The Bride Who Wasn’t There

I had known Jake since we were kids—his childhood friend, his best man. I had never seen him happier than he was today, standing at the altar, eyes shining as he watched his bride, Emily, glide down the aisle.

The setting was **perfect**—stunning white dress, delicate flowers, the whole fairytale vibe.

But something felt… **wrong**.

Her steps were **off**. Slow. **Unnatural**. Almost like she wasn’t walking at all.

A guest near me whispered, “She’s floating,” and a few people chuckled. But I wasn’t laughing.

I took a step closer, my heart pounding. The air felt **thick**, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

Then, as Emily reached the altar, the feeling of dread grew unbearable. **I had to know.**

I reached forward and **lifted the hem of her dress.**

The church fell **dead silent**.

Because there were no feet.

**No legs.**

Nothing.

Just **empty space** beneath the gown.

Jake took a step back, his face draining of color. “Emily?” His voice shook.

The bride **tilted her head slowly**. The veil obscured her face, but something beneath it… shifted.

And then, the dress **collapsed**.

Like an empty shell, it crumpled onto the floor. The bouquet **rolled** across the aisle.

Emily was **gone.**

People screamed. Chairs scraped as guests **stumbled backward**. The priest clutched his cross, whispering a prayer.

Jake dropped to his knees, **staring at the empty dress**.

A sharp **gust of wind** blasted through the church, extinguishing the candles. And in the darkness, a voice **echoed**—soft, distant, **not quite human**:

*”You weren’t supposed to lift the veil.”*

The doors **slammed open**—and just like that, the presence was **gone**.

All that remained was the abandoned wedding dress, a whisper of perfume in the air… and the cold, unshakable horror **that whatever had stood at the altar wasn’t Emily at all.**