Bloody Mary

Mary Had a Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb, right? Fleece white as snow? We know what her little lamb looks like, but what about Mary?

Mary was beautiful. Skin as pale as death, with blood red lips and eyes like burning coal. Her hair was the night, and she was slender with height.

Mary wasn't her real name.

Nobody knew her real name.

Everyone called her Mary, and she let them.

Mary never spoke a single word. Instead, she spoke with her actions. She was kind, a heart of gold. Everyone loved her, and her lamb.

No one knew where Mary lived, no one knew her parents. If she had parents. She was old enough to take care of herself, anyways. You could see her every day. In the village square, sitting on the fountain edge, playing with the schoolchildren, sitting under a tree on a hill with flowers. With her lamb, of course.

Until she disappeared. And her lamb.

No one noticed at first. But eventually, people did. Schoolchildren cried out, "Where's Mary?" People in the square wondered where the beautiful girl who basked in the sun had gone.

Her lamb ran into town one day, a horrible bloody mess. It's cries echoing pitifully, catching everyones notice. They followed the hysterical little creature into the heart of the woods. And that's where they found Mary.

She hung from a tree, a rope around her neck. Her skin was just as pale as it was when she was alive. Her blood red lips were curved into a delighted smile, her black eyes seemed to be staring right at the townsfolk. They were horrified.

Below Mary's feet, on the ground, a handsome boy lay, dead. A knife in his stomach, his intestines spilling out. The lamb bleated, the only noise in the woods.

The townspeople held a funeral for Mary and the boy, buried side by side under a tree on a hill covered beautifully in flowers.

Months passed.

The townsfolk took care of the lamb. Feeding it whenever it came by, which was every day. Everyday at noon, the lamb would stare intensely at the fountain, until something broke its gaze.

Then, a hunter arrived in town.

One day, the hunter took a walk around the town, and ended up on the beautiful hill where Mary and the boy were buried. The hunter noticed the little lamb under the tree, grieving over it's lost owner.

So the hunter drew his axe, and slay the poor lamb, right under the tree on top of where Mary was buried. The hunter took the butchered lamb home, and stuffed the poor thing. The hunter gave the lamb to his daughter, as a toy. She was delighted and played with it the rest of the night

The hunter went to sleep that night, and had an awful dream. He dreamt that he was being ripped open by a handsome boy, his intestines yanked out, organ by organ.

He woke up in a cold sweat, to see his little daughter at the foot of his bed. She held the little lamb in one hand, and the hand of a beautiful, pale girl in her other. The girl held a scythe in her free hand.

His daughter began to sing. "Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb, and she's here to slit your throat."

The hunter screamed as Mary smiled a beautiful smile, raising the scythe. The last thing he saw was his daughter singing, smiling at him.