The Corpse Bride's Release

On the last night of October, the village of Hollow Creek was dressed for Halloween. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from every fence. Paper bats hung from the eaves. Children in ghost sheets and pumpkin masks ran through the fog with baskets of candy. The moon rose like a silver coin, and the scarecrows in the fields cast long, crooked shadows across the road.
Victor Van Dort stood in the Everglot parlour, surrounded by candles, autumn garlands, and carved pumpkins. Tomorrow, on All Hallows’ Eve, he was supposed to marry Victoria Everglot. It was an arranged marriage, but Victoria was gentle and kind, and Victor had begun to hope it might become something more. Then the rehearsal began, and everything went wrong. He dropped the ring. He stepped on Lady Everglot’s dress. He knocked over a candlestick and burned a small hole in the carpet. The room went silent. His face burned with shame.
“I… I need some air,” he stammered, and fled into the night.
He did not mean to abandon Victoria. He only wanted to hide and practise his vows where no one could watch him fail. He walked past the costumed neighbours, past tables of candy and glowing pumpkins, until he reached the old forest. Bare branches twisted like witches’ fingers. Fog curled between the roots. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered along the path, and a black cat crossed in front of him before vanishing into the brush.
In a moonlit clearing, Victor practised. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”
He stepped backward and tripped over a dry branch that looked almost like a hand. Nervous and lonely, he slipped the ring onto one pale finger. “With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”
The ground trembled. The branch curled around his hand. A voice rose from beneath the earth. “I do.”
The soil broke open in a burst of blue light. A young woman rose from the grave in a tattered wedding dress, her veil stained with dirt and moonlight. Her skin was pale blue. Her hair was wild with leaves and cobwebs. She looked at the ring, then at Victor, and smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
Before he could answer, the ground opened wider. The jack-o’-lanterns flared. Bats burst from the trees. Fog spun around them like a wedding veil, and Victor fell into the Land of the Dead.
It was a vast city lit by pumpkin lanterns and ghost-fire. Skeletons walked arm in arm. Ghosts floated through walls. A carriage made from a hollowed pumpkin rolled past, pulled by skeletal horses with ribbons of orange flame around their necks. Shop windows displayed candy skulls, bottled moonlight, and masks for creatures with no faces. A skeleton band played a cheerful Halloween tune on bone flutes and spiderweb violins.
“Welcome,” the woman said. “I am Emily. And you are just in time for the festival.”
Victor tried to explain that he had only been practising, but Emily’s hopeful face stopped him. She led him