*For acts I, II and II click here (~2m each)

House of Frozen Brides

A Tragicomedy 

Final Act: Till Death Do Us Part 


“Well, this sucks,” N muses, standing over our second grave stone of the night.

I light a cigarette and look up at the stars.

“Maybe it isn’t all bad,” N says.

I look at him. “Yep, you’re right. All bad,” he agrees.

“Wait, I have an idea.”

I pull out my phone to call M.

He picks up.

“Hey, do you have The Water of Life?”

“Yeah, about that, I have something to tell you,” M says.

“Do you have it or not? We need it.”

There is a pause.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good. I’ll send you a ping. Bring it here.”


I hang up.

N looks at me. “Bad idea to mess with that stuff. Especially if they’ve been dead this long.”

“I’m too young, too stupid and too irresponsible for a wife, never mind a baby. I’ll take the risk.”

N shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Probably not, but, at least I’ll be something other than married. Now, where can we get a shovel?”

“This way.”

I follow N out of the graveyard.

Two hours later we stand over two fetid corpses. I take a seat and let my feet dangle into one of the graves. N sits next to me and pulls a bottle of vodka from somewhere.

We drink in silence.

M comes running out of the darkness. I stand up.

“Yes!” I walk to him. “Let me see.”

He holds up a vial of light blue liquid. I snatch it.

“But, dude—“ he starts. I’m not listening. I walk over to the corpses and sprinkle the water of life on their chests. Just a few drops. I close the vial and toss it back to M. We stand and watch. The process is revolting. Like watching vomit transform into a crisp salad.

One of the men opens his eyes, then the other. One starts screaming. I reach down and put my hand over his mouth. I turn to N.

“Tell them what is going on.”

N nods. He starts speaking in Russian. He tells our story to the dead men. The dead men stay silent, listening. When he finishes, one man smiles, the other frowns.

“Well, problem solved,” I say, smiling.

M gives me a strange look. I glare at him.


“Well, I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He looks to N, then back to me.

“Your wives are gone.”

N and I stare at him a moment.


“Yeah, they watched a few episodes of Orange is the New Black with me and then stood up and said something in Russian, then, just, left.”

M shrugs guiltily.

“What did they say,” N asks.

M says something in Russian. N laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“They said,” he smirks, “men are weak now.”

I look at M. “Couldn’t have told us before?”

“I tried,” M says, “you didn’t want to listen. You were so desperate to raise this guy.”

He motions to the air right beside me. I turn. One of the dead men stands right beside me. He grabs hold of my hand. He says something in Russian I don’t catch. His breath is awful. He smiles.

I turn to N. “What did he say?”

N gives me a pitying look.

“What did he say?” I repeat.

“He said,” N swallows, “since you brought him back to life, he is bound to you now.”

“Oh, come on!”

M steps forward. He places his hand on my shoulder, comfortingly.

“At least he isn’t pregnant.”


A Writer and an artist living in Russia

8 Comment on “Till Death Do Us Part

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