by Lucy Banks
“No, that will not do,” Ribero muttered. “It needs to be a young woman, someone who the Bloody Mary will believe is looking to marry.”
“Oh, that definitely isn’t me.” Pamela shook her head. “I never liked the idea of getting hitched. Far too much hassle.”
“Hear hear,” Mike echoed.
“Well,” Miss Wellbeloved said, plucking her handbag from the back of the chair and walking towards the door, “I believe that’s that then. Shall we?”
They started to troop down the hallway, as despondently as a group of children heading into an examination room. Kester felt so depressed he didn’t even notice the lights flickering overhead, nor the eerie hissing from the living room.
I’ve really blown it this time, he thought. I wish I’d just gone to the train station instead. Anything would have been better than feeling like this.
Pamela swung open the door. “Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, have a good evening,” Dr Ribero said, stepping outside, into the golden glow of the early twilight. “Let’s all have a sleep on it. You never know, one of us might get some sudden inspiration.”
“A few beers would probably help,” Mike added. “Can you give me a lift home, Pamela?”
“What, are you going already?” A sharp voice pierced the still air, and they all turned as one, like a pack of startled flamingos.
Kester’s mouth fell open, leaving him gawping like a breathless goldfish. Serena! But what is she doing here?
“We were told you weren’t coming,” Pamela said, in an unusually tight voice.
“Yeah, thought you’d deserted us,” Mike grunted, crossing his arms and staring out over the river, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Serena fidgeted, adjusting her t-shirt unnecessarily. “I fancied getting out of the house,” she muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on her shiny stilettoes. “Change of scenery. You know.”
Kester stared, then slowly broke into a smile. Instinctively, he reached out, enveloping her in a hug of pure relief. Serena stiffened against him, then relaxed a little, patting him just the once on the back, as though rapping on a bongo. “I’m so glad you came,” he said quietly. “Seriously. You don’t know how brilliant it is that you’re here.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I think you’re right. In fact, for what it’s worth, I think you’re very wrong indeed, and I don’t think your plan is going to work.” She paused, watching Kester’s grin falter. “However,” she continued, “it’s worth a shot. And we are a team, after all. I could hardly leave you all stranded, could I?”
Dr Ribero strode over, punching her on the arm. “Good for you,” he beamed. “Yes, you may have messed up badly the last time, but you are ready to try again. Well done.”
Serena grimaced, unsure how to take the comment. “Quite,” she said finally. Standing back, she took in the length of the house, narrowing her eyes. “Shall we get to work then?” she asked. “Or are you still planning on going home?”
Pamela chortled, linking her arm through Serena’s. “Not a chance,” she said, tugging her towards the front door. “I know it’s the Chef Maestro finals, but this is more exciting.”
“Nothing is more exciting than the Chef Maestro finale,” Mike declared, looking horrified at the suggestion. “Apart from the Chef Maestro finale and a pint in my hand. But I’m game to have a go if you all are.”
Dr Ribero laughed out loud, slapping his thigh in delight. “This is good!” he said. He patted Miss Wellbeloved on the back, who looked a little brighter now. “See?” he added, giving her a quick hug. “I told you not to give up.”
Miss Wellbeloved shook her head. “We haven’t got rid of her yet,” she replied seriously. “And if she’s not a Bloody Mary spirit after all, we’re no closer to getting rid of her than we were before.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing to be gathered up!” Ribero replied, with a jaunty wiggle of his hips.
“Gained,” Miss Wellbeloved automatically corrected. “The word is gained.”
“Ah, whatever,” he retorted. “It means the same. Let us get on with the task at hand.”
They stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind them. The sound echoed around the hallway, before leaving them in silence.
“Honey, I’m home!” Mike called out, giving the others a wink. “Well, I know I only left two minutes ago, but I’m back again!”
The house made no response, but the air seemed suddenly heavier, and more watchful.
“She knows we’re up to something,” Pamela whispered, casting her eyes to the ceiling as though searching for something in the coving. “I can sense her. We’ve got her attention now.”
“So, how is this going to work?” Serena asked in a low voice after she nudged Kester. “You still didn’t really explain what you wanted me to do. You were rambling on about mirrors when you came to visit me earlier, but I didn’t get much else out of you. Well, nothing that made any sense, anyway.”
Kester coughed, and tugged at his collar. “Serena,” he whispered, looking around them, feeling horribly as though they were being overheard by unpleasant, unseen ears. “You and I will wait out here. In the hallway.”
Serena nodded to the opposite wall, where the large mirror was hanging. “Because of that?” she said.
“Yep,” Kester confirmed. “The others are going to be in the lounge. They already know what to do, we discussed it before you arrived.”
“Can you run me through it?” Serena said, looking interested. Suddenly, an icy breeze ran through the length of the hall, chasing around their heads like a mini whirlwind, before departing again.
Dr Ribero coughed, nodding meaningfully at the others. “Perhaps we should relax first,” he said pointedly. “Let’s not discuss work now. Why don’t we go to the garden, have a drink?”
Serena looked at him as though he had gone completely mad, then grasped his meaning. “Oh, yes, yes of course,” she answered, raising her voice to ensure the spirit would hear. “That’s a great idea. There’s nothing for us to do in here at the moment, is there?”
They looked at Pamela, who paused for a moment, sniffing at the air in a disturbingly dog-like way, before nodding. “That worked,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
They trooped through the kitchen, following Ribero to the small cloakroom at the back, which opened out into the walled garden. The setting sun reflected piercing beams off the Victorian greenhouse, and a set of deckchairs were laid out on the carefully mowed lawn, as though awaiting their arrival.
“Is it safe to talk now?” Dr Ribero asked Pamela, easing himself into the nearest one.
Pamela wrinkled her nose, then nodded. “Yes,” she said in a louder voice. “She doesn’t like to venture too far from that painting of hers when we’re around. But careful everyone, she’s on to us. She must have detected our emotions when we came back into the house.”
“God, just like a bloody woman,” Mike grumbled, kicking at the base of the ornamental birdbath. “Always listening into conversations and jumping to the wrong conclusions.”
“In this instance, it was actually the right conclusion though, wasn’t it?” Kester pointed out.
Mike grunted, refusing to acknowledge the point.
“So talk me through it then,” Serena said, perching next to Ribero. “What’s the plan?”
Kester sat down next to her. Unfortunately, the chair buckled beneath him, clamping shut on his bottom and wedging him in an awkwardly folded position until Pamela prised him free. He bounced up, deliberately avoiding both Serena and Mike’s expressions, which he could already sense were filled with poorly concealed amusement.
“Anyway,” he began, mustering up as much dignity as possible. “The first step will be the mirror. I’ve been reading up on it, and Bloody Marys cannot help but be summoned
if a young woman calls to them in a mirror.”
“And that’s where I come in?” Serena asked.
Kester nodded. “Then,” he continued, looking up at the house, “it’s Mike’s turn to destroy the painting, while she’s out of it.”
“What one of your fancy pieces of machinery are you going to use for that?” Serena asked, sneering at his equipment bag.
“Blow torch,” Mike replied with a grin. “I’m going to enjoy flaming that painting to bits, the amount of trouble it’s caused us.”
“It’s at this point,” Kester continued, “that I’m predicting we’ll have the most trouble. The Bloody Mary will be out of the painting, unable to get back in, and we don’t know how she’ll react.”
“Yes, and we all know what the legends say, don’t we,” Miss Wellbeloved said, leaning on the back of Ribero’s chair. “These types of spirit can be vicious if agitated. We’ll be dealing with a highly volatile creature here, make no mistake.”
“Is that where I come in and trap her in a water bottle?” Serena asked, looking excited.
“In theory, yes,” Ribero concluded. “Pamela and Jennifer will attempt to connect with her and soothe her so you can gain better control. Then we have her trapped, yes?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds nice and easy,” Mike said, scratching his beard.
Kester frowned, studying the windows, which looked ominously black and empty, despite the warmth of the sun at their backs. “Let’s hope it will be,” he muttered. There was something about the plan that was worrying him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Am I missing something? he wondered. If so, I need to find it fast. This isn’t a situation we want to mess up.
“And what if it’s not a Bloody Mary?” Serena asked. “Which, let’s face it, it’s unlikely to be. What then?”
“Then we are back to where we started,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “We’re no better or worse off than we were before.”
“But we must give it a try,” Ribero said, clapping his hands together, then gesturing to Mike. “Here, help me up. I am an old man, right?”
Mike snorted, but hoisted him out of the deckchair nonetheless. “Come on then,” he muttered. “Let’s do this. I’ve had it with this miserable git of a spirit, I want her out of my hair. She’s keeping me from my favourite TV programmes.”
As they walked back towards the house, Kester fell back in step with Serena. “By the way,” he said in a low voice, “when you summon her in the mirror, you know there’s a chance she’ll show you your future husband, don’t you? After all, that’s what Bloody Marys do, isn’t it?”
Serena gave him the most scathing look she could muster. “I hardly think I need be worried about that,” she retorted, stepping into the cloakroom. “I have no intention of ever getting married.”
“Okay,” Kester said with relief. “I just thought I’d better warn you.”
“No need,” she snapped. “I already know the legend. To be honest, I think it all sounds like complete and utter rubbish anyway.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, following her in after meticulously wiping his feet on the mat.
The house was still eerily silent and still, and Kester had the distinct impression that they were being watched, as intently as bugs under a magnifying glass. He could feel the weight of the heavy, scrutinising stare, radiating from the walls and ceilings, observing their every move. She really dislikes us, he realised, with a shiver. She wants us gone, every bit as much as we want her gone. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
“So,” Dr Ribero boomed, as they entered the living room. “Shall we just sit here for a while instead, as the garden wasn’t so comfortable for my old bones?”
Miss Wellbeloved shot him a look. “Why not,” she said, nodding to the others. “I’m not in the mood to carry on this investigation, are you?”
Mike caught her eye and gave her a wink. “Oh no, me neither,” he said deliberately, launching himself into the armchair and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Let’s just chill out here for a bit, then head home.”
“Are you ready?” Kester whispered to Serena. She nodded and gave the hallway a grim look.
“Shall we go home then?” she said out loud. “As there’s nothing else for us to do here?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Kester replied, fighting to keep the nerves from his voice. Please let this work. His mother came to mind, and he closed his eyes. Let me have the strength to do this, he added. If you’re listening anywhere, Mother, please help me.
They moved towards the front door, pausing by the large mirror. Serena adjusted her hair, meeting his gaze. “Are you ready?” she whispered.
“Ready when you are,” he stuttered.
She nodded, then turned to face the mirror.
“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!” she shouted, clutching the frame with both hands. To begin with, there was nothing. Then slowly, the mirror began to darken, as though someone was pumping black smoke into it from behind.
“My god,” Serena whispered, her eyes widening in shock.
My god, Kester thought, staring. I was right. I was actually right.
The mirror continued to darken, until the surface was jet-black, shiny and empty as a black hole. Serena gasped.
“Kester, what’s happening?” she hissed.
“You’ve done it, you’re summoning her!” he replied, half terrified, half fascinated.
“I don’t mean that,” she stammered. “Why can’t I move my head?”
Kester looked at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t move my head!” Serena repeated, her voice tight with panic. “And my hands are stuck to the mirror!”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I don’t know,” he whispered, still transfixed on the shifting surface of the reflection. “Do you want me to try to move your head for you?”
Serena began to say something, then suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard.
“What? What can you see?” Kester asked, looking over her shoulder. He could see nothing but blackness.
“Mike?” Serena whispered. “Is that you?”
“No, it’s Kester here, not Mike,” he replied, confused. Serena looked dazed, as though she’d only just woken up. Then suddenly, her head reared back, as though she’d been slapped. She winced, pulling away.
“She’s there!” she cried out. “She’s in the mirror, Kester!”
Kester peered over her shoulder, but couldn’t make anything out, only the darkness, which seemed to be shifting, like a brewing storm.
“I can’t see her,” he replied, squinting. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m bloody sure!” she yelled back. “Tell the others to get started, quickly! Hurry up, she’s trying to hurt me!”
Kester gasped, then leapt towards the lounge door, galvanised into action. He thrust the door open with a bang, jabbing his fingers in the direction of the painting.
“Now!” he cried out, feeling light-headed with nerves, excitement and raw terror. “Mike, get on with it, for goodness’ sake! She’s hurting Serena!”
“Bloody hell,” Mike exclaimed, flicking on his blow torch. The flame burst out immediately, a fierce blue tongue that he directed at the base of the painting. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, concentrating on the task at hand. The flames licked the corner of the frame, blackening the gilt edges.
“Is Serena okay?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, eyes creased with worry. She peered out the doorway, then looked back at Kester, her slate-grey eyes like circles. “Does this mean your idea has actually worked?”
“I rather think it might have done,” Kester breathed, feeling faint. “I’ll go and help Serena. How about you get ready for the next stage?”
The flames were now starting to travel across the bas
e of the picture, caressing the brushstrokes almost indecently, sending the aged canvas curling and spitting with fury. Once they had taken hold, they spread rapidly, snaking upwards, turning the bright green dress to a murky shade of black. Kester gulped as the flames reached her face, and forced himself to turn away.
“Er, anyone have any thoughts about how we put the fire out?” Mike commented. No one replied. Kester closed the door behind him, preferring not to know the possible solutions to that particular problem. He switched his attention to Serena, who had gone deathly white.
“Oh my goodness,” he muttered, reaching towards her. “Serena, let go of the mirror, quickly!”
“Can’t . . .” she whispered, eyes roving across the mirror’s surface. “Can’t move. Hands. My hands are melting.”
Kester frowned, studying her hands, which were clasped tightly around the ornate frame, knuckles white as limestone pebbles. He touched them, then leapt back with a shout. She’s on fire, he thought irrationally, looking at Serena’s face, half expecting her to burst into flames at any moment. Dear Lord, is that what this Bloody Mary spirit does to people?
Steeling himself, he grabbed her by the wrists, and started to pull. Serena screamed, closing her eyes with pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he shouted, cringing at the noise. “Oh god, Serena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Get Pamela,” she whispered, head pitched backwards at an unnatural angle. Kester realised that she was close to passing out. “Quickly.”
“Righty-o,” Kester replied, in a voice that was verging on hysterical, then pulled open the lounge door with a bellow of desperation. “Pamela! A little help here please!”
“We’ve got a bit of a situation of our own here, love!” Pamela called from somewhere by the sofa. Kester looked upwards, to see large pieces of ash flying around the room, not to mention the wallpaper behind the painting, which was now burning merrily.
He tried not to think too hard about it. Sometimes, he reasoned to himself, it was counter-productive to think about things too much. Instead, he focused on the main priority, which was helping Serena.
