Descriptive Essay
Bloody Mary
ENG121
Bloody Mary
“She’s hideous!” Said my best friend Brando, short for Brandon. “Just do it!” he kept saying, along with his brother Kevin. I was afraid. “Don’t be such a pussy.” Kevin yelled as he pushed me forward, almost knocking me off my feet and into the cross street at the top of our cul-de-sac. That was where the house stood. Directly across Mountain Ave. That was where she would appear, the “hideous” woman. The one we all called Bloody Mary. All you had to do was approach the dingy house where the old wooden rocking chair on the porch would rock back and forth, back and forth, even on the most calm nights. All you had to do to make her appear was go right up to the rocking chair and say her name three times with your eyes closed. They said that once you opened them, she would be sitting in the rocking chair before you, her face burned and bloody and wretchedly gesticulating as she stared into your soul. I had never done the deed. I had only heard the stories. And there I stood, receiving the peer pressure that we were all so quick to inflict on others, but cringed inside when it was brought down upon us. There I stood, searching my mind for any excuse to not cross Mountain Avenue that Saturday night.
“Guys, I need to get home. My Dad will kill me if I’m not back before nine.” “Dude, it’s barely eight thirty. You have a half hour and this will only take five minutes.” Brando was right. And I knew I wasn’t getting out of this. My mind was racing and I had butterflies in my stomache. Not the “good-feeling” butterflies either that you get when you see your first crush walk into the classroom at school. No, these were the kind that made your skin crawl and made you want to throw up. I was desperate for them to just go away. “Javers!” Kevin yelled. That’s what they called me. Don’t ask why. That’s an entirely different story. “Javers! Just do it. Get it over with and then go ask if you can spend the night. It’ll be
ENG121
Bloody Mary
“She’s hideous!” Said my best friend Brando, short for Brandon. “Just do it!” he kept saying, along with his brother Kevin. I was afraid. “Don’t be such a pussy.” Kevin yelled as he pushed me forward, almost knocking me off my feet and into the cross street at the top of our cul-de-sac. That was where the house stood. Directly across Mountain Ave. That was where she would appear, the “hideous” woman. The one we all called Bloody Mary. All you had to do was approach the dingy house where the old wooden rocking chair on the porch would rock back and forth, back and forth, even on the most calm nights. All you had to do to make her appear was go right up to the rocking chair and say her name three times with your eyes closed. They said that once you opened them, she would be sitting in the rocking chair before you, her face burned and bloody and wretchedly gesticulating as she stared into your soul. I had never done the deed. I had only heard the stories. And there I stood, receiving the peer pressure that we were all so quick to inflict on others, but cringed inside when it was brought down upon us. There I stood, searching my mind for any excuse to not cross Mountain Avenue that Saturday night.
“Guys, I need to get home. My Dad will kill me if I’m not back before nine.” “Dude, it’s barely eight thirty. You have a half hour and this will only take five minutes.” Brando was right. And I knew I wasn’t getting out of this. My mind was racing and I had butterflies in my stomache. Not the “good-feeling” butterflies either that you get when you see your first crush walk into the classroom at school. No, these were the kind that made your skin crawl and made you want to throw up. I was desperate for them to just go away. “Javers!” Kevin yelled. That’s what they called me. Don’t ask why. That’s an entirely different story. “Javers! Just do it. Get it over with and then go ask if you can spend the night. It’ll be