Cover

Title Page

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Maggie Preller, my favorite terror, who first told me about Bloody Mary.

BLOODY

MARY

BLOODY

MARY

BLOODY

MARY

Prologue

WELCOME TO THE NEW HOME OF THE FINN FAMILY. DON’T BE AFRAID. WIPE YOUR FEET ON THE MAT. AH,

HOME SWEET HORROR

COME, STEP INSIDE. BUT BE WARNED. THIS OLD HOUSE ONLY SEEMS EMPTY. BECAUSE THANKS TO A HARMLESS CHILDREN’S GAME, BLOODY MARY JUST MIGHT MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN A MIRROR NEAR YOU.

CAREFUL NOW, SHE SCRATCHES. SEE, THERE’S BLOOD UNDER HER FINGERNAILS.

ANY QUESTIONS, JUST ASK. BECAUSE THIS OLD HOUSE IS DYING TO TALK.

1. The House on the Hill

1

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

“Wake up, Liam. We’re here,” Mr. Finn whispered from the driver’s seat. “Our new home.”

The eight-year-old boy rubbed his eyes, groggy from the long drive. He looked out the car window, blinking into the dark. “What time is it?”

“Around midnight,” his father said. “You three have been crashed out for hours.”

Liam became aware of the warm body pressed against him. His hand fell on the sleeping dog’s neck. On the other side of the dog, Liam’s older sister, Kelly, slept with her head pitched forward. Even in sleep, Kelly’s hand clutched her necklace. It was once her mother’s ring, a parting gift that Kelly wore on a chain around her neck.

“Let her rest,” Mr. Finn said, as if reading Liam’s mind. “I’ve been enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Kelly had been against the move. She’d crossed her arms and vowed, “Nuh-uh, I’m not going. I like it here in Hopeville.” She’d argued, threw tantrums, said horrible things. But Mr. Finn decided that it was time for a fresh start, and that was that. Their mother would have wanted it this way.

Liam felt his chest tighten at the thought. Even after eighteen months, her memory caused his heart to swell and his breath to grow short and shallow, like the early signs of an asthma attack. He fingered the inhaler in his pocket. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself. Breathe in, breathe out.

The road was quiet, with dim streetlights and a few darkened homes across the way. Each house was set apart on high, rolling lots, not as crowded as Liam’s old neighborhood. He looked back at the battered old house on the hill. It was big, larger than he’d imagined from the photographs. The two windows on the second floor—with half-drawn shades like lazy yellow eyelids—reminded Liam of watchful eyes. He imagined that the house looked down upon them out of those eyes. Looming, waiting, watching. The front door’s brass knocker looked like a nose.

The dog, Doolin, rose stiffly on ancient legs. She stretched, sniffed, and whined softly in the dark of night.

“What’s the matter, girl? You need to do your business?”