when she got back. She'd imagined the apartment would be dark and empty, but there was light in the window. On the first landing on the stairs, a lit candle waited for her, and then another, and another, leading all the way to the bedroom. All her nighttime friends were there, and she cried tears of joy at their faces. Each of them gave her a single grave flower, until soon she had collected a sizable bouquet. Her quiet guardian draped a black veil over her head, too. And why not? This would have been her first wedding anniversary, but in a way, it was a wedding in itself. Because there, on the bed, fresh from the earth, was her groom. Jim looked as handsome as the day they'd met. Death became him. It was a wake and a honeymoon. When Amina lay down next to the cold, unflinching body of her husband and took him in her arms, she was happy. They were finally together the way she'd always wanted. Jim's dear heart had known her so well that it had stopped just so that she could be this happy. She felt grief, too, in a very human way. That was how she knew this was true love: It hurt. The night people were quiet, respecting the sanctity of the moment. They were waiting to do something, but they cared about Amina enough not to rush her. Still, there was a certain trembling impatience about them, and Amina felt it too. Much as she'd have loved to wile away all the hours until dawn with Jim, she couldn't put off the next part forever. After a wedding, there's always a banquet.