SayIT tree timeS!

*Chapter 1: Say It Three Times*

Bloody Mary isn’t real.

That’s what Mara kept telling herself as she stood in front of the cracked mirror of the third-floor bathroom in St. Agnes Academy. 11:45 PM. Every light in the building was dead except for one bulb above the sink. It flickered like it was winking at her. She wasn’t supposed to be here. It was past curfew. But she made a promise.

“Record it, Mara. So they’ll believe you,” Jen’s voice came from her phone, propped against the faucet on video call. Kyle and Tristan were there too, laughing, waiting for her to do something stupid.

This was her punishment for losing Truth or Dare yesterday. The dare: Go into the abandoned bathroom on the third floor, kill the flashlight, light three white candles, face the mirror, and say her name three times.

_Bloody Mary._

If she didn’t, they’d post the video of her from Grade 7 to the entire senior high GC. The one where she was crying, her uniform soaked in blood, and the mirror behind her shattered. They never asked why she was crying. She never told them.

Mara breathed in. The air smelled like rust and stagnant water. The tiles on the floor had cracks that looked like veins, all of them crawling toward her feet. On the edge of the mirror, someone had carved words with something sharp: _FINISH UR PRAYER_.

Her throat went dry. That was the exact text on the cover of the novel she was writing. The same cover you see in the app. She made it two weeks ago. She hadn’t shown it to anyone. How was that line already here?

She killed the flashlight. Only the candles lit her face now. Her reflection was cut in half by shadow. Her long black hair was still damp from the rain earlier. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“One,” she whispered.

The bulb flickered.

“Two.”

The faucet dripped. It wasn’t water. It was thick. Red. It smelled like old coins.

“Three. Bloody Mary.”

Silence.

One second. Two. Three.

Then her reflection didn’t move when she stepped back.

It stayed there. Staring. Smiling. But Mara wasn’t smiling. The mouth of her reflection was torn ear to ear, like someone had taken a knife to it. Its teeth were stained red.

“The dare is over,” her reflection said, but Mara’s lips didn’t move. The voice sounded like it was drowning. Broken and cold. “Now it’s my turn.”

All three candles died at once. In the dark, something breathed on the back of her neck. It smelled like rot.

“Turn around, Mara,” it whispered. “I’m not in the mirror.”

She didn’t turn around. She ran. She slammed the door open, tripped down the stairs, got up, and kept running until she reached her dorm. She locked the door, buried herself under the blanket, and didn’t move until morning.

When she checked her phone: _Call ended 8 minutes ago_. She never hung up.

The next day was Sunday. The dorm was empty. Long weekend. Everyone went home. Everyone except her. Scholarship kid. St. Agnes had been her home since her mother left her at the gate when she was ten.

47 unread messages from Jen.

_Jen: What happened? You just disappeared_

_Jen: Mara???_

_Jen: Kyle said he saw you on the 3rd floor CCTV. 4:03 AM. You were still standing in front of the mirror._

_Jen: Mara answer me please I’m scared_

4:03 AM? She was in bed by then. At least, she thought she was.

She stood to wash her face. When she looked at the dorm mirror, there was writing on the glass even though there was no steam. It was written with a finger.

_FINISH UR PRAYER_

Under it, smaller: _or I will finish you_.

And behind her in the reflection stood a girl. Long black hair. Hanging loose. Pale skin. Eyes bright red. Mouth torn into a smile. She wore the old St. Agnes uniform from the 1980s.

Mara spun around. No one there.

When she looked back at the mirror, the girl was gone. But Mara’s own eyes were red now too.

After that, she was never alone again.

Every midnight, something scratched under her bed. Three knocks would come at her door, but when she opened it, the hallway was empty. The faucet in her sink would turn on by itself, and only blood would come out. Worst of all, every reflection — glass, window, spoon, puddle — showed the other Mara. The one that smiled.

She snuck into the library archives. In a 1987 yearbook, one page was ripped out. The name under the blank space: Mary Ann Velez. Third year. Found dead in the third-floor bathroom. Eyes missing. Mouth cut ear to ear. On the wall, written in her own blood: _I did not finish my prayer._

The nuns used to call her Bloody Mary. Every time a student went missing after that, they blamed her ghost. But the truth was, Mary was the first victim.

The old canteen lady who’d worked here for 20 years told Mara, “There was a ritual before. If you wanted someone gone, you’d pray in front of that mirror. Say Mary’s name three times. But you had to finish the prayer. If you didn’t, she’d take you instead.”

What prayer? No one knew. The nuns burned the book.

But Mara knew.

Because every night, she dreamed it. She was Mary. Kneeling in the bathroom. Hands bloody. Holding a candle. Whispering, “Ave Maria, gratia plena…” Then someone screamed outside the door. Mary got scared. She ran. She never finished the prayer. When she came back, something was waiting in the mirror.

Not a ghost.

Herself.

But a different version. The angry one. The cursed one.

And now, Mara was the new body.

Because the novel she was writing — _Bloody MarY!_ — was exactly what happened to Mary Ann in 1987. The lines, the names, the _FINISH UR PRAYER_ — all of it came from Mara’s dreams. Or Mary’s memories.

“You used me to come back,” her reflection said one night. Mara was holding a kitchen knife and didn’t remember picking it up. “Now we finish what you started. We finish the prayer.”

“What prayer?!” Mara screamed.

The girl in the mirror laughed. “The prayer that kills everyone who hurt me. The prayer that brings me back to life. I just need a body. And blood. Lots of blood.”

Mara touched her neck. There was a cut there. She didn’t remember making it.

From the crack under her door, three knocks.

Then Jen’s voice: “Mara? We’re back. We’re outside. Open up…”

Her reflection smiled. Torn ear to ear.

“Open it, Mara,” she whispered. “Let’s finish your prayer.”

And for the first time, Mara’s mouth answered without her control.

“Yes.”

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