Bloody Mary

When a little girl tries to redeem herself, the haunted dame in the mirror seeks revenge on the one who called her out.

“Bloody Mary,” she said with a slight stutter. She cleared her throat and gazed into the mirror, seeing her own eyes staring back at herself. “I-I’ve killed your b-baby,” she whispered, shutting her eyes tight. She repeated the words again and again, rocking on her heels as she waited for something to happen. She needed to prove that she wasn’t a chicken once and for all, especially after running out of the haunted house last Halloween and to ditch the nickname of Pee Pee Pants. The thunder boomed outside as rain poured down, adding another dose of terror through her system. Her voice hushed to a whimper as the room suddenly seemed to drop 20 degrees.

She opened her eyes slowly, quivering from head to toe, as she gazed into the mirror again. A red figure stood on the other end, exactly where her reflection should have been. She gasped, and the figure in the mirror smiled coldly, revealing a set of terrible, pointed teeth. 

“Another one gone,” the figure said her voice like steel. The whites of her eyes tinged red with anger as she flew out of the mirror, clasping her pale, spider-like fingers around the young girl’s neck.

“Please,” the girl whimpered, quickly losing breath. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill your baby!”

The figure opened her mouth and let out a shrill wail, cracking and splitting the mirror, shards collapsing onto the bathroom floor. “Lies,” she snarled, throwing the girl down violently into the sharp fragments.

The girl gasped again, crawling away and reaching for the door handle, but immediately felt an agony resonating through her, unlike anything she had ever felt before. She felt her eyes rolling in their sockets, she was screaming; it hurt!

The red lady stood above her cowering frame with an other-worldly grin across her lips. “You will die well,” she snarled, pulling an item out of her robe. It was too late when eight-year-old Debra Benson realized what it was. The red dame unsheathed her knife and brought it down on the little girl’s neck, detaching her pretty little head from the rest of her body. Her eyes shone with hatred as she slinked down into the shards of mirror, waiting inside the glass for the next child who thought that they were brave enough to take on the one and only Bloody Mary. 

The End

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