Fist of the Spider Woman by Amber Dawn Page A

her bookshelf and started reading from it in a low, intense voice. The hook, the babysitter’s call, the long fingernails, Mary Worth—all the classics.
    â€œThey have stories about Bloody Mary all over the world,” Judy whispered. “She’s always in the mirror after you chant her name, dripping in blood, reaching out to grab you. If you don’t turn on the lights in time, they never find your remains.”
    Judy set the book down and looked at all of her friends huddled in the tub. Then she smiled. “Wanna try it?” she said.
    Candlelight, locked doors, fluffy white towels around their shoulders, they stared into the mirror and chanted Bloody Mary, turning in circles five times for each name.
    â€œBloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”
    The girls all looked at each other and tittered nervously. Finally, one of them found the courage to turn once more, so the rest of them did too. “Bloody Mary.”
    They all peered into the mirror, half wanting to shield their eyes and half wanting to see the fruits of their spell. Kate did not know which one of them screamed first. But once one screamed, they all started screaming, stampeding to the door, unlocking it, and yanking it open. It was not until they were in the master bedroom that it occurred to Judy to just turn on the bathroom light. It went without saying that there was nothing in the bathroom, nothing in the mirror but reflections of sheepish smiles.
    Two of them swore they had seen something in the mirror—a person behind them, a face. Kate had not seen anything. Still, all of them slept tightly huddled together in their sleeping bags, with a night light on in the hall. Maybe there had been something in that mirror. But like all nights, it dissolved into morning. That was when things were relatively normal, when she still had dreams of flowers blossoming, ugly ducklings turning into swans, beasts into beauties.
    Kate let the hot water pound against her back as she squeezed vanilla body wash onto her loofah. Her eyes felt swollen shut, and she could barely see, but she knew her body by touch as well as by sight. The soap smoothed over her arms, then her stomach and back, then down her legs. Hesitating, she curled the loofah between her legs. She thought she could feel it. A little less than an inch wide, a little more than an inch long. It was disgusting.
    It was there. She jerked her hand away and turned into the spray again.
    It had been Judy who first saw her—Kate’s daring attempt to change in the girls’ locker room after seventh grade gym. She was not the only girl who preferred to change in the bathroom stalls, but they were all girls there, right? Looking was never supposed to be a problem as long as no one really looked. But when Judy caught a glimpse, she couldn’t help but stare. Kate’s face flushed bright red, and she rushed to cover herself. She felt like she was going to vomit at the look of confusion and disgust on Judy’s face. Kate was lucky that Judy didn’t spread the word to the entire school. Instead, their friendship waned until it was nothing but awkward glances in the hallways. Middle school was not a bastion of nonconformity, and Kate went back to changing in the bathroom stalls all the way through high school.
    She turned off the water and reached for a towel. She dried the same way she cleaned. A brief swipe between her legs, and she looked into the mirror. It was crooked. She blinked, reached up to set it right on its nail. The corner cut into her finger. She hissed between her teeth, bringing her finger to her mouth to suck on it. In the fogged glass and candlelight, she could see the blur of deep purple that was her towel and the lighter tan that was her body.
    For a moment, her breath shuddered the candlelight, and it looked like there was someone behind her. She turned around, but there was no one there. She felt that queer tension in her lower back,