Category: Horror Publisher: Dark Hour Arts Inc.
ISBN-10: 1490366261
Type: Fiction
Pages: 297
Copyright: Jun 5, 2013
ISBN-13: 9781490366265
A lonely girl and a haunted dress; what could go wrong? You dont own this dress; it owns you.
Mary Klingforth is an awkward seventeen-year-old girl
with love on her mind and a crush on the most popular jock in school,
but the ‘Candy Apples’ mean girls gang torment her
and stand in the way of her dreams.
Then one day, Mary falls madly in love with a tattered
red velvet dress at an estate sale. Despite its condition,
Mary just had to have it.
Mary’s best friend, Lisa, fears the dress from the moment
she touches it and sees a sinister presence lurking deep within it.
It isn’t long before Mary’s family, friends, and enemies
discover what happens when you tangle
with a woman wearing a dress in red.
Excerpt
Have you ever said something you regretted later? This year will be different. That is what I told her at the beginning of the school year, but I had no idea just how right I would be; I wish I had been wrong. I meant it when I said it, or at least I had hoped it would be true, but things did not turn out as I had originally thought that they would.
Here I am at Agate Hill Cemetery, one of the largest graveyards in the entire nation. It is 220 acres of lush green grass, weeping willows, and a vast assortment of magnificent mausoleums, tombs, cenotaphs, headstones, and memorials. It is a tranquil and peaceful place, as it should be, but it is also a place where the graves speak more than the names of the people buried here.
As I sit here, in front of her quiet grave, I reflect upon what I could have done differently to save her, but I also ask myself if she could have been saved at all. Some people can’t be saved, I know that, but she was my best friend and I somehow feel ultimately responsible for her untimely demise and utterly grim fate.
Mary was loved; I hope she knows that now, wherever she is, as she looks down from the heavens above and upon this stone cenotaph that now serves as the only memorial of her short lived life. Her gravestone is surrounded by a myriad of flower bouquets, cards, and pictures left behind by her family, friends, and by those who felt some sympathy for her in the end.
I sit there alone with a gentle breeze blowing through my hair. Or is she whispering in my ear? Everyone else has gone home. The rows of foldup chairs remain, as do the three wooden easels that once displayed portraits of Mary; one as a baby, one as a child, and one as a teen. Mary was only 17 years old at the time of her death; I’m not much older. At the end of the funeral services, the coffin had been lowered into the earth and now a green tarp marks the grave where she will forever sleep.
I had said my prayer for Mary. It had been a Wiccan prayer used in rituals for the recently deceased called ‘A Passing’ or ‘Crossing the River’. I will spare you the agony of going into details about the rituals and their meanings, but I will share with you a small portion of the prayer I myself made in my own words.
Oh Mary, how I pray that you are in a much better place now. May your eternal rest be peaceful, and blessed be thy soul.
Jason had been waiting to give me a ride home, at the end of the service, but I had told him to go ahead and head on home for the day; I wanted to be alone with Mary for a while. I wanted to collect my thoughts and feelings and pay my last respects to her in my own way. I don’t have a ride home now, but that is okay with me; I wanted to walk home anyhow. A walk alone should be good for me. I’m tired of crying and I fear I am quickly running short on tears these days.
The funeral services and brief wake were thoughtful, inspirational, and beautiful. As I said before, I was pleased with how many people came to pay their respects –despite all that has come to pass. Mary’s demise will leave behind a cruel scar that only a great deal of time can heal. I myself may never heal; I have lost a great friend. I try to tell myself, however, that Mary died a few months ago. What died a week ago was not the Mary I knew and loved.
Whatever lies buried now in this grave I cannot even say for sure. Was what died even human anymore? Was what we buried Mary’s remains, or were they the remains of some ancient demonic being? I don’t know.
Mary’s simple marble headstone displays her name, when she was born, when she died, and the simple epitaph: Rest in Peace. I doubt likely Mary will ever be forgotten by those who knew her in her final days, but I doubt likely her story will ever be told correctly, if at all. There are those who will wish to forget her and to pretend that she never even really existed.
Her memory will likely live on in urban legends, gossip, and rumors. I fear as time goes on that the story will be convoluted, distorted, and become more fact than fiction. I worry this will eventually reflect poorly on the personas of all those who were involved, particularly Mary, because she’ll likely be portrayed a monstrously evil fiend. I can’t stop any of that from happening, so let me set the record straight, here and now, for all time.
Who she was before shall be forgotten, because who will care? And I can assure you that Mary was a good person, because I knew her very well, and I cannot find it in myself to let her memory fade into the shadows of obscurity. I would not be a good friend if I were to allow that to happen. I think Mary deserves to be remembered. Doesn’t everyone?
But before I begin this somewhat cautionary tale, perhaps I should introduce myself first. My name is Lisa Walters and this is Mary’s story.
Did you ever wonder what happened after the Archangel Michael through the demons out of heaven? Let one of them guide you through the origin of evil in the world.
