Who was he now?

What had happened to his life?

What had happened to his soul?

"I'm the Devil now," said Bill. "I guess I can do pretty much whatever I want."

And he took a step forward, his feet heavy on the carpet, mashing down the fibers. Another step, and he was closer to his wife. Another step. Another step. The rain fell gently and steadily outside, drowning out the sound of his heavy breathing. He didn't realize that the Devil could be nervous.

"But I'll make it whatever I want it to be," he said. "I'll make it whatever I want it to be."

He stopped directly behind his wife.

He saw her on their wedding day: her white hair floating around her white gown, coming down the aisle of the cheap chapel, escorted by her frowning father who turned into nothing more than a smear of color next to Constance's monochrome radiance. She hadn't been smiling with her mouth, but he saw it in her eyes.

"The first thing we're going to do," he said, as he reached out his hand, "is get married again. Everyone here is invited, wherever here is."

He touched her shoulder. A gust of rain washed against the windows, and the branches rapped against the glass like the fingers of the damned, trying to push their way in.

"No," Bill said. "Not like the fingers of the damned. Like people applauding."

He rubbed her shoulder. Her muscle tensed underneath his fingertips, and he felt a flowing warm and vibrant life go through her.

"And then," he said, "I'm going to take you on a decent honeymoon."

The rain hushed as he heard sounds forming in Constance's throat. At first it was a croak, below audibility, before it resolved into her voice.

"Bill?" she said.

"Yes, darling," he said. "Here."

"Where's here?" Her long white fingers went up to her face and rubbed her eyes.

"Wherever we want it to be," said Bill. The trees tapped the pane.

"As long as I'm with you, I don't care," she said.

"That's right, darling. Neither do I."

The ghost of her reflection in the glass smiled. The rain continued its gentle washing of her house.

Bill removed his hand from her shoulder. Even this felt like a loss, but he knew that she was there in front of him. It wasn't her shade, her ghost, or a revenant.

It was her.

"Well," she asked. "Where are you going to take me?"

She turned around.

END.

Visit the author online at jonathancurwenhorror.blogspot.com. His first novel of occult horror, Knife Lake, is available wherever ebooks are sold.

end.