The music swelled around us, laughter echoing off the grand hall’s walls. My wedding had been everything I had imagined—bright, beautiful, filled with joy. Yet, as I twirled in my white dress, surrounded by family and friends, I suddenly felt the mood shift.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I turned, my heart pounding, and there she was—my sister, Emily. She stood at the edge of the dance floor, her face pale, her eyes wild. Her laughter, sharp and unnatural, cut through the joyous melody like a blade.
The room fell silent.
Then, as I took a hesitant step toward her, I saw him.
My breath caught in my throat.
Her son—my nephew—stood beside her.
But that was impossible. He had died in the crash.
I froze. My new husband’s hand tightened around mine. Whispers filled the air. Some guests looked away, others watched, transfixed.
Emily stepped forward, dragging the boy with her. He clung to her dress, his small face shrouded in shadow. His eyes—dark, hollow—locked onto mine.
“I told you,” Emily’s voice was quiet but heavy, filled with something raw and broken. “You should have canceled the wedding.”
My hands trembled. “Emily… your son…”
“He came back,” she whispered, her lips curling into a smile that sent a chill down my spine. “He wanted to see you.”
The boy stepped forward. The lights flickered. I swore, for a moment, I saw something… off about him. His limbs moved stiffly, his expression was vacant, unnatural. My stomach twisted.
Someone screamed.
The lights cut out.
In the darkness, I heard Emily’s voice, whispering words I couldn’t understand. The guests panicked, their hurried footsteps echoing as they scrambled away. I felt my husband’s grip tighten, his breath ragged beside me.
Then, a child’s giggle. Soft. Eerie.
A cold gust of air swept through the room, and just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights flickered back on.
Emily was gone.
So was the boy.
Only a single, wet footprint remained on the floor where they had stood.
My wedding was never the same after that. The joy had been stolen, replaced with an unshakable dread. And that night, as I lay awake beside my sleeping husband, I heard something outside my window—soft laughter, the sound of a child playing.
I never saw Emily again. But sometimes, in the dead of night, I still hear the laughter.