I thought them just #stories. A nun murdered. Her blood dyed the floors blood red. Couldn’t be painted over. Say Bloody Mary 3 times & she came for you. An odd bee left behind. Until I tried to paint the floors. Until I said Bloody Mary. Until I lost my life to Sister Mary.
This is actually based upon a local legend at the school/church I went to as a child. Legend has it that when the school 1st opened (St. Mary’s) in 1922, it was a high school. And some of the teen boys went and killed Sister Mary who was a teacher there. They beat her up and dragged her bleeding body though the school and church, dyeing the floors red with her blood. They killed her in the girls locker room off the gym. If you stated Bloody Mary 3 times she would come through the mirror and grab you. Stories state a loan bee would be the only evidence.
I can testify to the floors never able to be painted. My family was active in the church from 1986 to the time they shut it down in 2006. And my dad tried once to help paint over the blood floors to lay carpet. The next morning they were once again the deep blood red color.
To keep this legend alive since the closing (and soon tearing down) of the school, I put it in some of my writings. I used it for short stories, but it had myths in my novels, etc.
If she is still out there, Sister Mary, I hope you find peace when the school is no more.
St. Mary’s stands abandoned since 2006 except for the ghosts that reside. May they find peace when it is demolished.
I asked them to be prompt. All I wanted was a bit of respect. I waited for an hour. Tried to hide the tears. Let down again. I know they can support. I see it all the time… For others. Why not me? I blinked back the tears. All I asked for was support… For Me…
The cloud overhead was thunderstorm green. We could taste the storm brewing. The air charged. Hairs stood on end. First waves of thunder heard. Lightning lit up the skies. Then rain. Warm, sticky, humid, salty rain. Not refreshing. Fitting. For today we laid you to rest.
My story is being written I wish it was in pencil I could erase the pain then But it is in pen Make mistakes Moment never forgotten No matter the strife My story is being written So much remains Unwritten It is in pen Never to be erased So I live life until the very end
I crash into the ground From the highest of highs I pick myself up I close myself off I crash I burn I will stand up I will fight on I will survive I crashed I burned But I stood up Closed myself off To have you rip down my walls And… Love Wins