It was going to be a long night.
I climbed into bed, my hand reaching for the lamp beside my bed table, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off. Complete darkness scared me, so I dug my head in between my pillows and turned my back to the mirror. The thick comforter went around my shoulders, and for a moment, I imagined that blankets covering my body and my mom sleeping down the hall were enough to keep me safe.
I almost had myself convinced until I heard the scratching. It was faint and slow at first, but as the seconds ticked by, it grew more intense.
Scree.
Screeeeee.
Screeeeeeeeeee.
It sounded like the fingers of a tree branch squealing over a window pane. I tried blocking it out by huddling deeper into my mattress, the pillow bunched up around my ears to stifle the noise, but it was too shrill, too high-pitched to ignore.
Scree. Scree scree screeee. SCREEEE.
She was back. A terrible part of me had hoped she’d gone after Jess or Kitty or Anna tonight, but no, it was me again. Mary was in my room, and the only thing that separated me from her was a bathrobe and a line of Morton salt.
Scree. Scree.
THUD!
I shot up in bed, the cuts on my back screaming. My vanity trembled. My plastic bucket of makeup tumbled over, tubes of lipstick, gloss, eyeliner, foundation, and perfume scattering across the tabletop and rolling to the floor.
I picked up the salt from my bedside table and swung my legs over the bed. My eyes darted to the hall, half expecting my mother to run in and yell at me for making too much noise, but she was fast asleep, the lull of her radio drowning out Mary’s return.
My fingers itched to fling salt at the vanity, but I couldn’t waste such a precious resource. I slid out of bed and edged toward the mirror, but the moment I neared it, the vanity stopped rattling. I waited, expecting Mary to shriek or shake the mirror or do something else to screw with me, but she’d gone still.
I brushed the tears off my cheeks and lifted my hand toward the robe. There was no way I could sleep in this house if she was in the mirror. I counted down from three and jerked the robe aside. There was no face there, but written backward in sludgy black tar was a single word that sent me falling to the floor and sobbing.
MINE.
It was not a restful night. Three hours of sleep on my couch, and every thump, thud, scratch, and creak in the building sent me scrambling for the salt container. If I wasn’t quick on my toes, Bloody Mary would scoop me up in her claws, the field mouse to her big, dead hawk. When Mom saw me on the couch at six the next morning, she gave me a nudge. I jumped up like she’d electrocuted me.
“You’re being weird again. I don’t like it. What the hell are you doing on the couch?”
“Had a nightmare,” I said, knowing it was a weak answer and not caring. I shuffled to the kitchen, pretending I couldn’t see her concerned scowls.
“I’m off,” Mom said. “If you need me, call me. I’ll leave my phone on. I’m worried about you, kiddo.”
I was on my way to my third class when a hand clapped on my shoulder from behind. I yelped so loudly, a hallway of heads turned my way. Bronx muttered an apology as he fell into step beside me, a stack of books tucked under his arm. “Hey, sorry to scare you. Needed to ask you something.”
“Hey,” I said. I didn’t want to talk to Bronx, but there was no way to say that without sounding like a bridge troll, so I stepped out of the way of the crisscrossing traffic, angling my back against the wall. Bronx followed, and for a moment, I looked up and down the hall, paranoid that Kitty would see us together.
People cleared out as the bell rang again. Apparently, I was going to be late to my third class. I dropped my bag to the floor as Bronx moved to stand opposite me in the now-empty hallway, his back pressed to the windows.
The main body of our school was two floors of classrooms, the gym, the auditorium, and the cafeteria. Between the main building and the recent addition, there was a long, curving hallway, where we currently stood. One side was all windows, overlooking the football and soccer fields. The other side had two bathrooms and a computer lab.
Bronx leaned against the glass like it wasn’t a big deal. I envied his calm, but then, he hadn’t just spent the last day warding off ghost chicks. “I got a weird-ass message from Kitty last night. Haven’t heard from her since our split, but that doesn’t mean…you know.” He stopped talking to rub the back of his neck, his eyes drifting to the floor.
“Why’d you break up with her?” I blurted. “You clearly care. So why?”
“My family’s moving back to New York in June,” he said. He frowned and shook his head. “My mom misses it too much. I didn’t know how to tell Kitty. Long distance never works, and Kitty…I dunno. She’d want to try but how would we work it? We’re seventeen. College is coming. I thought it was better to cut ties.”
That explained it. It wasn’t a particularly satisfying answer, but at least it was something. “Don’t you think you should let her know your reasons? She’s killing herself thinking she did something wrong,” I said.
He frowned and nodded, running his hand over his hair. “Maybe you’re right. Last night, she left me a message and said something about ghosts. I swear she never mentioned anything like that before. That’s why I stopped you. I wanted to know if…you know. I wanted to know if she’s okay, I guess.”
I had to think about what to say. We’d made the agreement not to tell our parents, but nothing about peers. Bronx reacted exactly how Jess said he would—disbelief that we’d be so dumb as to believe in ghosts—which was understandable, but disheartening. I opened my mouth to defend Kitty, but I paused. The windows were reflecting Bronx’s back. I could see his big body, the white of his T-shirt, and the black of his hair. But there was something else there, too. Black eyes staring out. Stringy hair, a crooked smile on a gaunt, graying face.
“Come here,” I whispered at Bronx, waving him toward the safety of the solid wall at my back. But he didn’t move when I stretched out my hand to him. Fear left me cold. I shivered from head to toe. “Now, Bronx!” I snapped, watching Mary tip her head up to peer at him, one of her hands lifting to paw the back of his skull.
Bronx reached for me and I tried yanking him my way, but he’s a huge guy, and huge guys don’t move easily. Instead, he took a few steps and then turned around to glance at what had me so transfixed. Mary lingered. She’d shifted positions so she was clear now, her palms against the glass, the pads of her fingers smushed like she’d pressed too hard. She watched us with her sunken eyes, a small stream of yellow pus oozing from her tear ducts.
“Holy shit,” Bronx squealed, his voice cracking. “What the hell is that?”
“That is the ghost Kitty called you about, Bronx!”
Mary’s staccato laughter echoed from the window. No, the windows—it wasn’t just the one pane, but all the panes in the hall. We were assailed by a chorus of cackling Mary voices. There was no one around to hear her but us. I tugged on Bronx’s sleeve before sprinting toward the main building. The halls there had no windows—they were lined with lockers, and if we could just get away from the glass, we’d be safe.
I couldn’t see Bronx, but I could hear his sneakers stomping and squeaking across the floor behind me. Mary’s dark shadow careered through the windows to keep pace with us. She skipped from pane to pane, never losing ground no matter how hard we pumped our legs.
I sprinted around a corner, ignoring the pain in my back, my breath coming in short pants. Bronx skidded up beside me, actually running into me and nearly knocking me over. We had made it to the main stretch between the cafeteria and the front entrance to the school. It was a long, windowless corridor, lockers and closed classroom doors lining either side. My feet planted on the black-and-white-checkered tiles. I was ready to keep running if need be, but maybe we were safe here. I looked around. No mirrors, no glass, just the dull gray surface of the lockers stretching the length of the hallway. Even the paint on
the walls was a drab, institutional green.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
It sounded like rapid firing, like someone had shot an Uzi in the middle of the hall. I crouched low to the ground out of instinct, my hands going over my ears as a loud, angry clanging exploded from every direction. I didn’t understand what was happening. Then I saw the locks on the lockers. The shiny locks. They lifted and slammed against the metal, up and down, over and over, as if invisible hands smashed them.
Over the clamor, I heard her gravely, dry voice.
“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”
I thought the racket would draw every human being in a mile radius of the school to gawk at the phenomenon playing out around me. The problem was the nature of the noise. It had sounded like gunshots. There was protocol to follow. We’d all been put through drills: lock the door, shut off the lights, hide against the wall not facing the door, keep completely silent. Mary kept clanging and banging because every teacher and every student in that high school believed someone was there with a gun.
It wasn’t until Mrs. Reyes, one of the Spanish teachers, turned the corner to the hall with a cell phone to her ear that Mary’s tantrum stopped. Every lock stilled, plunging the hall into uncomfortable quiet. Mrs. Reyes clearly didn’t think the danger had passed, though, as she ran our way to usher us toward the nearest available door, which just so happened to be a janitor’s closet. She was stone-silent as she shooed us inside, the phone stuck to her ear.
“Yes, yes, the high school,” she whispered. Beside me, Bronx let out a strangled noise, and Mrs. Reyes shushed him.
I didn’t know what to say. Neither did Bronx. We couldn’t tell the truth, so we were stuck going along with an enormous misunderstanding. Mrs. Reyes finished her call, presumably to 911, and closed her phone. After that, we waited. And waited. And waited. We were in that closet for what felt like ages waiting for someone on the PA system to tell us we were all clear. It gave me a long time to think about what had just happened. About what Mary had just done to the school because of me.
At what point was it unsafe for me to be around people?
The answer was clear when the three of us were still in the closet an hour later, cramped, sweaty, and miserable. There was a light with a string above us, but we weren’t allowed to pull it, so we were stuck in the dark. Mrs. Reyes’s perfume was cloying. The sirens screamed outside while instructions were yelled out over megaphones. Sometimes I heard the grinding whir of an overhead helicopter.
This was my fault. I was the liability. I wanted to melt into a puddle of shame. I sank down onto the cold floor, my arms wrapped around my knees as I stared straight ahead. I could hear Bronx shuffling around behind me. Mrs. Reyes was coughing and sneezing, assailed by the dust in the closet.
Finally, the principal’s voice piped through the overhead speakers. “We have an all clear. I repeat, all clear. In the wake of today’s event, the school will be closing early. Buses are running, parents have been informed via community outreach phone calls.”
Mrs. Reyes opened the closet door. The other classrooms opened one by one. You’d think a bunch of students who’d been forced to sit silently for an hour would have a lot to say, but no one said a word. They were all too freaked out. I pulled myself to my feet and wandered back toward the hall where we’d seen Mary. I didn’t want to go there, but I had to; I’d abandoned my bag there with my cell phone.
Bronx stayed with me. In fact, even when I ducked into the hall, my eyes scouring the windows for a sign of Mary, he stayed with me, his elbow touching mine. I wasn’t sure if the contact was for my benefit or his. People were making their way to the parking lot, and we fell into step beside them. Outside, the school was still surrounded by police cruisers, most of them positioned so concerned bystanders couldn’t block roads. There was a cluster of parents outside, too, all of them watching the doors.
I reached into my bag for my phone to call my mom, ducking away from the doors so the clamor of concerned parents reuniting with their kids wouldn’t overwhelm my conversation.
“Hey, kiddo,” Mom said in greeting.
“So you didn’t hear?” I said back.
“Hear what?”
I explained what had happened as best I could. At least, I explained the story of the school in lockdown after suspicious noises. She’d missed the emergency phone call because the school had our house number, not her cell number, for contact.
“I…wow. You must have been terrified,” Mom said. “That’s awful. Are you okay? You’ve been so stressed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my response sounded hollow even to my ears. “Freaked out, but I’m okay.”
“You’re sure? I have a late night, but I can leave early if you need me. Luanne owes me a shift.”
“I’m okay. I’m going out with Kitty for a while, but I’ve got my phone. I’ll call if I need anything,” I said.
She grumbled under her breath and sighed. “All right. I left twenty bucks on the counter if you want a pizza. Love you. Glad you’re safe.”
“Love you, too, Mom.” Bronx was still nearby, on the phone with his parents, too. At one point I spied Jess in the parking lot, though she hadn’t seen me. Mrs. McAllister was one of the parents who’d come, and mother and daughter were standing next to Jess’s car. Mrs. McAllister was fretting and stroking Jess’s hair, and Jess was shooing her away like a fly. Typical Jess stuff, and for a second, I forgot I was mad at her and found a small smile.
“Shauna! What the heck?” I heard from the steps. I craned my neck and saw Kitty stumbling outside, a fistful of papers in hand, like she’d spilled her backpack and hadn’t taken the time to reorganize yet. She pointed the papers at the parking lot, toward the little red SUV I liked so much. Well, normally liked—right now it looked like a shiny death machine, but so did most things.
Bronx closed his phone and looked at Kitty, frowning. “Hey.”
Kitty handed me her backpack, and I held it open for her as she crammed her papers inside of it. Her eyes skipped to Bronx. She licked her lips before reaching up to pat her hair into place. It was up in a bun today, and she looked pretty enough, but being around Bronx made her self-conscious.
“He saw Mary,” I said.
“Wait, he did?” She stopped primping and glanced between us. Bronx nodded as I offered an abbreviated account of what happened with the lockers.
“So the lockdown was her?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t believe it until I saw it, and man, that’s freaky shit,” Bronx said, running his hand down his face. “Got your call last night and thought you were nuts, but now…man.”
Kitty scowled at him and jerked her bag out of my hands, hard enough that I stumbled a half step toward her. “Right, because our breakup is going to ruin me.” It kind of had ruined her, but friendship solidarity said I couldn’t point that out now or later or ever. At least she was sticking up for herself. She’d never do that with Jess. I supposed there wasn’t much left for her to lose with Bronx, though.
“That’s not what I meant. Who believes in ghosts? Really?” Bronx frowned and looked over at his car. I followed his gaze and saw Marc waiting for him. Bronx nodded at him, Marc nodded back, and Bronx shuffled a few feet forward. “I should go. But if you need help with anything, let me know. That’s…Be careful, I guess,” he said. He cast Kitty another glance, frowned, and then headed off.
“Later,” I said to his back. Kitty shook her head as she turned toward her dad’s car.
“I hope Mary eats him,” she said.
“Kitty!”
She sighed. “Sorry. I’m just mad. Mad’s better than depressed, I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”
I debated telling her about his moving back to New York then, but I decided to hold off. If Kitty got hung up thinking about Bronx, we’d never get to Solomon’s Folly, and I really needed to talk to Cordelia Jackson.
We climbed into the SUV and I immediately put the window down. One less shiny surface t
o worry about. Kitty did the same on her side, and then peeled back the sunroof. “Did you see Anna today?” she asked.
“First period,” I said. “She didn’t sleep well, but I guess Mary left her alone last night. She wasn’t in the downstairs bathroom anymore. I just wish she’d left me alone, too, but not so much.” I took out my cell phone to show Kitty the picture of the writing in the mirror. I’d snapped it before heading to the couch. I was glad I did, too, because in the morning, there was no sign of it. Mary had either wiped it off or let it disappear or…whatever it was ghosts did with their unsettling mirror writing.
“Holy crap. Man, I hope Cordelia has some answers for you,” Kitty said, easing the car out of the parking lot to avoid the milling parents, students, and police.
I glanced at my phone. Half past eleven. “I really hope so, too.”
Cordelia’s house was easy to spot. Where other houses in her neighborhood were painted light colors with perfectly manicured lawns and attractive landscaping, Cordelia’s house was a forbidding charcoal gray. The lawn was of hip-height grass, and her purple Volkswagen, rusted and with two flat tires, was parked on a moss-covered driveway. The shades were drawn and there were black squares of paper taped to the insides of the glass. The steps leading up to the screened-in porch had a sizable hole in them, like someone had fallen straight through, and there were empty wooden buckets everywhere, their insides stained maroon.
Kitty and I stared at the wreck, the sun beating down on our heads through the SUV’s sunroof.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Kitty asked.
I did, but Cordelia hadn’t struck me as overly friendly. I doubted she’d take kindly to my dragging an additional stranger into her house. “Better not. She barely wanted to talk to me on the phone. I don’t want to give her a reason to kick me out.”
Mary (Bloody Mary) Page 8
