1842
The rain had been falling since before sunrise.
Maryann Elizabeth stood barefoot in the mud, her thin white dress soaked through, her hands trembling as she stared at the people gathered around her.
Neighbors.
Churchgoers.
People who had once smiled at her in the market.
Now they watched her as though she were something wicked.
"Shame!" someone shouted.
"Whore!"
Another voice called her a disgrace.
Maryann lowered her eyes.
She wanted to disappear.
She wanted to wake from the nightmare that had become her life.
But there was no waking from it.
She was eighteen years old, frightened, and carrying a child.
And the man responsible stood only a few feet away.
Her father.
Thomas Elizabeth.
He stood beneath the old oak tree with his coat buttoned to his throat, watching his daughter with a coldness that made her stomach twist.
Maryann had begged him to tell the truth.
He had refused.
Instead, he had told the town that Maryann had brought disgrace upon their family.
He had made himself the victim.
And the town had believed him.
"Father," Maryann whispered.
Thomas looked at her.
"Please."
His expression did not change.
"Do not call me that."
Maryann's eyes filled with tears.
"You know the truth."
A murmur moved through the crowd.
Thomas stepped closer.
"You will say nothing."
"I cannot carry this shame for you."
His face hardened.
"You will do as you are told."
Maryann shook her head.
"No."
It was the first time she had ever said the word to him.
The crowd went quiet.
Thomas stared at his daughter as though he could scarcely believe what he had heard.
Maryann wiped her tears.
"I have done nothing wicked."
Someone laughed.
Another person whispered that she deserved whatever punishment awaited her.
Maryann looked around desperately.
"Please," she said. "You know me. You have known me since I was a child."
Nobody stepped forward.
Nobody defended her.
Her father had made certain of that.
Then Maryann noticed something lying beneath the tree.
A mirror.
Her mirror.
The very mirror that had once stood in her bedroom.
The one she had used every morning while brushing her hair.
The one that had witnessed arguments behind closed doors.
The one that had reflected secrets her father thought nobody knew.
Maryann stared at it.
Why had he brought it here?
Then she understood.
He wanted to destroy the last thing that could expose him.
Her voice broke.
"No..."
Thomas followed her gaze.
For the first time that morning, he smiled.
Maryann backed away.
"Father, please."
He didn't answer.
The storm grew louder.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
Maryann's fear became overwhelming as the townspeople moved closer.
She pleaded with them.
She begged them.
But their judgment had already been made.
They believed the lie.
They always would.
The events that followed became confused in Maryann's memory.
Voices.
Rain.
People shouting.
Her father's cold expression.
The mirror beneath the tree.
And finally, the rope.
Maryann looked toward the gray sky.
"I beg you," she whispered. "God preserve me."
No one listened.
The world seemed to disappear beneath the sound of thunder.
Then everything went dark.
Hours later, the crowd was gone.
The rain had stopped.
The village was silent.
The old oak stood alone beneath the moonlight.
Maryann's body was no longer there.
Only the mirror remained.
Its surface was cracked.
Mud covered the frame.
For several minutes, nothing moved.
Then-
tap.
A tiny sound came from inside the glass.
Tap.
Again.
The mirror trembled.
A shadow appeared behind the reflection.
A young woman.
Her hair hung loosely around her face.
Her eyes were filled with sorrow.
Maryann looked around.
She could see the empty field.
The abandoned road.
The tree.
But she could not see her own body.
She touched the inside of the mirror.
Her fingers disappeared into the glass.
Maryann screamed.
She tried to pull away.
She couldn't.
Something had taken hold of her.
Something had trapped her.
The mirror began glowing faintly beneath the moon.
And Maryann remembered.
Every cruel word.
Every lie.
Every person who had watched.
Every person who had called her wicked.
Every person who had chosen to believe her father.
Her grief slowly became anger.
The reflection stared back at her.
Maryann raised her hand against the glass.
"I shall not be forgotten."
The wind began to howl.
The mirror cracked from corner to corner.
Maryann's voice became a whisper.
"If they speak my name..."
The glass went completely black.
"...I shall hear them."
A final crack traveled across the mirror.
Maryann's reflection smiled.
Not because she was happy.
Because she had finally understood.
The living had taken everything from her.
But they had left her one thing.
Her name.
And from that night forward, the legend began.
Bloody Mary.
Say her name once-
and she may hear you.
Say it twice-
and she may find you.
Say it three times-
and she will remember you.