The Curse in the Lace

By Jess Reece

A stunning vision in the window of an antique shop stops Liz in her tracks. Something about the wedding dress on the mannequin draws her like a magnet to a lodestone. The lace dress with its gossamer sleeves and intricate beading literally takes her breath away, and though it isn't at all what she was looking for, she simply must have it. Little does she know that by purchasing the lace wedding dress, she has set in motion a repeat of a curse from a century ago that culminated in the tragic death of a young mother and left three generations condemned to doomed love affairs. Liz must unravel the supernatural puzzle wrapped up in the dress before she loses the man she loves, her best friend, and maybe even her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jess Reece
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386707035

Jess Reece

Jess Reece was practically born with a pen in her hand. She wrote her first story, about a dog taking a ride on an alien spaceship to the moon, at four years old. As a teenager and young adult, she won various local writing awards for her poetry and short fiction. Jessica's goal is to draw her readers into worlds that are as real to them as they are to her, and have them fall in love with the characters that they get to know. She also writes nonfiction, using her skills to mentor adult survivors of childhood abuse and trauma - healing that pain, sometimes decades old, through creative writing and storytelling. Jessica also paints and designs her book covers, as well as finds time to relax with her husband, daughter, and motley crew of rescue animals.

Book preview

Chapter One

The brisk spring air was blustery and crisp, causing me to pull my fleece jacket collar up against the wind. I had the afternoon off from work, and was enjoying my walk around downtown Seattle. It was an uncommonly mild day even with the breeze, sunny and clear, and would be a shame to waste it indoors.

Window shopping was one of my favorite past times, and today was a perfect day for it. Seattle was known around the world for its eclectic mix of technology and bohemian culture. It wasn’t unusual to wander around the famous Pike Place Market, or Westlake Center, or downtown Fremont and find the most unexpected and delightful treasures. They were sure to be found, especially if you were willing to hunt for them amongst the many hole-in-the-wall shops and stores.

Today I headed toward Pike Place, but avoided the market itself. I wasn’t in the mood for the crushing crowds that would certainly be there on the first gorgeous day of spring after such a miserable winter. There were plenty of unique shops a couple blocks away, some with such small, modest storefronts that if you didn’t know where to look you might miss them altogether.

I did not have any particular goal in mind today, so it was just as much a surprise to me, as it was to the pedestrians directly behind me when I stopped abruptly in front of a tiny antique shop. Oblivious to the dirty looks and irritated grumbling as they stepped around me, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the narrow, cut glass window. A headless, armless mannequin stared back at me in solemn contemplation. Upon the curious dress form was hanging the most exquisite vintage wedding dress I had ever seen.

Several minutes passed before I realized how odd it must look, with me gawking open-mouthed in at the glass. Suddenly I came back to myself, and found myself stepping into the shop before I really even intended to. A bell chimed softly over the door, its light tinkle much more fitting for the rich interior than the awful clanging cow bell some shop owners placed above their doorways. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, a clerk approached from the back of the long, narrow room.

Hi, can I help you? she asked. She was young, petite, and perky. It seemed odd and out of place in a space cluttered with antiques and, well, old things.

I smiled and nodded, turning without thought to the storefront where the dress was displayed. A knowing look spread across her youthful face.

Ah, yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? she asked excitedly. It’s from the 1890’s and it’s simply divine.

She stepped up on the window box and carefully brought the dress form to the floor. A gasp escaped involuntarily as I gazed at the dress up close. It was stunning. Even in the dim interior, light fractured off the multitude of tiny crystals and pearls that dotted the dress. Tentatively I reached out to feel the luxurious fabric.

You know, I bet this would fit you perfectly, she said in a slightly conspiratorial tone. Would you like to know more about it?

Yes, please, I said enthusiastically. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the dress.

"It’s dated back to 1894, and has a very romantic history. This dress is rumored to be cursed!" her voice ended on an excited whisper, eyes big and round in her pert little face.

Cursed? I asked in disbelief. How could anything that beautiful be cursed? I wondered.

Oh, yes! she continued, not swayed at all by my skepticism. If the rumors are true, the woman that this dress was made for was cursed by her husband’s mistress after he ended their affair. Several months after the wedding, the wife went crazy, and shortly after that she died. She nodded eagerly. Naturally the husband was investigated for murder, but in the end it was ruled a suicide. She sighed, caught up in the telling of the gothic romance.

How tragic, I said, meeting her eyes briefly. What happened to the mistress?

No one knows! she squeaked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Suddenly she cocked her head at me inquisitively. Are you interested in trying it on?

Without waiting for an answer, she gathered up the delicate dress and headed towards the back wall. I followed somewhat slowly, drawn more by the dress than I was willing to admit to myself. I gazed around at the multitude of treasures taking up every inch of space on the shelves, displays, and racks.

The strangeness of the last fifteen minutes was not entirely lost on me. Just moments ago, I had been strolling down the street enjoying the sunshine, and here I was, following a romance-filled clerk to a fitting room to try on a cursed dress. I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of it.

Okay, here you go! she chirped, poking her head out from the curtain of the dressing room that was cleverly hidden amongst the antiques. She had placed the dress on a padded hanger, on a hook high above the floor.

Are you sure it’s okay for me to try it on? I asked worriedly. I don’t want to damage it. She smiled at me enigmatically.

Well, since you’ll be wearing it to your wedding, you really should try it on.

How did you... I stammered, stunned by her words. I whirled around, but she had already yanked the heavy velvet curtain closed. I turned back to the dress, telling myself that of course she deduced I was getting married, why else would I have come in to look at a wedding dress? I trailed my fingers dreamily over the lovely off-white netting overlay.

Up close in the brighter light of the dressing room, I could see the thousands of tiny crystals hand sewn onto the bodice and train. The fine lace trim around the neckline, sleeves, and hem was in perfect condition. Miniature pearls were embroidered in amongst the crystals, in what first appeared to be a random design, but the more I stared, the more I could see the delicate, winding pattern that the dressmaker had created.

I got undressed, and very carefully stepped in the antique dress. I couldn’t button the row of satin covered buttons that went from the neck down to the small of my back, but even with it just pulled onto my shoulders, I could tell it was going to fit almost perfectly. That was surprising, because I had a curvier figure that most traditional Victorian fashions allowed, and a teeny insecure voice inside had been whispering that it would never fit me.

I needed help with the buttons, so I poked my head out of the curtain to ask the clerk for some assistance. She came skipping towards me from the front of the store, smiling brightly. As I stepped out of the curtain, she slid to a halt, a dazzling grin on her face.

Would you mind helping me with the buttons? I asked shyly, caught off guard by her obviously appreciative stare.

She went to work immediately, small fingers deftly securing the long row of tiny buttons. She guided me gently over to a floor length mirror with an antique frame that she had pulled close to the dressing room. I could feel her standing close as I turned to look in the mirror.

Oh you are so lovely! she gasped, It’s just perfect for you! A Cheshire cat grin spread over her face, hands clasped excitedly under her chin. Suddenly she whirled around, and before I knew what she was doing, she snagged an ivory comb off a nearby display and twirled my shoulder length hair up into a French twist. She secured it with the comb, and then presented me to the mirror once again.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. I had never considered myself elegant; in fact most of the time I felt like quite the opposite. But the woman staring back at me was beautiful, the epitome of Victorian grace.

The overdress was cut on the bias, and the netting hung flatteringly on my curves. It flared out in a dramatic mermaid skirt, starting at the knees, into a lovely delicate chapel train. The dress had ruffled, pouf over sleeves, with long tight net sleeves down to the wrists. Tiny beads were sewn into the rounded, scoop neckline, with rows of fine lace at the collar, sleeves, and down the mermaid train. It was dreamy, and romantic, and it made me feel beautiful.

I’ll take it, I whispered, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth.

Great, I’ll get the ticket written up! she said cheerfully, carefully removing the tag hanging off the sleeve. She quickly unbuttoned the back of the dress before I could ask for help, and then flitted off to the register.

I returned to the fitting room, and began to carefully remove the delicate dress. After hanging it back upon its padded hanger, I was suddenly struck by the strangest sensation of loss. I wanted to put it back on, and that thought had me shaking my head at myself. I ran my hands once more over the ethereal fabric, wondering at the odd melancholy spreading through me.

As I made my way back through the shop to the register near the front, reality came crashing back in on me. Oh my god, I said I would take the dress, and I hadn’t even looked at the price tag. I was no Scrooge when it came to money, but I wasn’t a frivolous spender, either.

When I got to the counter, she had my purchase ticket written up. My stomach churned a little with anxiety as she slid the slip of paper across the counter to me. I looked down, and blew out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was a lot, but it was surprisingly within the dress budget I had given myself. I handed her my credit card, and before I knew it, she was handing me a receipt.

We’ll get it boxed up and shipped to you in the morning. She saw my crestfallen face and patted my hand reassuringly. We always hand deliver special purchases, and you’ll have it before you know it.

She smiled brightly once again as I took my receipt and headed toward the door. The tinkling chime rang overhead as I opened the door. I turned back quickly, realizing I hadn’t even gotten the clerk’s name. I was astonished to see a concentrated, almost baleful look on her face.

Um...thanks for your help, I said uncertainly. She stared hard into my eyes, and I wasn’t able to look away.

No, Elizabeth, thank you.

In a blink the strange grimace was gone from her face, replaced once more by the pert smile and cocked head. I shook my head, certain I had imagined the expression, and after nodding my thanks, stepped out into the bright sunlight.

I was ten steps down the sidewalk, blinking in the bright sunlit day, before it dawned on me that I hadn’t told her my name. I stopped abruptly once more, becoming the bane of the poor pedestrians behind me, a small shiver of apprehension skittering down my spine. Suddenly I felt foolish. Of course, she saw my name on my credit card, as well as the ticket where I wrote my address for delivery of the dress.

I knew I had not been in the shop for very long, but it seemed as if hours had passed since I first stepped inside the dim, cluttered space. Shaking my head again, I realized I was suddenly very hungry. I walked a few blocks to my favorite hole-in-the-wall diner. I sat down with my food, trying to distract myself from thoughts of the dress—my dress, I corrected myself.

Ben had expressed interest in helping me shop for my wedding dress—a rare thing among fiancés—and I wondered how he would feel about me purchasing the dress without him. I recalled my reflection in the mirror and smiled a little self-consciously. I did look good in it. I didn’t think he would be too upset once he saw me in it.

I finished my meal and continued my window shopping, lost in thought. I couldn’t shake my vague unease at the look on the clerk’s face and the almost ominous tone of her voice when I left. It was all just so strange, finding the shop that I had never noticed before, the obsessive pull of the dress, and the unusual behavior of the young woman.

––––––––

Chapter Two

On the way home I tried to distract myself, but my thoughts kept returning to the dress. I wondered if I should tell Ben about it tonight. By the time I got home to our apartment I had decided to keep it a surprise and show it to him tomorrow when it was delivered. I wanted him to love it as much as I did, and I was unusually anxious about his opinion.

I was also feeling a little self-conscious about my obsessive thoughts about the dress. Every time I tried to think about something else, my thoughts strayed right back. I wanted to put it back on, to feel the sheer fabric sliding over my skin. It was embarrassing, and weird.

When I got home, I kept myself busy preparing dinner. About an hour later, while I was lost in thought once more, dreaming of my wedding dress, Ben got home and stepped in to the kitchen to kiss me on the forehead. I couldn’t quite prevent the guilty look on my face, or the feeling that he had caught me doing something wrong.

What’s up? he asked. You look weird.

Nothing, I mumbled, turning back to the salad I was making. Just lost in thought.

Okay. I’m going to change, when will dinner be ready?

Twenty minutes, I answered, busying myself with finishing up the salad.

A few minutes later we sat down to a dinner of lemon-herb chicken, roasted vegetables, and a spinach and strawberry salad. We made small talk, and enjoyed a comfortable silence now and then, savoring our meal. One of the things that I loved about Ben was his ability to let silences be, without trying to force conversation to fill the gaps. I was somewhere closer to an introvert than an extrovert on the social interaction scale, and it was always a relief to be with someone who didn’t feel the need to talk all the time.

We watched TV for a bit after dinner, then headed to bed. I grabbed one of the four novels on my bedside table, and chuckled to myself as I snuggled into my pillow. Aren’t we an exciting couple? Dinner, television, and bedtime reading. Not exactly adventurous, but we were comfortable with each other. I could be myself around him, and never felt like I was pressured to be someone that I wasn’t.

My eyes soon began to droop, and I reached over to turn my reading lamp off. I rolled over, draping my arm across Ben’s sleeping body, thinking about how lucky I was. I had a wonderful,