he sat on the cushioned chair in her bedroom and laid the apple on the dresser. Using a slender
paring knife, she sliced the apple into nine pieces. Staring at her reflection in the mirror
over the dresser, she balanced the first piece on the side of the knife and placed it in her
mouth. She watched herself chew the sweet fruit.
In her head, she heard her mother’s voice from the previous evening. “You’ll be meeting your
first potential suitor tomorrow. There’s something you must do first. It is very important.”
Fingers shaking, she picked up the second piece of apple, placed it on the blade, and ate it.
Her mother again. “It’s a legend dating to ancient times. Our family has used it for generations
and it has never failed us.”
Using the same technique, she ate the third, fourth, and fifth pieces. She wasn’t sure she believed
in legends, but her fluttering heart and racing pulse indicated she did not discount them, either.
Her mother explained how she was to eat the apple. “You must do exactly as I say, or it will
not work.”
She ate the sixth, seventh, and eighth pieces.
“You must not watch yourself eat the last of the apple. When you’re done, open your eyes quickly.
In the mirror, over your right shoulder, you will see the face of your future betrothed!”
The final piece rested on the blade. Her wide eyes stared back at her. Did she really want to
do this?
She did. She closed her eyes and popped the apple into her mouth. She chewed, not tasting the
fruit. Swallowed and opened her eyes.
And screamed.
#
Later that day. She sat in the parlor and waited for her suitor.
She had tried to ask her mother about what she had seen in the mirror. “Do not tell me,” her
mother answered. “It is not for me to know. Only yourself.”
She heard a knock on the door. She bit her lip. He was here.
The door opened. She heard voices. Her mother’s. A man’s. Approaching footsteps. She fought the
urge to flee to her bedroom.
They entered. Her mother, all smiles, led a tall figure into the room. “Lucy. You have a visitor.”
She forced herself to look at him and before she could stop, laughed with relief.
“Lucy?” her mother asked.
“Forgive me.” The man looked normal enough, even handsome. Nothing like the hideous image that
had appeared in her mirror. She must have been imagining things, letting her nerves upset her,
for what she saw made no sense. What living man had a fleshless skull for a face, with blazing
red eyes and sharp pointed teeth?
What living man had the visage of Death?
Her mother turned to the guest. “Arthur Holmwood, I present my beloved daughter, Lucy Westenra.”
(c) Eric Christ, All Rights Reserved
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