Bloody Mary

I was half-asleep and annoyed, but that’s no excuse for the crazy thing I did. It was a case of mental age regression.

It was about 3:00 AM on a cold, windy October night. The super had not yet turned on the heat, and a traveling cold front had made it necessary to pull a wool blanket out of storage and wrap myself in it. I had been sound asleep in my homemade cocoon until my bladder woke me up. I lay in bed for a few minutes, until the situation became urgent. I unwound myself from the blanket, stepped onto the frigid floor, and made my way carefully to the bathroom, shivering like a dog in the snow. Only a weak light came sneaking into the room through the blinds on my windows from street lamps and security lights placed around my building. I picked my way carefully in the dark, trying not to bump into anything or trip and fall. The wind made a whistling sound through one of my windows, and I made a mental note to ask the super to fix the freaking thing so it would close properly.

I felt for the light switch in the bathroom,flipped it on, and did my business as fast as possible. I was washing my hands when the bulb in the overhead light, which had been flickering, died and left me, again, in darkness. I let out a sigh, shook my head, and reached for a towel. Then the ridiculousness of the whole situation hit me, and I began to giggle. I remembered a game my sister and I played as teenagers, and, out of pure silliness, I stared intently into the dark mirror over the sink and whispered, “Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!”

Nothing had ever happened when my sister and I played this crazy game, but this time I thought I saw a dark cloud form in the mirror. A chilly fear hit me. I felt my way back to bed, as fast as I could in the dark without falling over something, jumped inside the sheets, pulled them and the blanket over my head and closed my eyes. I was breathing hard, but I thought I was safe.

A moment later I peaked my eyes over the blanket. I saw a ghostly figure like that of a woman coming out of the bathroom. She stopped and appeared to be looking around. I screamed and dived back into the blankets, shaking like an earthquake.

A gravelly female voice shouted, “Okay, who the hell woke me up THIS time?”

The voice was followed by footsteps that made my floor creak and my breath come in little gasps. I lay still in the bed, hoping that I looked like a pile of blankets.

“I know you’re there!” said the raspy voice. “Come out of those blankets and explain yourself!”

I lowered the blanket just enough to peek out. I looked toward the bathroom door and saw what appeared to be a tall, gaunt woman. I couldn’t see her face clearly in the dark, but she was wearing some kind of bathrobe, and her hair was done up in big old-fashioned rollers, over which she was wearing a scarf.

“Hi,” I said, my voice shaking with the fear I was feeling.

“I was having a great dream. I was on a raft in the Pacific with Brad Pitt, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Ryan Gosling, and all they were wearing were conch shells. From that, you woke me up!”

I tried to say something, but all that came out was air.

“Come on!” she said. “I don’t have all night!”

“Um … um … um … I … I thought y-you c-ould show me … um … my future h-husband.” My brain was frozen shut and this was the best I could think of. I‘m useless under stress.

She stared at me for about ten seconds, then let out a huge laugh.

“You gotta be kidding!” she said. “You’re old enough to be a great-grandmother! You want to get married NOW?”

I was starting to get over being scared, because I was getting mad.

“H-how do you know how old I am? “ I said. “Y-y-you can’t even see me! And I’ll have you know I can still turn heads when I want to.”

“I’m not surprised! I can see gray hairs and crow’s feet, lady! If you turn heads it’s because they’re all wondering what they’re looking at!” she said. “You got a cigarette?”

“No.  And please don’t smoke in here.”

“A beer?”

“Yeah, there’s some in the fridge.”

She floated into the kitchen, turned on the light, opened and closed the fridge door and came back with a bottle of beer, from which she took a large swig, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. The light from the kitchen illuminated her features and made her look less frightening.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be scary or something?” I asked.

“Look,” she said, “I didn’t ask for this rotten job. If I’m not scary enough, they can get someone else to do it. I don’t give a rat’s behind.”

She floated over to the edge of my bed and swatted my feet with her free hand. “Move over!” she said. I moved over a little and she sat down.

She took another swig of beer.  “Look here,” she said. “I’m not The Tooth Fairy or your Fairy Godmother. I’m not supposed to give you things or grant wishes. I’m supposed to scare the stuffing out of you. That’s all. So let’s cut the stupidity, okay? You caught me at a bad time and I’m not prepared to frighten you right now except for that little bit when you first saw me, which wasn’t my best work. But I don’t want to get in trouble with my bosses. So what do you say we call it a night, I go back into the mirror, you go to sleep, and we forget the whole damned thing ever happened? Besides, I want to get my dream back.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay then. Have a good rest of your life, and don’t call me again. Next time I might not be so friendly. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She disappeared back into the bathroom, taking the bottle of beer with her. The next day, I took the mirror off the bathroom wall, smashed it, and tossed it out. I have never replaced it.