She Stole My Groom And The Curse

I asked my best friend to try on her bridesmaid dress. Instead, she walked out wearing my bridal gown.

That should have been the first red flag.

On the morning of the wedding, the final flag was waved. Sienna and my fianc, Preston, stumbled out of the same hotel room together, clothes disheveled, hair a mess.

The hotel staff froze in shock. My parents were screaming, on the verge of hysterics.

Preston walked over to me, guilt written all over his face, and pulled me into a hug.

I didn't scream. I didn't fight. Instead, I smiled calmly and told them, right then and there, that they could have the wedding. "Take the ceremony," I said. "It's yours."

Sienna smirked, triumphant. She thought she had won.

She had no idea.

Because the moment Preston wrapped his arms around me, the antique silver cross my grandmother left me shattered against my chest.

Nana had warned me once: If the cross breaks, it has taken a death blow for you.

It blocks a disaster.

An Absolute Calamity.

"Meredith, listen, last night was a mistake. I grabbed the wrong dress in the dark, and Preston well, hed had too much whiskey. He didnt realize it wasnt you."

Sienna, my maid of honor and supposed best friend, was saying the words, but the smirk playing on her lips told a different story. It was a look of triumph, sharp and unmistakable.

I knew exactly what that look meant.

Preston came from old money. He had that effortless, Ivy League charm and the kind of inheritance that meant hed never have to work a day in his life. In the six months hed spent courting me, the gifts had piled upDiamond tennis bracelets, vintage handbagstotaling more than most people earn in a decade.

I had finally said yes. And this was how the morning of my wedding began.

The scene in the hotel suite was grotesque, almost comical. Sienna was standing there in my custom Vera Wang gownnow shredded at the hem and ripped at the shoulderher exposed skin a roadmap of what had happened the night before.

Preston, my fianc, stood with his head hanging low, unable to meet my eyes.

My father, usually a man of quiet dignity, lost it. He lunged past the hotel staff, landing a clumsy kick on Prestons thigh, screaming obscenities that echoed down the corridor. The staff held him back, but the fury in the room was suffocating.

Preston stumbled, straightened his tuxedo shirt, and finally walked over to me. He pulled me into a tentative, apologetic hug.

"Meredith, Im so sorry," he whispered, his breath stale with last nights alcohol. "But whats done is done. Maybe maybe its best if you just let us be happy."

The audacity took my breath away.

I wasnt blind. I had seen the way he looked at her over dinners. Sienna was curvier than me, louder, more willing to play the games men like Preston enjoyed. During our engagement, he had dropped hints about what he wanted in the bedroom, hints I had deflected, saving that intimacy for marriage.

Everyone in the roomthe staff, my parents, Siennabraced themselves. They expected a slap. They expected me to scream.

Instead, I smiled. It was a calm, hollow thing.

"Okay," I said.

The room went silent.

"The venue is paid for," I continued, my voice steady. "The guests are arriving. You two should just get married. Right here. Today."

Preston let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "Meredith I knew you were classy. Thank you."

My parents looked like they were going to have strokes. My mother looked ready to grab a broom from the housekeeper and beat me with it.

"Meredith!" my dad roared. "Youre letting thesethese animals get away with it? Where is your pride?"

I didnt answer. I grabbed their arms and dragged them toward the elevator, away from the wreckage of my wedding.

Around the corner, out of sight, I reached into my blouse and pulled out the silver chain Id worn every day since I was a child.

"Mom, Dad," I said quietly, opening my hand. "Nanas cross."

The antique silver crucifix, once smooth and solid, lay in my palm in two jagged pieces.

The anger instantly drained from my parents' faces, replaced by a pale, trembling fear. My mother hit the elevator button repeatedly, her eyes darting to the security cameras.

"Did that did that just happen?" she whispered.

My fathers face went from flushed to chalk-white. His hands shook. "No. It cant be."

I nodded. "It shattered the second Preston hugged me."

My parents exchanged a look of pure terror. The elevator doors Dinged open.

"Were moving," Dad announced, his voice tight. "Now."

As we stormed out of the hotel lobby, we passed the life-sized cutouts of the bride and groom. My father kicked Prestons cardboard standee across the marble floor, then grabbed the one of me.

My mother was already on the phone with the wedding planner, her voice low and frantic. "Take everything down. Every photo of Meredith. Every banner with her name. Burn it if you have to. There can be no trace of her left in that ballroom."

Seeing the genuine panic in their eyes, the numbness in my chest cracked. I pulled out my phone and deleted every photo of Preston, every contact, every digital footprint.

We fled the hotel like criminals. By nightfall, we had packed our lives into boxes and were driving out of the state.

To understand the panic, you have to understand Nana.

My grandmother wasn't just a superstitious old woman. In the rural county where she grew up, she was known as a Seer. The locals whispered that she wasn't entirely human, that she had the blood of the mountain spirits in her veins.

She never missed a prediction. Not once.

She lived to be ninety-nine. She died on a crisp, bright winter afternoon, sitting in her rocking chair on the porch. She had petted the old golden retriever twice, then called my name.

"Meredith."

I was eight years old. When I ran to her, she took off the heavy silver cross she had worn her entire life and fastened it around my neck.

"Merry, you keep this on. Never take it off," she had rasped, her voice like dry leaves. "If this cross ever breaks, it means it has taken a death blow for you."

She gripped my small hand with surprising strength. "If it breaks, you run. You run from whoever is closest to you at that moment. Because when the cross breaks, it means a Calamity is coming. An absolute Calamity."

"What kind of calamity, Nana?" I had asked, innocent and confused.

She looked at me, her eyes milky with age, and whispered two words.

"Hollow Creek."

Then she closed her eyes and was gone.

Her funeral was an event. People came from three counties overmayors, sheriffs, heavy hitters. I told my parents about the cross and the words "Hollow Creek." They turned pale, refused to explain, and immediately moved us to the city.

Now, years later, the memory felt cold against my skin.

The scandal of Preston and Sienna was tearing through our social circle. At first, people were disgusted. Sienna was the villain, the treacherous best friend. But when word got out that I had handed over the weddinggift-wrapped the groom and the venuethe narrative shifted.

People called me weak. A doormat. A coward who let them walk all over me.

I didnt care. Let them talk.

Sienna, meanwhile, was basking in her victory. She was Mrs. Preston distinct now. Her Instagram stories were a relentless parade of the life that was supposed to be mine. The ten-carat solitaire diamond. The two-million-dollar check from his parents. The video of Preston kneeling to put a crystal shoe on her foot.

Thank you, Meredith, she captioned one photo. And thank you to the brave girl I was, for following her heart. I chose love AND money. Life is short. Seize it.

Preston played the part of the doting husband, posting photos of them kissing on yachts and in penthouses. Our mutual "friends" flocked to her comments section, eager to stay close to the money. Some people just aren't meant for the high life, one commented, digging at me.

Sienna replied with a winking emoji.

I scrolled through her feed in our new, temporary apartment, and for the first time in days, I laughed aloud.

She had no idea what she had actually stolen.

Sienna wasn't just enjoying the money; she was monetizing the scandal. She spun the narrative of "The Great Love Story," gaining 50,000 followers overnight. Her comments were filled with girls calling her a "Queen" and saying "The unloved one is the mistress."

When the internet found out my family had fled the city, the mockery intensified. Cowards, they typed. Running away with their tails between their legs.

I could handle the insults aimed at me. But when they started attacking my parents, calling them pathetic, I snapped.

I logged into a burner account and typed under Siennas latest post: Insult me all you want, but leave my parents out of it. And Sienna, stop using my name for clout.

I regretted the comment the second I hit send. I blocked her immediately afterwards.

Sienna didnt reply, but I saw she liked every nasty comment directed at me.

I shook my head. Karma is a patient hunter, I thought.

We had moved hundreds of miles away, settling in a quiet, nondescript town halfway across the country. It was isolated, the kind of place where neighbors mind their own business. My mother wanted a city nearby, but my father insisted on distance.

That night, over a dinner of takeout noodles, I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Mom, Dad," I asked, putting down my chopsticks. "What did Nana mean? What is the 'Absolute Calamity'? And what is Hollow Creek?"

The room went still. My mother put a piece of braised pork into my fathers bowl, her hand trembling slightly.

"Shes an adult now," Mom said softly. "We should tell her."

Dad hesitated, looking aged and weary, before nodding.

"Hollow Creek," Mom said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you remember the name?"

"Nana told me before she died."

"Hollow Creek was a village about ten miles from where we grew up," Mom said. "About three hundred people lived there. Then, one night, every single one of them died."

The air in the kitchen seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Died?" I asked. "Like... a plague? A landslide?"

"No," Dad said, staring at the table. "They hung themselves."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "All of them?"

"Every man, woman, and child," Mom whispered. "Mass suicide. Or... mass execution. But there was no one else there."

"Why?" I managed to ask.

My parents looked at each other, their eyes dark with a fear that hadn't faded in decades.

"They said," Dad choked out, "that the village was haunted."

I sat there, the silence ringing in my ears. Nana hadnt just given me a piece of jewelry; she had given me a shield against something ancient and evil. The cross shattering meant the shield was broken. The target had shifted.

Preston wasn't just a cheater. He was a lightning rod for something terrible.

Why now? Why did the cross break when he touched me after sleeping with Sienna? Had Nana foreseen the betrayal too?

My phone buzzed on the table. A strange number.

I picked it up cautiously. "Hello?"

"Meredith? Is that you? Are you okay?"

It was Preston. His voice was smooth, concerned, oblivious.

I hung up immediately and blocked the number.

From that night on, I stopped answering calls. I was terrified.

Meanwhile, Siennas life of luxury continued online. But she was getting bored. Late one night, I saw a notification. She was live.

Sienna was sitting on a velvet sofa that cost more than my car, draped in a white fur coat. She looked impeccable, but there was a manic energy in her eyes.

"So bored tonight," she told the camera, swirling a glass of wine. "Just wanted to chat with my fans."

She showed off a few Birkin bags, preening for the compliments rolling in. Then, inevitably, she brought me up.

"Her? Oh, please. Some people just don't have the destiny for wealth. The universe literally handed her a meal and she couldn't swallow it." She giggled. "Best friend? I mean... did she ever really act like one? She hid Preston from me for months. Insecurity is so ugly, isn't it?"

She took a sip of wine. "Where is she now? Probably hiding in some motel with her weird parents. They ran off like fugitives the day of the wedding. Maybe theyre scared Ill sue them for emotional distress."

I watched, feeling a mix of pity and disgust. How had I ever let this person into my life?

But then, the comments shifted.

Sienna, the closet door behind you just moved.

Is someone in there? I saw a shadow.

Hey, stop joking, check the wardrobe.

Sienna didnt see them at first. But the comments flooded in, a wall of warnings.

I squinted at the screen. The massive walk-in closet behind her was slightly ajar. And in the darkness near the floor... there was something. It looked like an eye. But it was too low. It was at ankle level.

Sienna finally noticed the chat. She clicked her tongue. "You guys are trying to scare me. Preston is out, and the staff is in the guest house. Don't be weird."

But the comments didn't stop. To prove them wrong, she stood up, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "Fine. Look."

She marched over and yanked the closet door open.

CRASH.

A man tumbled out. He was dressed in black, wearing a ski mask, clutching a pillowcase full of jewelry. A burglar.

But instead of running, or attacking her, the man scrambled backward on the floor, hyperventilating. He ripped his mask off, revealing a face drained of blood, eyes wide with pure madness.

"Ghost... ghost... there's a ghost..." he gibbered, pointing into the depths of the closet.

He looked at Sienna, saw her pale neck, and let out a shriek. He threw himself into a kowtow, slamming his forehead against the floorboards.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't kill me! I didn't mean to look! Spare me!"

He slammed his head down again and again, blood smearing on the expensive wood.

Sienna froze for a second, then screamed. "Help! Help! Thief!"

The phone was knocked over in the chaos. The screen went black, but the audio kept runningSiennas screams and the burglars sobbing pleas for mercy from something we couldn't see.

I stared at my phone, my heart hammering against my ribs.

What had that thief seen in the closet that terrified him more than getting caught?

I thought of Hollow Creek. The hanging village.

It was starting.