One day I was on the computer and I saw an email about Bloody Mary that said that if you sent it to 20 people or more you would be safe, but if you deleted it, she would appear in your room and cut your wrists and throat open. I was not amused by this email, so I deleted it, believing that it was a load of crap.
The next day, I told my friend about this silly email, and he was not scared, either, but laughing about it. Then, the following evening when I went to his house, he insisted that we go to the bathroom and play Bloody Mary because he was amused by this email and wanted to have some fun. I refused to do it, but he kept insisting and saying that it was cool and that his other friend did it and was fine. I refused again and he called me a chicken, so he proceeded with this childish act.
As my friend walked into the washroom, he shut the lights off and said, “Wish me luck,” chuckling. I was listening from outside the door, and I could hear him saying, “Bloody Mary” three times, then I heard nothing. Assuming he was playing a joke on me, I proceeded to walk away, thinking if I didn’t answer him, he would eventually come out of the bathroom.
Surprisingly, I lost track of time watching The Discovery Channel, but 15 minutes later, I finally went to go check up on him. I knocked on the door—no answer. Once more I knocked hard, and when there was still no answer, I kicked down the door. I found my friend on the floor, bleeding badly from his wrists. As I pulled him out, I called 911.
He is lucky to have gotten away with only serious lacerations to his wrists. To this day, he fears looking into a mirror alone in the bathroom. He has undergone hours of mental help from mental hospitals claiming to have seen Bloody Mary, but I’m the only one that knows the truth of what he saw in that mirror.