'Til Death: Rachel Harrison on Why Weddings Make Perfect Horror Settings

The night before my best friend’s wedding, the power went out. The bride, the groom, and several bridesmaids, including me, suddenly found ourselves in total darkness. We were staying in a beautiful rental house perched high in the hills of Southern California. From this perch, we could clearly see that all the other houses still had power, glowing constellations scattered across the landscape.

We were alone in the dark. To make matters worse, the house was the wedding venue. All the food for the wedding? The cheese wheel cake? In the fridge, which was now dead.

The bride had a sense of humor about it, yelling, “save the cheese!” The groom sprang to action, getting to the bottom of the outage. The bridesmaids, dehydrated from an afternoon spent gossiping in the hot tub, were utterly useless. We speculated that we might be stuck in a horror movie, pointing fingers at who would be the first to die (me, apparently).

Obviously, I survived that night. The power came back on eventually, and the wedding was magnificent—the bride ethereal, the vows moving, the cheese wheel cake a revelation. The DJ played Despacito every time we requested it, which was far too many. It was one of the rare occasions post-college that my friends and I were all in same place, the wedding bringing us together at a time when we truly needed it. We didn’t know how badly until we were there, under the string lights, barefoot on the dancefloor, drunk on signature cocktails and future nostalgia.

I always cry at weddings. But, oh, how I cried at that wedding. During the vows, the toast, the first dance. I cried as the reception dwindled, in a haze of cigar smoke and failing lash glue, woozy with the grim understanding that the precious time had already slipped through my fingers.

Attending a wedding is like frolicking through a sweet, beautiful, emotional minefield. Maybe you’ll make it through unscathed, or maybe your bridesmaids dress will be torturously unflattering, or a distant relative will make a passive-aggressive comment that will send you into a tailspin, or an old friend will pick at a scab, or you’ll question the strength of your own relationship in the shadow of the happy couple or, or, or, or or.

I have now written two horror novels that feature weddings—Black Sheep and Kiss Slay Replay. From a craft perspective, weddings are a way to bring characters together in a highly emotional environment. Weddings are inherently dramatic, gowns and flowers and music and vows, ‘til death do us part. They also offer a pretty, romantic backdrop—perfect to juxtapose with horror. Gore spattered on white lace. Weddings in reality might be logistical nightmares, but in novels, they’re dreams. Lots of characters + lots of drama = lots of bloody fun opportunities.

Only, here’s the thing about weddings, and the thing about horror. While we’re transfixed by a glitzy venue, or a flesh hungry monster, there’s something else stirring under our skin. A wedding may be about two people making a lifelong commitment, and a horror story may be about a death time loop (or a cult or whatever).

But they’re never just about that, because both are designed to elicit big feelings. What bigger feelings are there than love and fear? Are they not two sides of the same coin?  Weddings are a celebration of life and love and togetherness, while horror is devoted to dread and death and isolation. Marrying (sorry) the two intensifies everything each brings to the table.

My friend / brilliant horror writer Nat Cassidy once pointed out that my work tends to focus on big events gone wrong because as a Type A Virgo, my idea of horror is disorganization and chaos. The lie detector test determined…he was telling the truth!

In addition to all the emotions weddings provoke, there’s the added horror of event-planning. When I think about the phrase “the big day” outside of wedding context, I find it totally dread inducing. A big day? The big day? I can barely handle a regular day. Add in the pressure that this day is meant to be one of if not the best day of your and / or someone you care about’s life? And likely one of the most expensive? Isn’t that highly distressing? Can’t just be me, right?

Anything that is meant to be perfect invites disaster. When the stakes are generally “what if it rains?,” dialing it up to “what if we die?” is a delicious extreme. And honestly, the night the power went out, saving the cheese felt like life or death, so in retrospect it doesn’t surprise me that we ended up talking about being stuck in a horror story.

While examining wedding horror, it’s essential to touch on the more specific bridal horror. I think about Haley Z. Boston’s genius Netflix hit Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen, and Ready or Not, and The Invitation, the image of a bride covered in blood. These stories have something to say about autonomy and what we may sacrifice for companionship. They raise questions about if we can ever truly know someone, and the vulnerability of seeking to be known. These stories are just as much about marriage as they are about weddings.

Personally, I do not find marriage as ripe for horror as I do weddings. To Mr. Cassidy’s point, could be because I’m indeed a Type A Virgo. Or more likely because I’m married and think it’s pretty great. I suppose it’s of note that I did not have a wedding.

But let me be clear. I don’t think weddings are a perfect setting for horror because I’m some curmudgeon. It’s the opposite. I love weddings! I love flowers and parties and dancing and dressing up and food and cake. I love love! It’s this very presentation of joy and beauty that I find so compelling. That I—for whatever reason—cannot leave well enough alone, cannot allow to exist without flipping the coin.

The light only exists because of the dark, and the dark only exists because of the light. Weddings are a distillation of all that is good, and horror is an avenue to consider the worst. Sometimes, the power goes out. Always, the happy moment is fleeting. But we vow to go on, for better or worse. Til Death.

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