WEDDING HELLS

WEDDING HELLS

Jan enlists her sisters in her supernatural wedding plans, but not all the signs appear to be

WEDDING HELLS

Jan enlists her sisters in her supernatural wedding plans, but not all the signs appear to be in her favor.

 

  My younger sisters seldom surprise me. I read them better than anyone. I know I can always     count on Amy’s sarcasm, sharp enough to slice meat, to put things in perspective. Jan’s view of the world will always offer ideas that defy my imagination. But today, after Jan gathered the two of us for her “important announcement,” my mouth fell open so wide you’d think I’d been offered a communion wafer.

 
“I thought you’d be excited! Your little sister’s getting married!”

 
Let me just say, I love my sister. She’s kind, quirky, and adventurous. If she were younger, she’d probably be considered a trend setter. Not by intention. She’s just always followed the beat of her own drum, and her peers have largely been intrigued enough to traipse after her. But she’s thirty-six now, and she’s just informed us she intends to marry Satan.

 
Amy had rubbed her forehead like a migraine was coming on. We had both thought this coven thing was just a phase Jan and her friends were going through. “The Wackins,” we’d called them behind their backs, as they pored over magic chants together like they once devoured Teen Beat magazine.

 
“Did Satan get down on one knee?” I snarked. “How do you know he’s the one?”
“Oh, Kitty, sometimes you just know. I meditated on it, and when I was done, a feather floated right out of the sky and landed at my feet. It was a sign.”
“Yeah, a warning sign,” Amy muttered. 

 
“You’ll help with my wedding, right?”  

 
“Shouldn’t the coven do that? Being they know the magic words and all?” Amy asked. “I mean, we don’t know the first thing about satanic weddings. Will you be the only bride? Will you be sacrificing anything? We could always toss Mr. Briggs on the fire, if you need a black cat.”

 
“Nobody does that anymore,” Jan plowed ahead. “Satan isn’t even considered evil now, just spiritual. More like a powerful oracle. And yes, I alone have been called.”

 
“You mean, like a Tarzan call?” I giggled.

 
“Oh, please…Metaphysically, of course.”

 
“Of course.”

 
“When will this momentous occasion take place?” I asked.

 
Samhain. Halloween. As if we couldn’t guess.

 
***
The Deva Dell Magic Mart was tucked into a back street near the airport. Jan blew in like a cyclone.

 
“Witchy-Goth?” she wondered aloud, plowing through leather Vampire Bat wear. “Witchy-Bohemian?” She asked, pairing port wine corsets with layered skirts.

 
“Possibly something in Minotaur,” Amy quipped, modeling ornamental antlers.

 
“Not going white?” Amy’s last sip of water squirts out her nose.

 
“Here! Gypsy-witch!” I tossed a garment into the dressing room.

 
“Maybe Earth Mother, for more grounded magic,” Jan said, tossing it back.

 
A harried hippy scurried to reduce Jan’s growing pile of rejects until—

 
“Eeeeiiiiieeeeeyyy! IT’S PERFECT!”

 
A veritable bolt of emerald green velvet that would cause the inhabitants of Oz to cry uncle hung loosely on Jan’s body. Monstrous bouffant sleeves billowed down her arms. We shut our mouths and steered for the cash register.

 
“Now let’s look for yours!” cackled Jan.

 
“Ours?”

 
“My bridesmaids!”

 
Jan led us from the Dell, toting bags of twigs and gauze that would become our wood sprite ensembles, then stopped, abruptly, stacking us up behind her like spoons, to pick up a trampled paper airplane imprinted with:

 
You’re flying the right course!
 ~ Hadley Aviation! 

 
“Another sign!” she cried.
 
Samhain blew in gusty and cold. We ticked off Jan’s ritual needs one by one.  Ceremonial bread, incense, sacrificial herbal wreath.

 
The ceremony would take place in Arthur Park, which surrounded Arthur’s Pond. A circle of trees blocked the view from the street. Jan had somehow surmised that while the town busied itself with Halloween festivities, a bonfire encircled by horny, dancing devas summoning the Lord of Darkness would not be noticed.

 
The wind died as we entered the park.

 
“Another sign!” Jan said with a surety that perplexed Amy and me, as storm clouds loomed.
Amy and I stepped behind the altar constructed by the coven as Jan, in her emerald veil, slipped onto the park’s child-size fishing dock to await her grand entrance.
Darkness piled up around us.

 
“Crap!” came a voice, “the hibachi won’t light! Got another lighter?”

 
“Here!” Several clicks. “Not catching!”

 
Amy produced a flask, dousing the charcoal. The clearing lit up like a small bomb. She elbowed me in the ribs. 

 
“GO!” 

 
“Step forward to partake of ceremonial bread, body of the master,” I intoned.

 
“We don’t do that. Gluten intolerance,” someone whispered. 

 
“Skip it!” Amy hissed, tossing the sacrificial wreath on the fire. Green smoke blossomed and a staccato of sneezes sprinkled the night air.

 
“What’s that made of?”

 
“Devil’s claw!” I declared proudly.

 
“Jesus! My lips are swelling!” Allergic responses increased as the Wackins wiped their eyes and noses on the hems of their party dresses.

 
“Can you crones hurry the hell up? I’m freaking freezing over here!” Jan bleated from the dock.

 
I continued, “You will now lead the bride to the feet of the master!”

 
The coven formed a ragged line and marched to the dock. Apparently, in Satan’s world, the bouquet toss is enacted before the actual wedding. Jan turned away. The coven hunkered for the toss. With a mighty thrust, Jan hurled her bouquet of evening primrose high over their heads. They spun, trampling each other for the prize, then froze in horror as it burst into flames atop the hibachi.

 
“Keep going!” screamed Jan, shivering, dockside.

 
“We call Perun, God of Thunder and lightning,” the coven chorused, mounting the dock to lead Jan to the altar, “and await your signal, blessing this holy union!”  

 
A violent thunderclap caused the coven to lurch, collectively. The old dock’s pilings buckled, and like an upset checkerboard, the wedding party toppled backward into the pond.

 
Two wood sprites dragged their sister from the drink. Amy looked Jan straight in the eye.

 
“THIS is a sign,” she said.

 
Jan spit out a sodden twig and nodded in agreement.

 

~TareeBelardes

 
~tat your signal, blessing this holy union!”   

NYC Flash Fiction Comp 2019
Genre; Comedy

Location; A public Park

Object; A paper Airplane

1000 words, 48 hrs to write.

(Winner grp 40 first round challenge)