The bathroom is surprisingly large for a colonial original. It’s large enough for the two of us to stand comfortably between the clawfoot tub and the ornate oval mirror that hangs regally at the back of the freestanding sink.
I start to feel goosebumps prickling on my exposed flesh and realize that the feeling would not be welcome if I were sober, and in the back of my mind I wonder why I’m doing this. I’m not overly superstitious, and fairly neutral when thinking about the supernatural, but the sheer amount of times I’ve listened to stories about this lends to a feeling of dread, even through the drug-induced fog clouding me.
“I’m just going to do it,” I say as Juniper closes the door and squelches all light but the warm glow from the three-wick gingerbread scented candle she’s holding. I know that if I don’t rip off the proverbial band aid, I won’t do it. I want as little time to think about it as possible.
She hands the candle to me and the glass is still cool to the touch from being freshly lit and full. The spicy aroma envelops my nose pleasantly and for a moment I feel more Christmas than Halloween, until I remember what I’m here to do. I swallow as Juniper takes her place behind me, where I can see her shadowy face, somber and foreboding in the reflection. I force myself to make eye contact with my own reflection and feel my stomach lurch.
“Bloody Mary…” I say, trying hard not to squeeze my eyes shut. “Bloody Mary…”
One more time, Kat. Then you can get the fuck out of here. I’m having a hard time shaking off the dread and wonder if I’m imagining the candle heating up unnaturally quickly. The shadows in the room are moving more than they should, I swear. A sweat breaks out at my hairline again, and the air is too warm and feels staticy.
“Bloody Mary!” I spit out and then look in the mirror with one scrunched eye. I breathe a sigh of relief at our own ordinary reflections.
“Ok, cool, we’ve done it,” I say, trying not to slam down the glass candle as I head towards the door.
“I need to do it,” Juniper says, firmly but quietly. “Stay.”
The goosebumps rise again as I go to pick up the candle once more and quickly pull my fingers away as it is surprisingly hot. Not quite hot enough to burn, but to startle. I hope that the heat from it makes her do this quickly.
She walks over and grabs it without complaint or comment and I quickly shuffle behind her and stare into the mirror. Without flinching she looks straight in and begins chanting quickly.
My breath catches as I see the flames on the candle brighten with each “Bloody Mary” she utters. I start to protest when I see the pool of wax in the candle rapidly begin to melt, as though the heat is climbing and accelerating the burn. It has to be burning her fingers, it has to. She ignores me as I cry out, seeing it liquify to the very bottom of the candle. This isn’t normal. My mind is racing and I can’t reason with myself or parse it quickly enough to react appropriately.
She says it more than three times and her voice is hoarse and foreign and she is staring into the mirror with the scariest look on her face. The shadows playing across her expression sends daggers scratching down my back. I want to run but seem to be glued in place, like a waking dream.
“Juniper—” I manage to strangle out.
“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” She chants, ignoring me. It’s like she can’t even remember I’m in the room with her. Her voice is coming fast, shallow and harsh.
“Juniper!” I yell.
The flame from the candle is brightening, like a miniature supernova, the light radiates and now I can feel the flare of heat from it. It’s impossibly hot as I watch the mirror with my breath catching in my throat. The shadows in the mirror are gathering unnaturally, pooling together from all reaches to form something.
My voice catches in a gurgle as Juniper mindlessly chants and stares deep into the mirror as her reflection becomes obscured by a dark figure. It’s like a black hole, with no discernible features despite how bright the candle has become, as if it’s eating the light. But I can see it’s just not done forming yet. Hair is becoming defined, then hands, hands that are twitching unnaturally at the sides of the thing.
I want to move, but I can’t. I’m in its thrall, and my mind won’t stop racing and my stomach won’t stop reeling as I try to choke out words or move. Fresh fright envelops me as eyes begin to form. I see the whites, and then I see the rage burning out of them. The figure is starting to move and suddenly Juniper is screaming. Howling in absolute terror, shock and pain. I see the thing is leaning out of the distorted mirror that has become more like a door, black tendrils of hair hanging raggedly over its claw-like hands and the other features of the face obscured.
I see Juniper’s hand raking at her own face and eyes in tandem with the thing as I hear pounding, frantic footsteps in the hallway approaching us. I can suddenly move and I try to rush over to the light switch and as I do, the candle explodes, and darkness overtakes the room.
In my panic I can’t find the switch and I sink to the ground whimpering to try to feel around and find Juniper. My relief is almost tangible as Erik throws the door open
