Richard was a strong lad who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports. He would have succeeded at the boarding school that had killed Jamie. So Natasha sent him to an arts school instead. He hated art but Natasha had told Father he had talent, so there he went. But Richard was a survivor, and he rarely practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football. But Natasha was clever. She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard desired to be, rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs. Natasha made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the pressure. Until one day Richard overdosed, and Natasha only had one stepchild left.
Now I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after agreeing to give his fortune to his wife. I decided that if Natasha got horrific, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18 ( wait a minute, she was horrific already).
From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a good child. My homework was done on time, I was polite to Natasha and all her friends, and I went on all the family excursions with Natasha and Father, even the dangerous ones like shark fishing. You can be sure that I took care to be seasick indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat. Natasha was smart with her tricks. Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train. I just about managed to roll out of the way on time, however it was too risky.
I had almost decided to run away when my father brought me the sad news that my aunt in New Jersey had died suddenly in her sleep, poisoned by an unknown person. I was horrified. How had Natasha known? But she had, I could tell from the sneer on her face.
I went to my room that night and locked myself in to think. I could run away, but the money wouldn’t last long. And I’d need to finish high school or my chances of getting a good job were nothing. Besides, Natasha would still be out there somewhere. If she could employ someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could employ someone to kill me, whether I was living at home or not.
There was only one thing I could think of. And it was a terrible thing. It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had many times tried to kill my great grandmother and use the child’s blood to make herself young and beautiful forever. The witch had been stopped by the child's father (many times my great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake. Cursed his mirror, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her revengeful spirit.
The story had gotten mixed up over the years, as it was passed down first in their village and then all over the country. These days, school kids everywhere scare themselves silly repeating Bloody Mary’s name in front of darkened mirrors during sleepover parties, and nothing happened to them. So no one really believed in the curse. Of course, no one knew the real story of Bloody Mary. That was a deep secret handed down by the villagers of long ago. But I was a direct descendant, and I knew how to summon the witch. You had to use a mirror owned by someone in the direct bloodline of one of the original families that lived in Bloody Mary’s village. And the witch's name must be spoken by candlelight a certain number of times in their native tongue.
It was an evil thing to do, I knew. But it was the only way to save my life. It was either Natasha or me. If I didn’t fight back, I was dead. So I took my hard earned money and went out to a local store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles which were black. I followed my mother’s directions carefully, placing them at certain distance around the living room so that they reflect in the huge mirror. Then I lit each one and I waited. Father was away on a company trip, and Natasha was out at a party with her newest boyfriend. She came home late, and yelled at me for staying up to study. Her voice was lighthearted. I hated it. It made her sound like she was nice. You could tell she was suspicious about the candle, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles.
“Why is there a candle little Jessica?” she asked, emphasizing the word little, knowing I hated when she called me that. “I just like working by candlelight,” I said mendaciously, turning a page in my text book. Natasha frowned. “You know, little Marie, I think it’s time we had a talk,” she said, walking over to the mirror. “Yes,” I said softly. “We should. You killed my brothers. And my aunt. But I won’t let you kill me. Natasha laughed. “As if you stood a chance against me!” she snickered.
I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestor “Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary”. Inside the mirror, the image of Natasha busted into flames and another face looked out. It was the malicious face of a twisted old hag. I ducked behind the chair as Natasha gave a scream of utter shock. As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst from the mirror, burning her beautiful skin. I could hear the blaze roaring as the witch laughed evilly. Suddenly there was silence. It was all gone like it had disappeared into thin air.
I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Natasha hadn’t slept at home. (Well, it was true!) He wasn’t pleased. He called a few of her friends from his hotel room, and quickly discovered she had been going out with another man. Father hated infidelity. He flew home at once to confront Natasha, but she was still missing.
Somehow, Father managed to divorce Natasha without ever trying to find her. And since she had no family in the area except us, everyone accepted the cover story, and no one ever tried to find her. Natasha was gone for good. And Father and I were safe at last.
