Chapter 4: Souls Unmasked

“Mariah, this is my brother. Do we look alike?”

Tyler, for comparison, put his arm around Travis’s shoulder. Their faces were identical, except Tyler wore glasses. That was the first time I met Travis—he’d come to the city to visit. I was surprised to learn the “brother” Tyler always mentioned was his twin, just a few minutes apart. Travis was a bit shy, or maybe just awkward. Same face, different lives. My heart ached for both of them.

I remembered the awkward smile Travis gave me, the way he avoided eye contact. I’d thought he was just nervous, but now I wondered what secrets he was hiding. I felt a chill.

At the time, I thought, “Same person, different fate.” It made me weirdly emotional.

It was true—one twin in the city, the other in the country. Two branches from the same tree, growing in different directions. I wondered how things could have been different.

When was the last time I saw Travis? Oh, it was when I went with Tyler to the village for our engagement. Maybe because he was in his hometown, or for some other reason, Travis had changed a lot—always asking about city life, saying he wanted to move there too. He seemed much more cheerful, and I was genuinely happy for him. I smiled, thinking of it.

We’d shared stories about city diners, late-night movies, the noise and lights. He’d listened with wide eyes, as if every detail was a treasure. I felt a pang of nostalgia.

If only Tyler hadn’t accidentally fallen into the river, leading to Travis’s death—things would have been so different! The thought made my chest ache.

I remembered the panic, the rush to the riverbank, the shouts for help. The water had looked black, swallowing everything. My hands shook at the memory.

Night fell. Mrs. Grant brought in a slightly chubby woman in an old-fashioned black skirt and jacket. My memories broke off, and I looked at her. I’d seen her before—she was the fortune-teller who matched Tyler’s and my birth dates, apparently named Mrs. Black. Her presence made the air colder.

She looked like she belonged in another era—hair in a tight bun, heavy silver rings on her fingers. Her eyes darted around, sharp and calculating. I felt uneasy.

“Maple wood wards off evil, railroad spikes bind the soul, the soul-sealing circle suppresses, and even the road to the afterlife is cut off. Your family is ruthless.”

Her words sent a chill through the room. Mrs. Grant’s hands shook as she pulled out an envelope. I watched, feeling detached.

“Mrs. Black, please take care of things tonight.”

Mrs. Grant didn’t reply, just took out a thick envelope and handed it over respectfully.

The envelope was stuffed full, bills peeking from the sides. Mrs. Black’s eyes gleamed. She licked her lips, counting quickly.

“A wrongful death marrying a vengeful spirit isn’t ordinary.”

Mrs. Black pinched the envelope to check its thickness, her eyes flickered, and she raised a finger. “Of course, Mrs. Black, please wait.” Mrs. Grant went to the back room, probably for more cash.

Mrs. Black looked at my photo and shook her head, muttering, “The fortune said this girl had this calamity in her fate, so I deserve to earn a little.”

Her voice was low, but I caught every word. She didn’t care about me—just the money. My stomach twisted.

After taking the second envelope, Mrs. Black’s face turned serious. She stepped into position and began casting spells, her greed gone. After a string of chants, she pulled a red bridal veil from her sleeve and covered my photo. A gust of wind blew, and my light green dress became a gold-embroidered red wedding gown. My hair was neatly tied up, with a white flower pinned in place. The transformation was sudden. I touched the fabric, feeling the weight of tradition, the heaviness of fate. The veil smelled of old roses and something bitter.

“She’s got real skill, but it’s a shame she only cares for money and doesn’t walk the righteous path—not worthy of the title Black Medium.”

So she wasn’t just Mrs. Black, but a medium who communicates with the underworld. The old man looked at her with regret. I wondered what kind of world he came from, where spirits had titles and reputations.

He shook his head, muttering about wasted talent. I wondered what kind of world he came from, where spirits had titles and reputations. It made me feel small.

Tyler entered with a stern face, but beneath his calm, madness flickered at the corners of his mouth. Following the medium’s instructions, he carried my and Travis’s photos into the waiting hearse outside, then returned to the living room to wait for the ceremony to finish. It was finally about to begin. He moved like he was sleepwalking, his eyes glazed. The room filled with the scent of incense, heavy and suffocating. I felt like I was suffocating too.

The sound of a funeral organ and firecrackers grew louder and louder, the scene lively, but apart from the medium, there was no one else. Even the pallbearers were missing. I didn’t know where the firecracker and organ sounds came from. It was like a parade for the dead, but the streets outside were empty. The music echoed off the walls, growing louder, almost mocking. My skin prickled.

A gust of cold wind blew, the curtain fell, and the music suddenly stopped. The silence was sudden, jarring. I held my breath, waiting. My heart thudded in my chest—or where it used to be.

“The dead are marrying, the living should stay away.”

The medium chanted three times, and two rows of paper figures in white with red sashes filed out behind the hearse. Their movements were stiff but eerily agile. I shivered, watching them.

The paper figures’ faces were blank, their hands folded. They moved in perfect unison, a silent army marching to the grave. My skin crawled.

“Lift—the—casket—”

The paper figures lifted the casket steadily, and the music resumed, even livelier than before. Funeral confetti floated through the air, but disappeared as soon as it hit the ground. Eight paper figures carried the casket swiftly; others played music, waved soul banners, and danced strange, stiff dances as they walked. Every so often, the medium would loudly chant, “The dead are marrying, the living should stay away.” The parade wound through the trees, the confetti swirling in the wind. I followed, feet barely touching the ground, heart pounding in my chest—or where it used to be. I felt like I was in a nightmare.

The old man and I followed behind the procession. After passing through a dense stand of maple trees, the casket stopped in front of a grave. The gravestone read:

[Grave of the Deceased Son Travis Grant]

Black clouds rolled, a cold wind blew, candles flickered. The medium lifted the bridal veil, and the casket curtain rose, revealing my and Travis’s photos. She stood at the grave, eyes closed, and recited:

“Two families join, forging a bond. A contract on red leaves, a written pledge. Now, Grant family’s deceased son Travis marries Ford family’s deceased daughter Mariah. Though dead, they depend on each other, never regretting their fate. This is the proof.”

Her voice was clear, echoing through the trees. The words felt heavy, binding me to a fate I never chose. I wanted to scream.

Suddenly a gale blew, funeral confetti flew, candles flared. When the wind stopped, all the paper figures had vanished. The medium looked at me in confusion. “What’s going on? Only the bride is here—the groom hasn’t come?” Her eyes darted around, searching for something she couldn’t see. I felt exposed, alone.

“You can see me?”

I was shocked. I hadn’t seen her on the way—why now?

She looked me up and down, her mouth set in a thin line. “After the marriage contract and soul-calling, both you and the Grant family’s eldest should appear. Why only you?”

“The wrong soul was called, so he won’t appear,” the old man said, still smiling, stroking his beard. He looked smug, like he’d solved a puzzle no one else could.

“What spirit dares ruin my business!”

The medium pulled out several yellow papers, blew on them, and sent them flying at the old man. I worried, but the old man flicked his sleeve and all the papers dropped to the ground. The medium, shocked, turned and ran. In less than two minutes, she ran back to the grave. After several tries, she stopped, panting and trembling. She looked terrified, sweat beading on her forehead. Whatever she’d seen out there, it had sent her running back.

“May I ask which spirit you are, and why you meddle in underworld matters?”

“I am a spirit guide of the underworld, in charge of injustice among souls,” the old man said solemnly. He stood taller, his voice booming. Even the wind seemed to pause.

I listened silently, realizing he had already guessed the truth and came to Maple Heights to help me find my body and break the spell. He said Tyler was actually Travis, and the one buried in the grave was Tyler. The revelation hit me like a punch. Everything I thought I knew unraveled. I felt dizzy.

The medium formed a hand seal and, using birth dates and names, summoned Tyler’s ghost. The ghost was bloodless, floating, with cold water dripping from his hair and clothes, forming a puddle that quickly vanished. I rushed over and pulled up his sleeve—a long-healed scar on his forearm. It was the knife wound he got saving me from muggers. It was really him! This was my Tyler! But why did the gravestone have Travis’s name?

I touched the scar, my fingers trembling. Tyler looked at me, eyes wide with relief—and sorrow.

“Please help Mariah!”

Tyler hugged me and begged the old man and medium. “Her body is in the grave, but I can’t pull out the spikes.” His voice cracked, desperation raw. I clung to him, afraid to let go.

The old man was right—my body was in the grave. The medium, agreeing to change her ways, summoned paper figures to dig up the grave and open the black wooden coffin. She muttered about losing money on this job, but when she saw inside, she fell silent. The sight of my own corpse was almost too much. I looked away, focusing on Tyler’s hand in mine.

My body was placed beside Tyler’s, cleaned of blood, but with black spikes still in place. Tyler covered my eyes, not wanting me to see more, turning his head away. The medium removed a wooden bracelet with dark green patterns from the male corpse’s right wrist. The right arm was pale and unscarred. The bracelet looked ancient, carved with symbols I didn’t recognize. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper.

The old man, seeing the bracelet, was furious. “Outrageous! Swapping the real for the fake!” His voice thundered, shaking the leaves on the trees. Even the medium flinched.