“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary”
Your chant echoes throughout the vast darkness of midnight or maybe three in the morning, you do not know. All that you know is that it is the eve of October 31st, or maybe it is already the 1st of November…
Three times you repeat her name. Some say’s thirteen, others thirty, but you do only three.
Three is enough.
You kneel there, enveloped in the less-than-warm glow of a single lit candle, your only source of light.
In front of you, passed the luminosity of the candlelight, is a mirror.
It isn’t any special mirror, merely an oval shaped glass just big enough to see the upper part of your body.
This is the ritual for the summoning. Many have done it before, and it will most likely be continued.
However, the result always differs from each individual; some would see only a part of a face, an eye, some would even say that they’ve seen her, full and ugly and monstrous...
Some might even be tracked back to only one’s imagination, panic or fear, others wouldn’t see at all.
These are results when the ritual isn’t done properly.
The ritual which…
Sadly for you…
You did perfectly.
And thus, behold as you see her face staring back at you from the other side of the mirror. Her dark eyes, her slender neck and her perfectly arched shoulders…
She’s beautiful, you can’t help but think. An Angel’s face, yet a demon’s heart.
She graces you with a smile, an enticingly beautiful smile, and you smile back in a daze.
She keeps her eyes directed to yours, and you can’t look away because you feel that maybe you don’t want to.
And you barely notice her arms stretching towards you, appearing in front of the looking glass until, in a completely impossible feat, it goes through.
You don’t notice this, you are too occupied by her beautiful face and how her dark dark hair falls perfectly down her back.
And then, you feel something grasp your neck, something less than smooth, and you feel sharp objects suddenly dig into your flesh.
The trance breaks.
And you look down to see two withered, monstrous arms right below your eyes, as clawed hands circled your neck.
You look back into the mirror, frightened beyond compare, and you scream at what you see.
No longer was the angelic face there, replaced by a withered old woman, her mouth curled into an angry snarl, her eyes holding unconcealed madness.
The hands around your neck tightened, blocking your air passage and sucking out your life energy. You try to scream and struggle, fighting against the strong grip, though laborious it might be.
You scream so loud you almost went deaf, and yet the house was silent. No one could hear you.
You cry and cry and cry, and you suddenly look through the mirror in front of you, the light flickering of the candlelight drawing your attention as dread fills your being, fearfully finding that it was not her trapped within that small expanse of glass.
It was you.
And she was laughing at you, all loud and manic and demented.
And your own cries grew harder, your screams louder and louder and louder, and yet you can’t hear anything. It was as if your voice disappeared.
Your hands fought desperately with the ones sucking you of your days, your body losing all control as it struggled from the steely grip, tears pouring from your own eyes and fear clogging your mind.
You’re inwardly praying, begging to be set free. Begging to continue to live.
And with a fearful look in your (…no, it was her) eyes, you see the mirror break. Scattering in a shower of glinting broken shards.
You hear a scream tore through the silent night again.
It wasn’t yours, you find, as you took in large gulps air, filling your previously deprived lungs with much needed oxygen.
The candle you lit had not been moved. It stayed tall and stiff at the same exact place where you had put it, as if nothing at all had happened.
And yet, the mirror was gone, and you turned to see shards of the reflective glass scattered all around you in a messy place.
At first, you think it might have been just a dazed dream, and that you broke the mirror by accident.
But no, the only injury that you have is the mark on your neck. A scar made by two clawed hands.
And as you looked into the broken pieces, thousands and thousands of dark, demented, yet beautiful eyes look back at you.
And through all the pain that your throat have received, you cry.
Cry and cry until everyone awoke and rushed to your side, seeing the tears flow from your eyes and holding you as you sobbed.
You never try it again, the ritual.
The curse and the terror that one night never leaving your mind even as you go about your normal days.
You can never forget it.
And most likely you never will.
Because the frightening memory didn’t just etch itself deep into your very soul like a normal horrible nightmare would.
Because that pair of beautiful dark eyes never did leave you alone.
It’s always there
All around you
Waiting for you…
You have been marked her prey, and yet you escaped.
She doesn’t like that.