“Bloody Mary isn’t even a game, Reli,” I told my friend.
Yareli made a pouting face. “Is so! You chant it, and then something happens. Not always, okay, I’ll admit that, but sometimes. It’s been pretty creepy around campfires before.”
I rolled my eyes. “Anything is creepy around campfires. Fine — I’m that bored.”
Yareli led the way to the bathroom, and we turned off the light after closing the door. In the pitch blackness, we chanted together, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…” Five times we said it, but nothing happened.
After a long pause, I fumbled my way into a standing position. “I’m getting out of here.”
The door wouldn’t open. I frowned as I tugged on the knob. “Is it your stupid brother again?”
“Probably.” Yareli got up and tried to assist me, but our combined strength wasn’t enough. “Weird…”
“Oh my god. The mirror.” I couldn’t turn away. Yareli slowly turned around, just as a cold breeze whipped through the room.
In the mirror was the twisted figure of a woman. She was bent over, her hair matted with the same substance that was dripping down her face: blood.
Screaming, I launched my whole body at the door, but it still wouldn’t budge. Yareli made a dash for the shower rod, jerking it out of its sockets and slamming it into the door.
It took five tries to push the door open. All the while, the woman hovered, whispering words we couldn’t understand as she reached for us.
We made it out of the bathroom in time to run into Yareli’s mother, who didn’t believe us when we told her why the shower rod was out and the door had a huge dent.
But when she saw the blood streaks running down to the sink, she changed her mind.
