He was frantically running… trying to escape from the inescapable. He could smell it in the air, damn it. IT was just behind him. He could feel IT. The chill, the rapacious ramblings that were just being heard… somewhere… He ran and ran, till he was exhausted. He could run no more. Stepping on a sharp rock… dropped to the ground. Unconscious. The blood oozed… silently.
There was a vague feeling of being lifted through the air. It looked like someone, or something that was infinitely more powerful was carrying him along… like a prey in the jaws of the predator. He was scared.
(“Mommy! Mommy!! Help me… Get me out of this… I want to die… Can’t take it anymore…”).
He woke up much, much later. His head was spinning and was aching. (“Gawd!! The migraine is getting worse… How am I ever getting out of this nightmare!?”). Closing his eyes for a moment, tried to calm his already jittery nerves. (“What am I going through?”). At that moment, he felt it again…, the silence… it was this silence that drove him mad… That deafening silence. No bird tweets, no insect chatters, no leaf rustles… Nothing… Just plain, total, complete silence. It looked like even the animals were trying to stay silent… on purpose. They knew the prudence of staying away from its path… IT’s path.
He was trying to escape from IT… again… He knew it. He tried to get to his feet. The leg was burning with pain. Cramped. The blood had already caked around the wound… Clotted.
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“Mommy… Help me… my leg is hurt… Aaaaaargh”.
“Gosh!! son, what a mess… where from did u get it? It was not there when you went to bed the last night…!!”
“I had a nightmare, mommy… Real scary one”. He shuddered… (“I wont ever sleep… again”) Mommy, turn the stereo on, please”.
“But you just got up, son. Not the time to listen to songs.”
“I know mommy, but I hate SILENCE…”
“Sonny, let me bandage your feet. I remember having told you to stay away from your outing in the woods yesterday. Well!! Why didn’t you listen to me? See how you got yourself hurt.”
“No mommy, I stayed away, all right. I don’t know how I got hurt… OUCH!”
“Stay home today and no school for you. I have to go shopping and I’ll take you to the doctor after I am back… You stay put… and NO adventures.” She bent down to kiss his cheek. It was warm. (“Nothing unusual… after all, he was always warmer than usual”).
He limped his way to the bathroom. The main door clicked close (“Mom must have left. I hope she remembers the chocolate corn flakes…”). Turns the tap. The cool gushing water was a comfort. It was an unusually hot day. He closed his eyes and cupped his hands under the tap. As the water overflowed from the cupped palms, he opened his eyes slowly… very slowly… His eyes bulged. (“Oh! Gosh!!!”)(“The water is heavenly”). He playfully sprinkled the water on his face. The effect the cold water had was terrific. He seemed to come out of the stupor. It felt like he relaxed… after a very terrible ordeal. The turkey towel beside the wash basin was of his favorite color – Blue. After wiping his wet face with the cloth… he proceeded to put his hair straight. (“Gosh!! Don’t they look pretty unkempt?”).
The mirror. That oval shaped mirror. He remembered the day last year when his mother asked him… (“What does my sweetie want for his birthday?” “I want your mirror, mommy” “Why do want that for, son?, I thought you wanted the Harry Potter wand!!” “You look beautiful in the mirror, mommy”). From that day, the mirror was his. He felt he always looked smart in THAT mirror. He went straight to the mirror wiping his face with the blue towel. He made faces at himself. Laughing. Jim Carey. (“How could he make such faces!?”) he tried to wriggle his jaws. (“Impossible”). He laughed out aloud…
(“What was that?”) An echo. An echo of his laughter. (“Echo of my laughter? You must be nuts. This house is full of things. There can’t be an echo!!!”) (“Okay! If it is not your echo, it might be someone else… imitating you… inside your own house…”)(“Impossible… How can that be?”)(“Why not?”)(“Why not!? My foot. Mom has gone out and I am the only one in the house.”)(“Hahaha”).
He sensed it… Again… He had become acutely aware of his loneliness… Loneliness accompanied with its everlasting companion… Silence. That eerie silence. The volume, already blaring at the backdrop, failed to ward of the imposing sound of silence. Silence had a method of making itself heard.
He cringed. Stomach churned. He lunged forward and tried to jack up the volume. (“Can’t, its already maximum!! How could I miss the sound?”)
Mind can be so rude sometimes. It makes people realize things that they don’t want to. Here the mind was rude… It made him realize… He was alone. Very alone.
His attention turned to the mirror. THAT mirror. It seemed like something moved in the mirror. A shadow. Almost transparent… Floating effortlessly. (“Am I in a thriller movie, or what!? Humph”). He started staring into the mirror. No twitching of eyes. Just a plain hard gaze… What was that!?? His face started getting morphed. Into inexplicable shapes. (“Don’t look in the mirror for a long time… BLOODY MARY will get you.”).
He froze. Petrified. He jumped onto his bed and covered himself with the sheet. It was a big sheet. Felt like he was in a micro-camping tent. The room inside was around an elbow length. The chill returned. The hair on the neck stood up resulting in a chill down the spine. His limbs were numb. (“Was this a fright or a cramp?”) He did not want to guess…
Ding Dong!!! (“Phew!! That familiar sound.”) “Honey! I am back. Can you open the door? Honey… Honey!!”
“I am coming mom, I am coming… Wait”.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He tried to move, but his feet was badly bruised. The blood stopped oozing out, at least for now. (“Where am I?”) He looked around to see the dense woods around him. That characteristic jungle. Huge. Secretive and… Powerful. (“Jungle!? Where is my sheet? My mirror? MOM”). There was no one. All alone. Nightmare. Again.
With the badly paining feet, he dragged along – destination unknown. The only thing he knew was that he had to escape. Escape from something unknown. He sauntered along. The violet sky, looked evil, casting its menacing, long shadows over the thick foliage around him. The woods themselves adorned the evil mysticism and was beckoning him to join it. “Come” it seemed to say, “Come and I’ll show you the power of evil”. And he was remotely attracted. The effect was so overwhelming that he dragged himself along, mind terribly influenced, into the heart of the jungle.
A clatter of sound shattered his trance. First a scream. Then an unearthly laughter. Shrill. Sharp. Penetrating. Every squeal seemed to make his limbs watery. He stood there, scared, unable to move. Shaking with fear, he tried to hide behind the nearest tree.
He saw something that surprised him. A mirror. Oval shaped and His mirror. That mirror… what was it doing here? It was in my room, why did it come here?
(“Don’t see the mirror, BLOODY MARY will get you.”). Temptation. Urge. Desire to look. He saw his face. Contorted. Morphed into unbelievable shapes and sizes. With every passing second, the laughter seemed to come near him. Very close. From the mirror… He screamed. All his might put to use. But a shout, only he could hear…
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“Wake up, son. It seemed like you were shouting. What happened? Why are you sweating?”
“Nightmare, mommy. Second time since yesterday.”
“You will be alright. Get dressed up and we’ll go to the doc.” She bent down to inspect his leg. “Why did you take the bandage off?”.
“I didn’t”.
“Oh! Stop it. You lied twice to me since yesterday”.
Same response. “I didn’t”.
He glanced at the mirror. It looked normal.
Sighing he dragged himself and began dressing up.
“I am ready, mommy”
“C’mon”
He went to put on his shoe.
“Mom! My shoe has a cut through it. I’ll need another pair.”
“We’ll buy a new one on the way.”
(“How did my shoe get a hole?”). His mind retorted back (“Go to the woods and get your feet bruised.”). (“Is my bruise and the shoe-cut, connected?”) (“Maybe!”)
The doctor looked kind and plump and was around 55 years. He was bald. Pot bellied. With a casual jeans and a striped shirt, he looked more like a geologist, than a doctor.
With an arm around him, he asked “What is the matter with you, son?”
“His foot is badly cut, doctor”
He opened the bandage. “How did it happen, madam. Pretty bad cut this.”
“He seemed to go into the woods. Maybe it happened there.”
“I didn’t go into the woods. I swear.”
“Oh! Cut it out. Didn’t I tell u that lying is a bad habit?”
“I didn’t”.
“Its all right madam, I can fix this.”
He came home, his foot bandaged.
“There! Son. Take rest. No school for 2 more days.”
“Can’t mommy. I am going to school tomorrow. I don’t want to stay home alone and I don’t want to miss my school more.”
“The doctor advised you to miss school for two days.”
“I wont strain my foot mom, I promise.”
“Fine with me.”
It seemed a night of disquiet. He was all alone in his room. His mirror beside him. Perfectly doing IT’s job of reflecting things… contorting them ruthlessly, too… Maybe. The time was around 10 PM .
The clock kept ticking along. The silence of the night was effecting a very clear audibility of the ticks. He kept rolling over on his bed. Mind wandered.
Mind… as mentioned before can be very rude. Reminding us of things that are best buried in the mind… deep.
(“Why didn’t you sleep?”)
(“I don’t want to sleep. I am having nightmares”)
(“Nightmares don’t repeat.”)
(“Mine does!! Moreover the nightmares are the continuation of the previous ones. One point I don’t seem to understand.”)
(“That does not make me see why you don’t want to sleep”)
(“If I am awake, I can be in much more control of things around here. That way, I can escape my nightmare.”)
(“You must be joking, what would you do if the nightmare catches you awake?”)
(“Not practical”)
(“Suppose there is something under the bed, trying to get at you. Something very hideous. Waiting for you. Waiting for a chance. Waiting to rip your inners open and scoop them out. What would you do?”)
He remained non-pulsed. He imagined the whole thing. A hideous and a creepy creature crawling its way out from under the bed. Catching hold of his legs and getting him down. Thin clinking, metallic fingers slitting his inners open and him bleeding to death. Death that never came.
Shudder.
(“I would switch the lights on and tackle the situation”). He went on bravely.
(“Suppose the electricity spooks out. Then?”)
The situation was hard to imagine. He had no answer.
He tried to think of better things. School. His friends. His classes… and all things that looked so beautiful in the recent past…
A slight wind. And a light rain. It was a cold night. A thunder somewhere far away. He was still rolling over on his bed restively and a twist from him saw his pillow falling down. The already darkened room was looking spooky with the bluish light from the night lamp giving a eerie feel to it. He bent down to get his pillow. His hands quavered. He was unsure. (“What if there is something below the bed?”). He switched on the light beside his bed. It did not work. Maybe it might have been fused. A new tension gripped him. Is there something under the bed? (“There cannot be!!” “But what if there is?”). His throat was parched. He needed water. Water that was placed on the table about 5 feet away from the bed. How was he to get it without putting his feet down? (“Don’t put the feet down. I am warning you. It is waiting for you.”). Restlessness. (“I need water”). He decided the only best way is to jump onto the table and get it. (“What if you fall?” “I am not falling!!”). Determined to get over with it and with an abstract reasoning that “if it was under the bed, it would get him regardless of him being either under or over the bed”… He lunged forward onto the table. Perfect jump. Puts the glass of water to his lips and drinks it. Now onto the bed. Jump. His feet touches the edge of the bed and he slipped. He directly fell onto the pillow. He froze. If it was under the bed, now is the time for it to come for him… He closed his eyes and waited… Waited for his inners to be ripped open… Too scared to react. The clock religiously ticked. Every second. Nothing happened. He climbed back on to the bed. Relieved.
He laughed out aloud. He missed the echo. (“I have done it.”)(“Great!! Now you go to sleep…”) He was unsure of this. Should he risk bending down again to pick the pillow up? He bent to take his pillow. It was there, waiting to be picked up. He tossed it onto the bed. Feeling like a hero who survives after a bloody war, he took courage and looked under the bed.
A pale pus colored featureless face… absolutely devoid of any features was waiting under the bed to greet him. It held out one of its limbs and was chanting (“Come to my arms… I want you.”). Terrified and eyes closed, a shout emerged “MOMMY!!! Help”. Nobody came. His voice was buried deep inside him. When he opened his eyes, he could see nothing. The apparition disappeared. A big thunder. And the next thing he knew, the electricity popped off. Talk about prediction!!
He heard steps. He covered himself with the sheets and stayed put. (“Mom!! Please come…”). The steps sounded more nearer. Then a click. The door opened. Creak. He could see a pale light dancing, through the sheets. The light came nearer to him. He was shivering. Suddenly the sheet he was covering himself was pulled aside. He could see to his horror that a face was visible. With a mordant smile, it tried to impose itself upon him. The shadows on the walls made things worse. He could see mutilated shapes everywhere. The light made the face darker one side and the other was palely lit. Ghoulish. It placed the light on the table. And went away. Closing the door shut. He somehow had a feeling that he was locked inside. (“Did the THING lock me inside? What happened to mommy?”). He shrieked-“MOMMY!! Where are you?”- with eyes shut.
Frantic footsteps. “Son… what happened? Why are you shouting? And pray open the door” “Something is out to kill me. Mommy, do come inside. Break the door if you have to, but please make it fast. I am seeing apparitions. Come, oh! Please.” The poor lady banged the door, trying to save her only child. The frenzied bangs on the door resulted in a smooth click. The door opened. Might have been struck.
The room was pitch dark. The candle she placed on the table was put off. (“The windows are closed. Why would he put the light off?”). Absolutely no movement. Everything was still. She struck the match and lit the candle. Dim light. (“Good god! The room is eerie. No doubt he was scared”). As the flame of the candle danced around the room, she felt like she was in some alien land. Something just did not feel right. (“But where is my son?”). He was not there in the room. Slowly she lifted the covers. No son. She checked the bathroom, no trace of him. (“Is he hiding behind the chair?”). Slowly she walked to the chair. Its polished wooden surface was reflecting the light from the candle. The shadow born out of the candle made the rear of the chair more darker… and more avoidable. “Are you there, son?” She whispered. No reply. She held the candle to the back of the chair. Empty space. (“Where is he? Shall I look under the bed?”). She gloomily glanced at the bed. Shifting the glances between the bed and the dancing flame, she looked down under the bed. The dancing light was foreboding. He was not seen. (“Where could he go?”). She glanced around the room, the rate of heart beat slowly rising. That mirror. Why was it looking so strange? Was it the dancing light of the candle? Or were her eyes playing tricks? Where was her son? Her heart, thumping from inside.
(“Where is my son?”)
(“Disappeared into the thin air”)
A frustrated wry smile. (“Impossible”)
(“Maybe, a devil ate him up”)
(“Oh! Shut up”)
(“May be, he hanged himself from the fan…”). Furtive glance to the ceiling. The fan appeared longer and bigger than usual, thanks to the dancing candle light. Sigh of relief.
(“How about visualizing your son being swallowed by the candle flame?”)
(“Oh! Yeah!! The candle was extinguished when I came in”)
Mind sneered at her. (“What if the candle got extinguished after gobbling him?”)
(“Oh! Shut up. Can’t you just keep quite?”)
Why does the mind glorify the possibility of the impossible? “Possibility of the Impossible”. None knew.
But the seed had been sown. The poor mother was unconsciously being forced to assume that something terrible might have happened to her son. Her poor little darling. May be the candle light did not gobble him. (“It is a possibility”). Maybe the something just took him away. Where could he go?
As she whirled around in a frenzy, she just glanced at some movement in the mirror. She hurried to the mirror and tried to look. Nothing visible. Just a pale outline of her shadow against the dancing light placed on the table. She fetched the candle. She wanted to make sure that there is nothing inside the damned mirror. Talk about the “Possibility of the Impossible”.
She looked around once again. Absolute silence. Nothing moved. Placing the candle under her chin slowly, she looked into the mirror. Her diamond pendent was shining. Her eyes, in the reflection was little misty. Maybe she was controlling her tears. She started to look inside the mirror.
Rude mind. Always on the alert to sow some fear and confusion.
(“BLOODY MARY WILL CATCH YOU”). Her hands quavered. She read about Bloody Mary when she was in her teens. Was that true? Nonsense. But then what am I doing, looking inside a mirror? Am I hallucinating?
She saw it. The movement in the mirror. Something moved. Subtly. But something was there. She instinctively turned around. Nothing there. Only stillness.
(“Don’t say ‘Come come, Bloody Mary, I want to see you.’ ”)
(“I won’t”)
But her mind kept chanting.
(“Come come, Bloody Mary, I want to see you”).
(“Come come, Bloody Mary, I want to see you”).
(“Come come, Bloody Mary, I want to see you”).
Imagination ran wild. (“What if I turned around? Will I see a burnt woman, bleeding at the mouth and eye sockets, ready to pierce me by the throat with her sharp finger nails?”). She stood there petrified.
All the while her mind kept up the chant. (“Come come, Bloody Mary, I want to see you”).
She was overcome by the sheer pressure of the thought and she turned. Jumped through her skin. A pale quivering figure was standing in front of her. Candle in the hand. “SOMEBODY HELP ME. BLOODY MARY IS TRYING TO KILL ME… PLEASE HELP”. Nobody came… because nobody was there. Drenched in sweat, she recognized the figure in front of her. Her reflection. Was that was she worried about? She should be looking for her son. Why was her mind deviating?
Just when she was about to blink her eyes, she saw it again. Something moved in the mirror again. Something just seemed to brush against her feet. She glanced down, on the impulse. Just then, it happened. A pungent smelling limb that looked like a super burnt, charred hand caught her throat. The long twisted nails dug into her throat. She heard the deep hisses. Seemed to be just beside her. Then the stench started. It was reeking burnt flesh. She wanted to puke. A voice rasped. “I am going to rip you open. Your son has gone against me. He will die and you will, too”. She was undergoing an excruciating pain in her throat. The nails were dug deep. The whole neck was cramped. Blood was flowing freely, adding to the already pungent environs. The powerful limb pushed her forehead, till the force strained her throat. A little more force and her throat could tear open. The long steely nails of the pungent limb crudely scratched the strained throat, sneering at her.
The eyes that belonged to the voice sternly looked into her eyes. Glassy eyeballs. The eye-whites were wrinkled and decomposing. Just like a half-decayed body out of a grave.
The candle fell down and got extinguished.
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When she got up, the sun was already up in the sky. Her head and throat hurt very badly. She vaguely remembered the last nights ordeal. If she was not wrong, she thought, she should be having a clots on the side and the middle of her throat. She ran her fingers over the throat. It was all rough. It felt like someone rubbed sandpaper on her throat for 10 minutes at a crudely. That was it. But no blood clots. (“How could that be?”). She looked at the mirror. It was normal oval shaped. She looked around. There was an extinguished candle near her feet. Her head was pounding. It seemed like a long night… and a long sleep. Everything seemed so vague.
The fan reminded her of the night. She remembered her mind suggesting that her son, hanging from it. (“God! Where is my son? God! Please let me see my son”). She heard herself praying to the supposed to be invisible, all mighty and all compassionate God. Praying for her son. Praying for his safety. Praying for his whereabouts.
A light wind. She glanced at the clock beside the bed. 11 AM. Long time since the ordeal had ended. Long time since his son got lost. Long time since she came face to face with the ‘Bloody Mary’. Restlessness and desperation. (“Where is my son?”)(“Let me take a wild guess…”)(“Don’t… I don’t want to be scared”) The mind rambled along. (“He disappeared before you went in. And you met HER, inside. What could have happened to him?…”). Perspiration. She knew what the mind was going to say. It went on… (“I know!!! Bloody Mary is involved in this…”) and the mind leered at her.
Scared, she put her head into her palms and started weeping.
The door creaked. Someone entered inside.
“Mommy, I came back.” Innocent and sweet. Her joy knew no bounds when she looked at him. Her little bundle of joy was standing before her. Intact. (“See… you are wrong.”) The mind smirked at her. (“Wait and watch”). She tried to talk to him. Putting on a brave face.
“Where were you? I was worried.”
“Don’t know”
“What does that mean?”
“That means I don’t know.” Rude and harsh.
“I worried about you.”
Glum. He silently started weeping.
“Mom, I am scared.”
“So am I..” she thought, Alarm bells. “Why?”
“It took me away yesterday.”
“Who took you where?”
“The same thing that clawed your throat yesterday night.”
She shuddered. Stunned. Speechless. (“Did he see what happened? Does that mean what happened was true?”)
He blurted. “That lady took me away, mommy. Into the woods. Since past 10 days, mommy, she is doing this daily. Please help me mommy, I am scared.”
“Shh!!! I am here, son. Don’t worry. I’ll take care. Tell me what happened during the past 10 days.”
“I don’t remember all of it mom. After I called her to see her, I got scared and I became unconscious. While I got up, I saw myself in the forest.” He was shivering. “There were bloated corpses all around. Skin intact and healthy, but the insides were missing. All of them were cut into more than two pieces. I remember eyeballs strewn all around. Every eye ball had the same look of pleading.”
“And then some voice spoke to me. I heard the voice in my dream too. I was scared of the voice mommy. It said ‘You are going to be one of these.’ I remember having shouted ‘Mommy, please help me’ and then it said, ‘She will join you, too.’ And there was laughter. I ran and ran and I fell down and cut my toes. I was running on eyeballs, mommy. They were cracking under my feet.”
She was shrieking and he nauseated.
She hugged him, trying to be protective.
She noticed something funny. He was smelling exactly like her. The same reeking smell. The same smell of burning flesh. A thought crossed her mind. She wondered whether it was possible. (“Absurd”).
They both went downstairs. She made him sit on the dining chair.
“Is there something you missed, son?.”
He looked on. There was a hint of fright on his face. And a hint of defiance, too.
“You are telling me why you tried to call her. What is happening?”
“I watched it on TV, mom. A story about Urban Legends. This episode of the documentary featured Bloody Mary. It was a story about a lady called Mary who scratched her face beyond recognition. I tried to contact her mom… They showed how it could be contacted.” He bent down and was weeping. He continued. “I contacted her mom, and she started giving me nightmares and took me to the forest. She told me she is going to kill you and me.”
His mother was shocked. A 12 year old kid. Too much to ask for. Could she believe it? Or is the boy’s imagination exceeding limits? Yesterdays adventure told her otherwise.
She decided that he needed a rest. She tried to change the topic. He seemed disinterested. He was silent throughout. He dolefully looked at her. She could not face his misery.
“Mom, I have to tell you one thing.”
“You need sleep, honey.”
“She is visiting us again mom. Tonight.”
She stood still. Perplexed. Will that be true?
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The clock struck 10 PM . She never stopped thinking about what her son said to her. (“Congrats!! Your friend is going to visit you… and you soon will have your own epitaph saying RIP”)(“RIP? – Rest in Peace”)(“Nope… Rest in Pieces. Do you think Bloody Mary will let you rest in peace?”)
She looked at her son, sleeping on the bed in her room. She did not want him to sleep in his room till she was sure that everything was in her control. More so, when the mirror in the room looked haunting.
Her thoughts were on the lines of tackling this menace.
Unconsciously she switched on her computer. The initial beep and the low hum of the machine inside. After a few minutes of working, what seemed like eternity, the computer fell silent, getting the silence back, ready to be worked on.
“Mom, Switch the light off. I am not able to sleep.”
“Pull the covers over your face.”
“Please put the light out. Don’t you understand?”. The same rudeness he displayed in the morning. (“What was he coming to?”)
Without saying a word, she put the light out. He pulled up his covers and slipped into a trance like sleep. She looked at his face. There was a definite change. A fortnight before, he was a different child. Chirpy and smart. And curious. And curiosity brought him this. He had been through a lot.
The air conditioner was making the room cold. A cricket was making a racket somewhere. The room was dark again, save the glow from the computer. The reflection from the computer was clearly seen on her reading glasses. She turned back to her computer. Confusion seemed to rule her now. What could be done? Mechanically, she logged on to a search engine. And typed the fateful words “Urban Legends - Bloody Mary Legends Myths and Cures” and searched the mighty internet. The internet returned her the result that made her smile. More than 20000 websites. Confident that at least one will contain the remedy of Bloody Mary.
She clicked on the first one. It was about Urban Legends. She searched for her subject from the plethora of links on the page. She found her Link. Bloody Mary. Reading
The page had loaded by this time. She was confronted with an image of a lady. Frowning. Long, messy and matted hair. The hair fell partially over what seemed to be her eyes. A candle in her hand. The flame from the candle was reddish. And the putrefying hand that held the candle was having long nails. Long and brown. And very sharp. The candle was dripping wax. Wax that resembled blood. The light was getting reflected in her empty eye sockets. The face was badly gashed. Scratches all across her face. One scratch run from the right temple diagonally across to her left ear, passing through the empty eye sockets. All these wounds were bleeding. The blood made its way across her face to the corner of her lips towards her neck. There was a cross in her neck. And the cross was dripping blood.
She shuddered for a moment. It was a legend, she hoped, stories that are untrue.
(“Hope against hope, hopefully”). Mind quipped.
She proceeded to read the rest of the document.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“If you want to have your eyes plucked out and your face gashed beyond recognition, all you have to do is to go to a mirror, any mirror, take a lighted candle in your hand and say or think “Bloody Mary, I want to see you”. Repeat this verse for sometime and you will end up inviting the dead soul - Mary. A bloody, ghostly scratched face, bleeding eye sockets without eyes, staring at you. Freeze. Don’t you dare turn around then. If you do, you risk being mauled by the unearthly soul.
There are reports that state that there were people who turned around and there was fearful, reeking hand that appeared behind them and pull out their eyes from sockets. All that remains of you is a dismembered face, sans eye balls.
“The old legend”, it went on to say “that always made an interesting reading and experimentation. It is usually used to stimulate a séance. Many people profess that they had unbelievable experiences when they tried to invoke Bloody Mary. How exactly is it done?
There was a beautiful girl called Mary sometime in the last century. She met with a gory accident one day. The face remained the most affected part of the body. There were a lot of bloody gashes and scratches on her face and most of the face was rendered unrecognizable. She died and turned to a ghost. Legend has it that she died crying over her disfigured face looking into a mirror. From that period, she is haunting every mirror ever created.
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Attack from Bloody Mary means certain death. Even if you escape once, it will visit again. Kids who see Bloody Mary can turn as demented and maniacal. There are real possibilities of the children getting possessed. The younger, the worse the possession
There are no recorded facts about de-possession. General belief is that the soul on possession, eats the victims from inside. In short, the entrails rot away while the person is alive. A fetid stench greets the person who visits the possessed.
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A statement that made her jump up. She was glaring at the screen.
(“What does that mean? Possessed. My son cannot be that way.”)
(“Oh! yeah!! Remember the out-of-the-grave smell when you hugged him?)
(“I imagined it.”)
(“Then imagine that he has come from the grave too. Tell you what… Bloody Mary killed him and he is back from death. He is undead”)
(“Shut up”)
(“I won’t. I am scared out of my wits. I don’t believe your son. He is not what you think he is.”)
A rustle behind her froze her nerves. Was her son turning around in his sleep, again? She turned to see nothing. The glow from the monitor ceased. The room was dark again. She remembered. The computer was programmed to switch off the monitor after 15 minutes of idleness. She turned around to face the computer screen. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the computer table. Dull glowing screen. She kept thinking, speaking to herself.
Her mind leered at her.
(“You are the devil mother.”)
She remained silent. Her mind was doing the talking.
(“Now what? Your son is a fanatic hell bent on cracking eyeballs. The devil herself decides that he is her next victim. The next thing you know is he is going to cut you to pieces with a hatchet and play marbles with your eye-balls.”)
(“Can’t you support me for once?”)
(“Not unless you see reason.”)
(“What reason? He is my son.”)
(“He is not. He is a devil. Your son is lost. Bloody Mary denigrated your son. She is him. Remember, the stench, the ghoulish, cadaver-ish smell.” Congratulations. You are a host to a ghost.”)
(“Please spare me.”)
(“Your son has turned a moron, as far as the story goes, if it is to be believed. A maniac in waiting.”)
(“I am terrified. Please let me see reason. Help me. You are my mind. You are supposed to help me.”)
(“Okay. What do you make of that?”)
(“Don’t know what to say. I am terribly confused.”)
(“The document on the Net is scary. I am scared.”)
(“Can it be true? They look pretty bad. His explanation is pretty nauseating. I don’t believe it”)
(“Don’t say you don’t believe it. Tell me you are scared to believe it.”)
(“I am.”)
(“All the content may be just a farce. But you have to think of the stench emanating from him. How can that be explained?”)
(“I don’t know.”)
(“My gut feeling tells me that he is not him.”)
(“He is my son.”)
(“He is not. I had the feeling right from the day, he got his feet cut. Look, don’t get your emotion to blind you. He can’t be what he is. Is it possible that the Bloody Mary got into him?”)
(“I don’t know and I don’t care. He is my son and he will remain my son. Let all the trash from the net go to garbage bin. I don’t believe it.”)
(“Please yourself.”)
(“I am taking him to hospital tomorrow morning.”)
(“At least once, please smell him. Ascertain that he still is not beyond our reach. Be careful, if he is possessed, you are finished.”)
(“What a sick thought. ‘Smell him’ what a thought!”)
She decided to see her son once more. “Tomorrow”, she thought, “I am taking him to a hospital. And he will be safe”. (“Will he?”)
She lifted her head from the table. The monitor was radiating a lifeless glow. She put her palms on the table, pushing the table from the top, to get up. She saw a strange thing on the monitor. There was a shadow behind her. She could see it on the screen. It seemed to be slowly approaching her from behind – hands outstretched, fingers apart. She was horrified. Yesterdays occurrences were flashing before her. Every bit of her wanted to run. She feared for herself and her son. After all, if the thing was coming near her, her son must already be victimized. What did it do with him? What would it do with her? As she kept imagining their fate, the creepy shadow was closing in on her. She wanted to turn around and run for it, but… The darned story from the net stopped her. ‘Don’t dare turning around, for that will be the end.’ This was the statement. If she turned around, will she be attacked? (“No matter what, you are dead”). Why does mind think at all? She was suffering. Even though she believed the whole story as a rut, she knew it was a myth, but somewhere deep down, she was not able to come to terms. Adversity could be the beginning of superstition. Just because the ghost attacked her the night before, after she turned around, does that mean it will not attack now unless she turns back? Tizzy, that’s the word, he mind was thinking fast. What to do?
Meanwhile, the shadow was creeping in on her. Sweat breaking on her brow. Perspiring down to her spine, she put her palms to her ears and was just about to shriek for help.
A hand, cold and dry fell on her neck. She anticipated a nail pierce into a skull. She was anticipating a nightmare. Didn’t her son tell her “Mom, she is coming again, tonight?” He certainly could not imagine that. So this was their, or was it her, doomsday.
Miraculously the cold, dry hand patted her from the back.
“Mommy, I smell something dead around here. Do you smell that too?”
(“Oh! My god!! Its not her. What is he talking about?”) Relief, followed by surprise.
She froze. Smile on her face. (“How could I imagine this?”)
He spoke again. “Mommy, Where is the stench coming from?”
“I don’t know, son”
“I feel it is coming from you, mommy”
“What? What are you saying?”
“It is stronger since last 2 days mommy. It was not there to this extent before, mommy”
“What do you mean by ‘this extent’”
She was enraged.
Innocence. “Right from the day, you gifted me the mirror, mommy, I have been smelling this weird smell everyday, whenever I came to you.”
She was shocked. Horror writ all her face.
He continued. “Since two days, it is on the rise.”
He went back to sleep, leaving behind a shocked mother.
Her mind spoke. However this time it was much more like an enemy leering.
(“So Madam Smelly, you smell like a corpse. Congratulations.”)
Panic. Silence.
(“I have been waiting for this day since long.”)
(“For what?”)
Now the all familiar stench begun to fill the room. She felt the presence of a superior being in the room. Heck! She felt it in her. Something seemed to be inside her. Something that hid all along.
Her face was burning. It felt like some invisible nails started cutting her across the face. It burnt like hell.
(“To decimate you. Do you really believe that I am your mind?”)
(“What a joke! Aren’t you?”)
(“Am I? Ha, I am not”)
She ran to the bathroom to wash her face. She felt blood oozing out of her gash. The cool water not able to alleviate her pain. Nevertheless, she continued swabbing her face.
(“And I have already snuffed your mind off.”)
(“Who are you, then?”)
She looked at the mirror at the wash basin, trying to look at her gash.
(“I am Bloody Mary.”)
Her face twisted in agony. Scratches appeared all over her face. Every where there was bleeding. What she saw there was not her. It definitely was not her. It struck to her that the eyes in the mirror were dead. And were rotting.
The stench was not coming around her. It was coming from within her. It did not take her long to come to the conclusion. SHE WAS POSSESSED.
Her mind (hers??) laughed a sardonic laugh.
(“You can’t escape me now.”)
She shrieked out aloud. “Son, get up and run. I am going to kill you. Oh! Please, Get out of here. I am coming after you.”
Her son got up and was staring with confusion.
“Sonny, I am not me. I am possessed. And Bloody Mary wants to kill you now. RUN FOR IT.” So saying she leapt forward and caught him by his hands. With one blow, she separated his left hand from the body. The separated limb was quivering. And it slowly stopped.
His hand was missing and the kid was in a shock. Weeping aloud, he saw his mommy’s face and was yelling. Fright could not be more frightening. Her mommy’s face was scratched. Just like the face that appeared in the mirror. It was much more bloodier and gory this time. The skin of his mother was drying up, but her eye balls fell down in front of his eyes. He could not understand that the rotting started from inside. Only thing he knew was he had to run for his life. And fast.
With a limbless left part, clutching his shoulder, he jumped towards the door. A shrill voice stepped in. Was it a dream? He felt. He heard the same voice from his dream.
“Stop there, Don’t you want to see your mom die?” The thing in his mom’s body inched forward.
“You are not my mom. Where is she?” Fear and Defiance
Mordant smell whenever she talked. The eyeless, scratched face was making him jittery. He was shivering badly. And he was scared.
“Your mom? This is your mom.” A laughter. “Hi son!!” The voice imitated his mothers voice and inched another step forward.
Somewhere, his mothers voice rang out. “Don’t waste time son. She is going to kill you. RUN AWAY.” Frantically, She pointed to herself.
The young lad could get one thing straight. He could understand that there was something in his mom’s body and that thing was killing his mom and it was after him, the next victim. The only thing he had to do was to rush out of the door and escape to safety.
He lunged towards the door. Grabbing the knob open, he pushed it forward. Even without looking back, he could sense that the lady bent on killing him was darting after him, too.
He jumped out of the door and banged the door closed. There was a thud behind the door. She must have banged her head against the heavy door. He looked around left and right, deciding where to run. On the impulse, he selected his room to hide in. And that was the mistake he made. After all, that room was the mentor of the mirror.
At the same time, the unearthly soul in the mothers body was wailing out aloud. With rage and vengeance. The sudden closing of the door resulted in a gory bang against the door and the skull was partially split. She was bathing in the blood from the wound and scratches. And she was getting demented by the minute. She yelled powerfully at the young boy and swiped her arm across the door. The door came down the bloodthirsty hunter tried to sniff out the prey.
She could sense the kids presence in the sons room. After all, her mirror existed there. And it could see everything. And she proceeded towards the same.
The boy in the room was trembling with his dreaded imagination. He kept imagining horrendous things happening. The blood trails would show. The left arm was not there and he was in a pain. Lots of it. The thoughts of the ordeal in the jungle was haunting him. The fear filled faces in the jungle, their grievous eye balls were staring at him from nowhere. He was scared. And he wanted it to end. Either by death or otherwise. He wanted an end. He hid under the bed, from where the movements at the door was visible.
The door of the bedroom swung open. The thing in the mothers body was ranting.
“Out with you. You will be skinned alive.”
He huddled under the bed, his hiding place, a little closer.
The mirror was just visible from the place where he hid. And he could see the movements of the Bloody Mary. He could see she was raging with fury. The blood was pouting from the scratches on her face. The damaged skull was literally pumping the blood out. And… the skin was getting more dried and decayed.
She knew the boy was under the bed. Nothing hid from her mirror. But she played around. The blood trials showed it.
“Sonny, where are you? I am back. The ghost is sent off. I have succeeded in killing it.” Imitation.
No response. Huddled himself more closer.
“Where are you?”. He came closer towards the bed. He could smell the decayed flesh. And wanted to vomit. The speech was still caustic. And the smell was agonizing. He knew that his mother was not back. And he got more scared.
The knees of the woman bent down. The odor of blood was overpowering. It looked as if she wanted to look under the bed. He imagined that the devil would put her head down and look at him, but he was wrong. A pair of moldy, decayed limbs came up to him and tried to feel for him. He cautiously slid behind more and more. The limbs were probing the air under the bed. A sudden random swipe and the nails found the face of the innocent small kid. It cut them smooth face into a super scratched face. The act of scratch went through his right eye. The ball snapped right inside the socket. All the blood kept flowing out like a big drum with a sieve. And then the hand went back as it came. A little tension on the boy’s face.
He had seen many horror films to believe that a hand will pop up from behind him and clobber him. And he waiting for the hands.
And pop out, it did, but not the hands, but the decomposing face, not from rear but from the front. And it went directly to the throat of the kid.
The mother shouted.
“Away son, get out of here. You will be killed.” Before the words could be out, the yellowish long teeth just missed his throat, but the vile hands did not miss the cheeks. One slap and the skin from the ear to the Adam’s apple was hanging like a sheet of plastic. The underlying layer of muscle was red and dripping red.
Fear is very powerful motivator. It keeps the mind occupied and results in insensitiveness to pain. After a such a onslaught, no man survives. Survive he did, but not for long. After all, Bloody Mary doesn’t give its victim the liberty of peaceful death. Let alone a life.
He doubled up from under the bed and went to the door only to find it locked. But as fate would have it, the Bloody Mary was already waiting for him. He thoughtlessly ran towards the windows.
The woman did not follow him to the window. Reason – He was a dead duck there. Firstly there was no escape and next, there was her mirror.
When it was clear that nothing would save him, the devilish fiend laughed.
“Where can you escape?”
Mommy’s voice spoke - “You are trapped son, no other way to escape. Bang me with the mirror beside you on my head. Break my skull open and you can escape. I can read the thoughts of Bloody Mary.”
He stared at his mommy. “What!?”
“Didn’t you listen to me? I asked you to bang my head with the darned mirror”
He decided. If he had to live, he had to do as directed. Else, he would die. A sick, rotten death.
He lunged sideward towards the mirror and seized the mirror and at the same time, the mother lunged towards him. She caught him by her teeth. As the powerful jaws sank into his feet, his leg was bleeding. The bite was so powerful that the bone in the leg cracked and the acidic spit was on fire. The skin tore like a piece of paper. She caught him by his waist and hurled him across the room. He fell across the room. He was incapacitated. His injured foot was hanging by a bunch of nerves. He could have actually tore it off like a piece of paper. The white bone was bloodied with a overflowing gore. Yet the mirror was in his hand, clutched to his heart.
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The forbidden jungle was still ranting. A small infant still wept in unknown torture. The wailing souls wailed and the ghostly voice laughed. There was a pride in the voice. Two pairs of eye balls added to its collection. And two more carcasses to boot, all decayed and all rotten
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And yet, somewhere another small kid, was trying out the funny game of “Bloody Mary”. “Bloody Mary, I want to see you…”
