The Bride Who Murdered Her Groom: A Stories Collection

Beautiful and sharp-witted, Sophia Solochi—blamelessly eighteen—understands that she must not ever fall in love. If she does, any peculiar man she has adored will not live what will befall him. In unquestionable words, he will die. Fast. Surely. And frightfully. Why would he perish, you may marvel? Sophia, also true with her female descent, is cursed. Any lad whom she falls for is destined to yield up his ghost in her very own arms and care. When she moves with her mother to Brownton to begin a fresh and unimpaired life, far away from their ancient calamities and sorrows, the worst things imaginable happen to them. Sophia cannot resist falling in love with Alex Ramirez, a strikingly handsome but in-a-short-time to-be Engineering postgraduate at Brownton University. Here, whilst pursuing a Fashion and Designing degree, she furtively repeats the self-same pursuit and engagement that effected insufferable agony and bitterness in her bygone days. Falling in love is extremely perilous, she


8. Racking Memories



Danger has unveiled its face again. Abruptly and unexpectedly. Kris Ortiz and her young-at-heart daughter, Sophia Solochi, know that they cannot settle jointly any longer. Not if they extremely value and prize their inestimable lives above any worldly thing conceivable. In its ominous face and heartless midst the charismatic two split ways to never be as one again until it is secure and not-so dangerous for them to bond anew. Irreproachable looking and unusually  good-looking and dutiful, Sophia finds herself under the care and custodian of an incredibly handsome and smart young billionaire, Alvin Morgan, who cannot help but stay in awe and also fall powerlessly spellbound by her sheer presence. She has got a sly feeling that he desires her and would do just about whatever thing in the world to be with her. If that is true, her lot is turned for the most awful then. Cursed she is; and fall in love she must ever not.




I distrusted if I would ever see Alex Ramirez another time. Much less if I would see him alive and full of air. By alive and breathing, I don’t connote that he would be the one to die and breathe his last. I would be the one who would be dead. Every inch deceased and unconscious. Oh yes, I would be the one who would kick the bucket. With the kelpies’ wardens full of life and on the look for those of my kind and Kris’, there was slight probability that we would live on this tribulation.


Wednesday night, 30 April 2018, I could scarcely find any sleep. The subject that I had discussed with my mother herself, Kris Ortiz, curtly after my arrival home when she had come thirty minutes or so after me, had to a great extent troubled me. What had we shoot the breeze about, you may wonder? This was how our dialogue had gone like:


I myself, whilst shoving a spoonful of cornflakes muddled up with spanking new milk into my mouth from the bowl that I had placed them into, chomped them up and asked Kris who was looking tremendously worn-out and indolent, “You don’t seem reasonably fine. What went there were you had been? Anything good or bad? What in particular?”


“It is no longer safe and sound for us to continue tarrying here, Sophia. I mean for this moment while. We have to each part ways and come back here only when things are secure and sound for us to.”


I was worried and troubled too. I stopped eating right there and then. “What do you mean by all that? Why isn’t it safe for us to stay here in this up-to-the-minute house of ours any longer?”


Sighing and panting, Kris breathed out deeply and muttered, “The wardens to the kelpies are looking for us everywhere here in Brownton. We have not much time. We must leave and go into hiding right away and only return when it is at last safe and harmless for us to. I wouldn’t pardon myself if anything terrible and awful happened to you. Do you now understand?”


“No. You must explain everything to me until it is plain and clear. Calm down please, will you?”


Kris agreed and she had us both settle down on a mammoth and extended sofa where we sat in a mode and manner facing each other. Still, her form and look was one of horror and consternation. She was so shit-scared and frightened that her all-the-time stunning features—ones that I had inherited from her and was calmly beautiful all thanks to their being—were almost flawed and disfigured that she was looking hideous and unappealing to some bit extent. Well, that is the reality, isn’t it? We all at one point or another do look hideous and ugly, don’t we? Yes, I do think so myself.


My mother began, “These wardens of the kelpies I am talking about are no good thing at all, my little charming beautiful darling. They are so dangerous to us and everything of our kind. Hard-hearted and remorseless.”


“What are they for the most part? Humans or something else sinister and not natural at? Tell me please.”


“Calm down, sweetie, will you? I will explain everything to you fully and plainly. I need you to keep your cool like I myself have done. Will you act in accordance with that?”


“Yes, I will, mother.”


“Good. Like I was about to say, the wardens are in part human and to a degree demonic. Yes, half-human and half-satanic if you like it better that way. Their satanic side is what makes them completely wicked and cold-blooded. Their only mission is to capture those of our kind and then enslave us to kelpies for the rest of our damn wretched lives. Once you become a slave to a kelpie, you will not ever again get back your free-will for the rest of your life. If that particular kelpie is a gentleman and sees you to be tremendously beautiful, then you will unquestionably get blessed to some degree and may providentially become his wife and woman. But that will not make you see the exact glow of immeasurable independence and contentment again because you will be his slave for the rest of your life. Both in bed and every duties and matters of this life.


“If you get sold out to a female kelpie and she sees that your beauty is an inducement that common and frail-moraled men cannot resist, she will make you her prostitute till the day that you will breathe your last on this Earth. If you get that unfortunate, she may sacrifice you to her greater and devilish gods and make you meat and drink for them. Terrible things have happened to cursed women like us, Sophia, all these ancient-times ages. Some were boiled alive and others burnt alive on altars of sacrifices and some had their hearts ripped out of their chests before their very face and very own eyes. It was all terrible indeed. It happened in the past and it can without difficulty happen again today.


“Once you are cast in the dungeon of a kelpie, know that you will never come out of it alive or free. Do you now understand why we must do everything in our power and might to avoid these wicked things and keep our lives liberated and ridden of them? Do you, my prized girl?”


“Yes, mommy, I do.”


I sat down trembling at that moment. Yes, the horror arising from the story that she had told me scared me to hell and had my courage and bravado vanish farther away, like a piece of iron that has tripped over into the sea and is gradually but certainly dropping down and farther down to never return and surface out again. My. We were in that kind of menace and peril? I could not believe it. That was the worst terrible ever that could happen to us? But what could we do anyway? What exactly? My head pained worsely at that moment that I was not able to think or come up with anything at all. Damn it!


These wardens to the kelpies seemed to be no good thing at all. I didn’t doubt it. What Kris was saying made ideal and entirety sense. I couldn’t picture up myself held captive and a slave at the same time in the hands of a nasty fiend and in addition to that suffering and groaning and writhing and weeping out like the world was coming to an end on my part, excruciatingly and viciously. I shuddered at that thought. It was better I die than experience something of that kind and nature. Yes, death was even preferable. I was so troubled after that that I immediately began looking for ways in which she and I would survive this. How would we get about this alive nightmare of ours? How?


When Kris at last looked at me, I was so vanished and absent-minded into a world of my own. That seemed to trouble her. A great lot definitely. She didn’t want me worrying and tormenting myself all because of some creepy but truthful staff that she had said to me. No, it was not her desire at all. Not at all.


“So what are we precisely going to do?” I asked her in a distressed and on-edge voice. “Do we have to move to another place all over again like we did when first coming here?”


No! That hurt! Moving away from Brownton was apparently the worst move that we could ever make. But it was for our own protection and welfare wasn’t it so? I bet so. The only thing I didn’t want to do right now was leaving Alex and my promising future life with him. Not just this soon. I had just met this wonderful guy and barely gotten to know him and discovered that he was one such great and good gentleman whom I would so much love to spend my life with and now I had to say goodbye to him and everything that we took pleasure in too soon? No. I was not prepared to do all that. Alex was my happiness, my delight and my joy. How was I supposed to dispose of all that bliss and contentment and cheerfulness that came from being with him? How was I supposed to do that now?


As much as I wanted to cry at the thought of realizing that I was about to lose an invaluable him—the at hand and most ever dearly loved love life of my life—I restrained myself from so doing in the engrossed eyes and conscientious presence of Kris. She didn’t have to find out about this. She didn’t have to.


“Are you okay, Sophia, my darling?” She asked, nervous and apprehensive.


“I am,” I replied her, forcing myself to smile even. I didn’t know how it came to happen. But it just did regrettably. I lost control of my emotions and ultimately burst and ruptured into never-ending tears; I sobbed and wailed like crazy at that moment, dropping my head down and low as I juddered and vibrated wildly as if from tormented by too much coldness. My God! How could I let myself do that? I hated myself for it. But what had already been done had been done now. Things could not be reversed. They couldn’t. Kris could have by now suspected…or anything of that kind.


She hugged and embraced me without delay, her loving and caring arms acting as my safe haven and refuge.


I fought hard to stay calm this time and eventually succeeded. Damn me for my error! It had almost cost me the buried truth. If Kris would come to know that I was having an affair with a particular boy behind her back, she would without a second thought kill him and deal with me hardheartedly and pitilessly.


“I am sorry,” I muttered to her, hoping to clear off any questions and suspicions that she might have regarding me.


“Sorry, Sophia? Sorry for what?”


“I have let you down, haven’t I? I mean it wasn’t good and appropriate for me to get this exceedingly emotional and disturbing. Please forgive me for being too poignant and infuriatingly frail.”


“Would you care to tell me one thing, my valued dear darling?”


“Anything, I will tell, without reservation.”


Damn it! Wasn’t she going to tell if I was in love with someone or not? I mean, she could have perceptibly noticed, hadn’t she? Maybe. Perhaps not. I didn’t know which was which. Regardless, I became somewhat twitchy and un-resting. How could I be able to not tell the truth from her this time while looking and glancing straight into her eyes? How could I be able to take her in when her eyes had that authoritative aptitude to strip me naked and bare of my deceitfulness and treachery? How would I attain that? How precisely?


“Tell me. Why were you crying? Was it because of those scary things I said or what? Tell me please. I need to know.”


I breathed out in liberation. It seemed she had not guessed right or suspected anything. My goodness. At least she hadn’t come that close to the truth. Oh yes, she hadn’t.


“Yes, mother. You are right. My crying has to do with that terrifying story you told me.”


“It is not just any blood-curdling story, Sophia.”


“I know. It is true and everything you mentioned are facts, right?”




“I broke down into tears at imagining how so very bad and relentless we will have to suffer if we both get unlucky and fall into the hands of those impious and unforgiving things. The kelpies and their wardens I do mean. I just don’t want to think what would happen if the two of us become helpless and miserable enough that neither of us would be able to save the other. That got me so worried and troubled that I ended up crying intensely like I was a newly born baby.”


At that, Kris hugged me once more and stroked and caressed my back lightly and warily. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, “Everything will be alright. Oh yes, it will be, honey. All shall be well sooner or later.”


I was only fourteen years of age. Guiltless and in high spirits at that time. I loved my mother like nothing else on earth and I was so glad and joyful that I was her only child and family. By family, I don’t take in all her relatives and all those who share her last name or even the same blood and birthright of her ancestors themselves. That is not what I signify. I was the only prized thing she had in the world—the only thing she loved so much, the only closest thing she lovingly held to herself and looked after like everything else aside from me was not that any priceless and important.


Kris’ brother. Martin was his name. Martin Ortiz. He died leaving behind one child, his only son, who at present stays with his vulgar and people-hating mother, Veronica. I have known Veronica very well ever since I was nine. She was boorish, mean, and nasty—even to me and her very own son. Her only best friend is her mother who stays far off from where she resides herself, and who rumor has it that she is as well the exact carbon copy of her daughter. Inhospitable and boorish and hard-nosed. The only people that the mother and daughter associate with are solely those whose deeds and ways are much the same as theirs are.


Martin was a very immoral and adulterous man, I discovered. I even overheard my own mother complaining about it. Day in, day out—Veronica would ring her up to file complaints to her about how her brother had gone missing for days repeated with rumors whispered that he had been last seen at this nightclub and that other one with this whore and that one or even a grouping of them. About how his inbox was flooded with dirty messages—the so-called sextings—that he was on a daily basis receiving from unlike and mysterious women. About how he was being accused of raping this woman and that other in the neighborhood but not being arrested and punished as appropriate for lack of proof on his accusers’ side.


Martin was a niggling and aggressive man.


He died in our house, right before my very own eyes, while trying to abuse me like he had done with many other innumerable women. I was alone at that hour. With Kris having gone off to work. And she did not know that her brother had surreptitiously arrived at our home to prey in on her innocent and young daughter, who was me without any qualm.


When he arrived home, he was the usual—vicious and lackadaisical and evil-minded. I only heard the door slamming open from the shower where I was standing undressed and stripped naked and I turned off the pouring flow of water without delay. Was what I had heard true and actual? Someone entering our house unexpectedly and unmannerly?


“Mom. Is that you?” I called out, squinting my eyes and standing all ears so that I could unmistakably hear any liable response.


Thirty seven words. This was the number of words that I made known to Kris before Martin died. Thirty seven words. All scrawled and squiggled in a SMS that I sent to her, and which, upon their delivery, I froze still nervously in the deep blackness surrounding me and shut my eyes and compressed my lips and offered a silent prayer.


I called to mind the words that I had typed in my text: Mom, I call for your help without delay. Stop by our house as speedily as you possibly can. If you don’t come or turn up behind time, you will discover me dead.


I stood in the chilly wafting air—a mark of the swift approaching winter—and glanced over the stellar cellar about me. It was dark in here inside our house—four stories high with arched windows and sliding French doors—a fairly adorable brownstone dwelling.


Steadily, I finally paraded towards the door as police sirens began ringing outside and quickly flung it open and ran out as quickly as I could.


 I noticed that the door to our massive and splendidly adorned living room was halfway opened. It was murky inside there as all the lights were flicked out.


“Mother!” I shouted, awaiting for a reply from the intense blackness.


There came nothing.




It seemed that I was screaming to myself. Taking my time, I shoved the door fully open and paced in.


“Mother, are you in there?”


Something jumped in the darkness and an object dropped, by any means a glass, as it did break up after smashing on the floor.


I quailed at that and I was on the brink of running off.


Take it easy, Sophia. It’s nothing alarming. Perhaps a not dangerous rat. Don’t be scared, dear. Don’t be terrified. Now find the switch and flip on the lights.


I stumbled in the darkness, still being nervous. I was bugged with a wary feeling that someone perilous was still lolling somewhere here in the dark, standing by for an opening to strike at me.


God, please keep me safe from anything wicked that pursues to blow me to bits.


I came across the switch, then apprehensively snapped it on, and swiftly wheeled around. Only then did terror render me strengthless.


The memories are exceptionally painful and brand new as ever. I have tried to forget them. To rub them out of my mind. But that has never worked in any way conceivable. Even to this day, I can still see him standing there before my very own weepy and hurt eyes, intolerably red-eyed and completely soaked to the skin with the water from the shower that his whole clothes and hair are at length drenched and dripping wet. That was Martin without a doubt. The one and only uncle I loved back then in the complete world like nothing else. The one and only uncle I still love and likewise adore today like I have done with nobody else. What did I do to this man to deserve all that he eventually did to me? What precisely? 

















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