血腥瑪莉回來了
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我的繼母很邪惡。我猜大多數孩子在父親再婚時都會這麼想,
但在我的故事裡,這是真實的。
她嫁給我的父親只是因為他很有錢,而且她很討厭小孩。
我們家有三個小孩,我(瑪麗)、二弟理查,還有最小的弟弟查爾斯。
我們是繼母佳塔變富有的籌碼,如果父親死後,我們將會和她一同繼承父親的遺產,
因此,她對我們展開了一連串的行動。
她先把我最小的弟弟查爾斯送到海外的寄宿學校,那間學校擁有良好的學術聲譽,
但同時也以有許多流氓惡霸及嚴格紀律聞名,
那對昔日像嬰兒般脆弱,纖細敏感的查爾斯,根本不是一個能讓他成長茁壯的好地方,
他在那裡過得很悲慘。
不知道為什麼,佳塔安排他整個學期都在那裡,卻讓他在暑假回家,
當他第一年回到家時,他既蒼白又消瘦,眼睛下面還有深深的黑眼圈,看起來像是被揍的瘀傷。
當父親告訴查爾思必須回到學校時,他哭了…他竟然哭了!
但父親不理他,佳塔說那個地方對查爾斯有幫助,所以他又被送了回去。
我做了任何我能夠做的事-鼓勵的信件和每天一通電話,直到佳塔說這些花費太昂貴,限制我一個月只能講五分鐘電話。
我甚至請父親訂了一張到歐洲的票,讓我能夠去看查爾斯。
當佳塔發現時,她超生氣的。她冷酷的藍色眼睛使我背脊發冷,她粉紅色的嘴緊抿成一條直線,但我敢干涉就不怕困難。
在我飛往歐洲的前兩天,學校打電話來通知我們,查爾斯爬到最高的塔上往外縱身一跳,摔死了。
想當然爾,父親非常震驚,而佳塔暗地裡則得意洋洋。
幾個月後,父親比母親剛過世的那段時間,放更多注意力在我和理查身上。
但佳塔很漂亮,懂得如何施展自己的魅力,父親的注意力很快又回到她身上。
而現在她討厭的繼子死了一個,她開始注意其他人,可憐的理查就是下一個。
理查是個即將念高中的強壯小夥子,而且他很熱衷運動。
他會在害死查爾斯的那間學校裡非常活躍,所以佳塔把他送進另一間藝術學校,
他超討厭那間學校,但是佳塔告訴父親他有「天賦」,所以他還是被送去了。
(你可能會以為我父親從查爾斯的事件中得到教訓了。)
理查倖存下來,但他不愛練習鋼琴和小提琴,寧願踢足球或橄欖球。
不過佳塔很聰明,她把理查介紹給一對高中男孩,
他們擁有所有理查渴望的條件-有錢、受歡迎、是足球隊員,而且吸毒。
佳塔確信理查有很多零用錢,而且不斷幫他增加,讓理查越陷越深。
直到有一天理查吸毒過量,佳塔就只剩下一個繼女了。就是我。
我很確定(超級確定!)佳塔知道理查整天都在他的房間裡吸毒,她知道他很虛弱而且隨時會死掉。
如果她早十分鐘「發現」他,也許他還能活下來,醫生是這麼說的,而我相信他。
但是父親不相信我。每當我說佳塔什麼事,他就會非常生氣,叫我管好我的舌頭。
但,我知道我就是下一個,而且我知道父親把財產交給他的妻子之後,一定也活不久了。
既然佳塔那麼壞,我決定了,我要逃跑,然後再偷偷跑去和住紐澤西州的姑姑一起生活,直到我滿18歲。
理查的屍體是在他的房間裡被發現的。我強迫自己當個行屍走肉的假人,
我的回家作業準時地完成、對佳塔和她的朋友很有禮貌、
參加父親和佳塔安排的所有家族旅遊—甚至是釣鯊魚這種危險的旅遊。我因為暈船得遠離船邊,在室內被照顧著。
佳塔的技倆很聰明,每個人都以為上次我們去購物時,我在一台即將進站的地鐵前摔落這件事是意外。
我即時滾到旁邊,還好旁邊是安全的。
在我幾乎準備要逃離這裡時,父親告訴我姑姑在睡夢中突然死掉的壞消息,她不知道是被一個人還是一群人給毒死的。
我嚇壞了,佳塔是怎麼知道的?
但她就是知道—我可以從她臉上的笑容看得出來。
晚上我回到房間仔細地思考,我可以逃跑,但我的存款不夠我撐太久,
而且我必須完成我的高中學業,不然找到一個好工作的機會是零。
除此之外,佳塔還是會在某個地方,雇用某個人來毒害我其他活著的親人(除了父親之外),
她也能雇用某個人來殺我,不管我有沒有住家裡。
我唯一能想到的辦法只有一個,那是一件可怕的事,從我媽媽那邊的家族秘密流傳下來的。
那是有關一個叫血腥瑪莉的女巫,她曾嘗試殺掉我好幾代前的曾祖母,
而且她還用孩子的血讓自己保持美麗、青春永駐。
在千鈞一髮之際,女巫被小孩的父親(我好幾代前的曾祖父)給阻止。
當那個女巫被燒死在火刑柱上時詛咒著他。詛咒他的鏡子、還有所有押著她往火刑柱赴死的人們的鏡子,
所以當任何人在他們的鏡子前喊著她的名字時,就會喚醒她亟欲報復的靈魂。
這個故事已經被加油添醋流傳好幾年了,一開始只流傳在村子裡,但很快就流傳到全國各地。
最近,到處都有學校學生在測試膽量,他們在住宿期間,愚蠢地在黑暗的鏡子前念誦血腥瑪莉的名字,
不過什麼都沒發生過,所以沒有人真的相信這個詛咒。
當然,沒有人真的了解血腥瑪莉的故事,這是好久以前村民就流傳下來,最隱晦的秘密。
不過我是直系子孫,我知道如何召喚這個女巫。
你使用的鏡子必須是當年和血腥瑪莉同住在村莊裡的那些家族所擁有的,
而且還得在燭火前用他們的母語和固定的次數念出女巫的姓名。
這是一件非常邪惡的事,但這是能拯救我性命的唯一辦法。
不是佳塔死,就是我亡。
如果我不試著反擊,那我就會死。
所以我帶著我辛苦賺來的錢,跑去一家特產店買了手浸、蜂蠟蠟燭,都是黑色的。
我仔細遵循著我母親的指示,在特定的時間裡把它們放在客廳,這樣它們會直接反射在沙發後面的大鏡子裡。
接著我將蠟燭一一點燃,邊念著從我母親的家族裡流傳下來的咒語,然後等待著。
父親出差去了,而佳塔和她最新的男朋友出去參加舞會。
她很晚才到家,還埋怨我熬夜念書。
她的聲音既俏皮又輕巧-我討厭那個聲音。
她的聲音聽起來像是個好人,不過她的話裡帶著懷疑,緊盯著那些閃爍的黑色蠟燭。
『小瑪麗,妳在舉辦降靈會呀?』她問,她故意強調小字,因為她知道我討厭她那樣叫我。
「我只是喜歡在燭光下念書。」我撒著謊,一邊翻著我的參考書。
佳塔皺起眉頭。
『妳知道嗎,小瑪麗,我覺得我們現在應該好好聊聊。』她說。
她走到沙發前的鏡子旁梳著頭髮。
「好阿。」我輕聲說。「我們的確應該聊聊,妳殺了我的兄弟們,還有我的姑姑,但我絕不會讓妳殺了我。」
佳塔笑了,『講得好像妳有辦法反抗我呢!』她把肩後的金色長髮用手撥鬆。
我用祖先流傳的母語念出了血腥瑪莉的名字。
一次、
兩次、
三次。
鏡子裡面,佳塔的影像突然陷入火海,還有一張臉向外窺視著,那是一個滿臉皺紋的乾癟老太婆,
帶著一臉不懷好意,隨著時間過去愈發顯得邪惡。
當佳塔因驚恐發狂尖叫時,我躲到椅子的後面,佳塔的眼睛緊盯著女巫。
我從藏身處看到,鏡子外冒出熱氣,讓她雪白的皮膚熱得發燙。
我能聽見火舌嘶吼的聲音,女巫邪惡的笑著伸出手,抓住了我的繼母。
「佳塔…」血腥瑪莉輕哼著。「佳塔…來我這裡…」
她把我的繼母一把抓進懷裡。
然後佳塔驚恐的尖叫聲突然中斷,火焰像來時一樣,轉眼間就消失了。
我從藏身的沙發往外偷看,佳塔和血腥瑪莉已經不見了。
第二天一早,我打電話給住在旅館的父親,告訴他佳塔沒有在家睡覺。(嗯,這是真的。)
他很不高興。他從旅館房間連絡幾個佳塔的朋友,很快就發現她已經有其他男人,還被發現有好幾個。
父親討厭不忠,他飛快地趕回家要和佳塔對質,但她還是下落不明;或許她是和她的火焰們離開了。
不知怎的,父親並不想找尋佳塔,還設法和她離婚。
而且在這個地區除了我們之外,她並沒有其他的家人,
每個人都接受了這個故事,也沒有任何人想找到她。
佳塔一去不復返,而我和父親終於安全了。
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原文:
Bloody Mary Returns
My stepmother was vile. I guess most kids think that when their father remarries. But in this case, it was true. She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children. There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles. We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich. And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died. So she took steps against us.
She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas. It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline. Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive. He was miserable there. Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school. But Father didn’t listen to him. Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.
I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month. I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles. Gerta was enraged when she found out. Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere. Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off. He was dead.
Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant. For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died. But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father’s attention away. And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another. Poor Richard was next.
Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports. He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles. So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead. He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had “talent”, so there he went. (You’d think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!) But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football. But Gerta was clever. She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs. Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence. Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left. Me.
I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day. She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there. If she’d “found” him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved. So said the doctor, and I believed him. But Father wouldn’t believe me. He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue. Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife. I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.
From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child. My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing. You can be sure that I took care to be “sea-sick” indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat. Gerta was clever with her tricks. Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train. I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort.
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 person or persons unknown. I was appalled. How had Gerta known? But she had – I could tell from the smirk 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 nil. Besides, Gerta would still be out there somewhere. If she could hire someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could hire 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. A family secret passed down from my Mother’s side for many generations. It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had once tried to kill my many times 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 (my many times great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake. Cursed his mirror, and the mirrors of all the men who had condemned her to death at the stake, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her vengeful 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 scared themselves silly chanting 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 blood-line 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 Gerta or me. If I didn’t fight back, I was dead. So I took my hard earned money and went out to a specialty store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles. Black ones. I followed my mother’s directions carefully, placing them at certain intervals around the living room so that they reflected in the huge mirror behind the couch. Then I lit each one, speaking the spell passed down in my mother’s family. And I waited. Father was away on a business trip, and Gerta was out at a party with her latest boyfriend. She came home late, and scolded me for staying up to study. Her voice was playful and light – I hated that voice. It made her sound like she was nice. But there was also a note of suspicion underlying her words, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles.
“Holding a séance, little Marie?” 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.
Gerta frowned. “You know, little Marie, I think it’s time we had a talk,” she said, walking over to the mirror behind the couch and primping her hair.
“Yes,” I said softly. “We should. You killed my brothers. And my aunt. But I won’t let you kill me.”
Gerta laughed. “As if you stood a chance against me!” she said, fluffing her long blond hair up behind her shoulders.
I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestors. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the mirror, the image of Gerta burst into flames, and another face looked out. It was the malevolent face of a twisted old crone, ruined with age, and altogether evil. I ducked behind the chair as Gerta gave a scream of sheer terror, her eyes fixed on the witch. As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst forth from the mirror, blistering her beautiful alabaster skin. I could hear the flames roaring as the witch laughed evilly and held out her arms toward my step mother.
“Gerta,” crooned Bloody Mary. “Come to me, Gerta.”
And she took my step mother into her arms.
Gerta’s terrified scream was suddenly cut off. The flames disappeared as suddenly as they had come. When I peeked out from behind the couch, Gerta and Bloody Mary were gone.
I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Gerta 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 carrying on with another man. With several, if the truth be known. Father hated infidelity. He flew home at once to confront Gerta, but she was still missing; presumed run away with one of her flames.
Somehow, Father managed to divorce Gerta 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 locate her. Gerta was gone for good. And Father and I were safe at last.
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