Bloody Mary and the Blue Lady
Another Uni assignment, from last year. This was for a literature unit; the assignment was to retell a fairy tale. I chose the story of Bluebeard, updating it to a modern setting.
My main beef with this assignment was that the word limit seemed ridiculously small. As a consequence, the story seems to me to be more like a dot-pointed outline rather than a fully developed story. Still, I suppose this sort of limitation teaches us the brutal truth of Orwell's advice: If a word can be cut out, cut it out.
Bloody Mary and the Blue Lady
Everyone thought Marty should be happy when rich Mr Fox agreed to foster him.
Mr Fox was a millionaire who had a big car and a big apartment on top of a skyscraper. Marty was just an orphan street kid.
But Marty was afraid.
He was afraid of Mr Fox’s too-white teeth, which he showed in a smile that never reached his eyes.
He was afraid of the shadow-shape he sometimes saw in Mr Fox’s eyes.
He was sick with fear when he saw Mr Fox’s car.
Demon car.
Big, black car. Mirror-black windows.
All the street kids knew: don’t look in those windows. Demons live behind them. You might even see Bloody Mary. She sees your face, you’re dead.
Just a kid’s story, but Marty knew it was true. Even gangs were afraid of Bloody Mary.
Marty felt just a bit less afraid when he saw the apartment building climbing up into the sky, lighting the clouds with coloured light. Everyone knew angels came down at night and ate the coloured light to make them strong, to fight demons. The Blue Lady was the strongest angel. She could protect you from anything, if you called her name.
But her name was a secret no-one knew.
. . . . .
In the apartment, Mr Fox was talking on a tiny mobile phone. He turned to Marty, pretending to look sad.
“Martin, I really hate to do this, but I have to attend to some urgent business immediately. It can’t be helped.”
Marty shrugged.
“But look, just to show I trust you, Marty, you’ve got the apartment to yourself. The TV, the fridge, it’s all yours. Help yourself”
He paused.
“Just one thing. There’s one locked door; for your own protection. Just a cupboard, really, but it’s not safe.”
Mr Fox keyed some numbers on a security panel. A bunch of lights flashed up green. He walked out.
Marty was alone in the big, rich apartment like a castle.
He watched TV. Ate food from the fridge. Checked out the rooms. Expensive furniture. Expensive clothes.
And then he was at the locked door.
Just a little door. What was it hiding?
Marty didn’t grow up on the streets for nothing. A few seconds work and the door sprung open. An automatic light flickered on.
A wave of cold and fear flowed out of the door and over him.
Oh fuck.
Some kind of giant fridge. Full of dead kids.
Blood. Bodies. Bits of bodies. Like a horror movie. Can’t count how many are piled in there.
On the back wall was a big mirror. Its shiny surface crusted with ice and blood.
Don’t look.
Marty ran to the apartment door. He saw the security panel. One light glared blood red. He pulled frantically at the door. Locked.
Marty heard a key slip into the lock. He fled back into the apartment, looking for somewhere to hide.
The door opened behind him and Mr Fox stepped inside. He paused and looked at the security panel. He sighed.
“Oh, Martin, why did you do that?”
Marty ran into the forbidden room and shut the door. It wouldn’t lock.
“Don’t try to hide, Martin. I’ll find you. She’ll find you.’
Now the handle was turning. Marty backed away from the door. It opened.
Mr Fox’s breath steamed. A knife glittered in his hand.
“Marty, Marty, why did you look? You know what happens when you look.”
Mr Fox stepped into the room.
“Turn around, Marty. She’s waiting.”
Marty passed his hand over his face. A sign of protection all the kids knew. Bloody Mary, don’t see my face.
“Marty, turn around.”
Marty stepped backwards until he felt the icy mirror at his back. Without wanting to, he turned around. A shadowy figure loomed inside the mirror.
Freezing tears ran down Marty’s cheeks. He began to mumble a prayer, words he hardly remembered, from a long-ago time when words had kept him safe.
All day, all night, angels watching over me, alright. All night, all day, angels watching over me.
Mr Fox was right behind him now.
“Look, Marty. Look!”
Marty looked.
He saw the dark shape of Bloody Mary reaching out of the mirror.
Marty screamed. He screamed a name. A name he’d forgotten. A name he hadn’t said since so long ago he couldn’t remember. A name that had once meant he was warm and safe. The Blue Lady’s secret name.
. . . . .
When it was all over, the cops said how lucky Marty was. Mr Fox had slipped on frozen blood on the floor and fell face-first into the mirror, cutting himself to death on the icy shards.
But Marty knew better.
He had seen the horrible shape of Bloody Mary reach out and take Mr Fox’s life. He had felt her warm breath on his cheek. He had smelled flowers, not blood and death.
He felt the arms of the Blue Lady keep him safe.
My main beef with this assignment was that the word limit seemed ridiculously small. As a consequence, the story seems to me to be more like a dot-pointed outline rather than a fully developed story. Still, I suppose this sort of limitation teaches us the brutal truth of Orwell's advice: If a word can be cut out, cut it out.
Bloody Mary and the Blue Lady
Everyone thought Marty should be happy when rich Mr Fox agreed to foster him.
Mr Fox was a millionaire who had a big car and a big apartment on top of a skyscraper. Marty was just an orphan street kid.
But Marty was afraid.
He was afraid of Mr Fox’s too-white teeth, which he showed in a smile that never reached his eyes.
He was afraid of the shadow-shape he sometimes saw in Mr Fox’s eyes.
He was sick with fear when he saw Mr Fox’s car.
Demon car.
Big, black car. Mirror-black windows.
All the street kids knew: don’t look in those windows. Demons live behind them. You might even see Bloody Mary. She sees your face, you’re dead.
Just a kid’s story, but Marty knew it was true. Even gangs were afraid of Bloody Mary.
Marty felt just a bit less afraid when he saw the apartment building climbing up into the sky, lighting the clouds with coloured light. Everyone knew angels came down at night and ate the coloured light to make them strong, to fight demons. The Blue Lady was the strongest angel. She could protect you from anything, if you called her name.
But her name was a secret no-one knew.
. . . . .
In the apartment, Mr Fox was talking on a tiny mobile phone. He turned to Marty, pretending to look sad.
“Martin, I really hate to do this, but I have to attend to some urgent business immediately. It can’t be helped.”
Marty shrugged.
“But look, just to show I trust you, Marty, you’ve got the apartment to yourself. The TV, the fridge, it’s all yours. Help yourself”
He paused.
“Just one thing. There’s one locked door; for your own protection. Just a cupboard, really, but it’s not safe.”
Mr Fox keyed some numbers on a security panel. A bunch of lights flashed up green. He walked out.
Marty was alone in the big, rich apartment like a castle.
He watched TV. Ate food from the fridge. Checked out the rooms. Expensive furniture. Expensive clothes.
And then he was at the locked door.
Just a little door. What was it hiding?
Marty didn’t grow up on the streets for nothing. A few seconds work and the door sprung open. An automatic light flickered on.
A wave of cold and fear flowed out of the door and over him.
Oh fuck.
Some kind of giant fridge. Full of dead kids.
Blood. Bodies. Bits of bodies. Like a horror movie. Can’t count how many are piled in there.
On the back wall was a big mirror. Its shiny surface crusted with ice and blood.
Don’t look.
Marty ran to the apartment door. He saw the security panel. One light glared blood red. He pulled frantically at the door. Locked.
Marty heard a key slip into the lock. He fled back into the apartment, looking for somewhere to hide.
The door opened behind him and Mr Fox stepped inside. He paused and looked at the security panel. He sighed.
“Oh, Martin, why did you do that?”
Marty ran into the forbidden room and shut the door. It wouldn’t lock.
“Don’t try to hide, Martin. I’ll find you. She’ll find you.’
Now the handle was turning. Marty backed away from the door. It opened.
Mr Fox’s breath steamed. A knife glittered in his hand.
“Marty, Marty, why did you look? You know what happens when you look.”
Mr Fox stepped into the room.
“Turn around, Marty. She’s waiting.”
Marty passed his hand over his face. A sign of protection all the kids knew. Bloody Mary, don’t see my face.
“Marty, turn around.”
Marty stepped backwards until he felt the icy mirror at his back. Without wanting to, he turned around. A shadowy figure loomed inside the mirror.
Freezing tears ran down Marty’s cheeks. He began to mumble a prayer, words he hardly remembered, from a long-ago time when words had kept him safe.
All day, all night, angels watching over me, alright. All night, all day, angels watching over me.
Mr Fox was right behind him now.
“Look, Marty. Look!”
Marty looked.
He saw the dark shape of Bloody Mary reaching out of the mirror.
Marty screamed. He screamed a name. A name he’d forgotten. A name he hadn’t said since so long ago he couldn’t remember. A name that had once meant he was warm and safe. The Blue Lady’s secret name.
. . . . .
When it was all over, the cops said how lucky Marty was. Mr Fox had slipped on frozen blood on the floor and fell face-first into the mirror, cutting himself to death on the icy shards.
But Marty knew better.
He had seen the horrible shape of Bloody Mary reach out and take Mr Fox’s life. He had felt her warm breath on his cheek. He had smelled flowers, not blood and death.
He felt the arms of the Blue Lady keep him safe.