The room is dark. You can't see her, but a young 12 year old girl is standing in the middle of the room. She is holding a dim light that's flickering. Now your eyes have adjusted to the low light. You see she's not standing in just any old room. You see a mirror, a sink, a shower, a toilet—she's in a bathroom. Your eyes have fully adjusted to the dim lighting. You notice that the dim light has an abnormal rhythm to its flicker. The base of the light seems to be sweating wax. You see a tiny flame dancing abruptly as the girl struggles to keep the candle steady.
You see the girl shuddering at the thought of carrying out what she's about to do. Had her friends not dared her to do this she would probably be in her bed listening to music now. But she could not chicken out; she has to go through with this—every girl her age had to do this at their birthday parties. She stares at herself in the mirror and you can see a silhouette morphing an eerie shape of the young girl.
She manages to mutter, "Bloody Mary."
Behind her she hears the giggles of the girls outside the bathroom door.
She ignores the laughter—almost a little too well. She repeats slowly, "Bloody Mary."
The flames continue to flicker. The silhouette seems to swirl with the small flame, almost producing a fiery image of the girl. The flame seems to completely cover the girl.
She gulps and trembles again. She can barely keep her hands steady. The flame will extinguish itself at the rate she's shuddering. Yet she manages to concentrate and face whatever lies ahead.
So she stutters, "Bloody Mary."
At the third call of the Queen's name, the image on the mirror seems to be engulfed in a dark flame emanating from the small candle. The light is sucked out of the flame, leaving nothing but a dark red glow emanating around the young girl's face. You see liquid dripping from within the folds of the mirror—or is it from the pores of the girl's face? You hear the indistinct whispers echo across the bathroom from behind. The girl turns around and calls to her friends to let her out—but the only answers she receives in return are whispers.
The shadowy glow extinguishes and you see nothing but darkness. The whispers are still prominent, but now you feel a thick congealment of goo surrounding your inner legs. You touch the liquid and it feels warm. Suddenly you begin to feel woozy. You see a face in the mirror. It's no longer the face of a young girl, but that aged decades beyond childhood—a face as pale as a ghost covered in a thin veil of blood. The face sprouts arms with talons that would put an eagle to shame. The freakishly long nails lash out at you and draws blood. You fall to the ground and suddenly as if exiting a vacuum, you hear the girls pounding on the door to check up on you. Your face is dripping with drops of blood, your nails are stained with your own blood, and the lower half of your body is gushing blood. Nearly completely covered in the stuff, you close your eyes and the sound cancels out again.
You are the legend. You are the Bloody Mary.
YOU ARE READING
The Real "Bloody Mary" ✓
Non-Fiction"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary." She's held responsible for the burning of nearly 300 protestants, granting her the infamous title little girls chant today in dark mirrors. But do you know her true story? The story of how her father bastardi...
