This story is by Aaba RaDale and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Mary was born in the spring of 1810 and always lived in the house where she was born. During her early years, many clashes and battles between the settlers and the Indians occurred throughout the hills and valleys. History revealed she was the only girl born into the family. The family members that died through the years were buried along the south side of the foothills where they faced the sun and kept watch over the house and family.
In her 14th year, the boy who claimed to love Mary deserted her. Mournful howls echoed through the valley year after year as she searched for her intended, sure that he was lost or injured. Moans and groans traveled in the winds and whistled through the old red house where she was born. To neighbors and passersby, these eerie sounds were all part of the “Myth of Mary”.
Mary became a wanderer. She tried to repair her broken heart as she searched for a husband to give her a daughter. She gave birth to three children, all with different fathers, before her twentieth birthday. All were boys. That disappointed her and all were kicked out by the time they were sixteen if their first child wasn’t a girl. After each grandson was born, the moans and groans continued and grew in intensity.
The remainder of her forty-five years were spent semi-secluded and yelling “Where is my daughter?” could be heard through the valley. To everyone’s knowledge, there never was a daughter.
With long-standing cultural beliefs in myths from previous generations, the family elders determined to forbid that no daughters would be named Mary in hopes of deterring the myth. As years passed and families became more diverse, that belief fell by the wayside. It was almost a hundred and fifty years before a girl was born in the old red house. She was named Mary Alice, and was the great-great-grand-daughter of the infamous, “Myth of Mary”.
In every step of Mary Alice’s young life, it was ingrained into her that what she said she saw and heard was grown from the old myth. It was all in her head. Living in the ancestors’ old red rock house, built in the early 1800s, regenerated stories from the past with every passing of the wind through the house.
The family became concerned when young pre-school Mary Alice reported a lady in her room. When it was investigated, no one was seen. Then Mary Alice began talking to herself as if having a two-way conversation, not only in her room but also in the yard at play. Adults outside the household talked of the “Myth of Mary” as a rumor of reincarnation. Undeterred by this, the immediate family dismissed Mary Alice’s stories as a vivid imagination.
Mary Alice’s sixteenth birthday turned many skeptics into potential believers. A few close family members and friends gathered to celebrate Mary Alice’s sixteenth birthday. They coaxed the teenager to blow out the candles on her birthday cake and make a wish. She only stared at the door, shook her head, and mouthed, “No. Don’t. Not now. Go away.” She continued to sit in a defiant pose with her arms crossed.
Her mother told her, “Get on with it, girl. Blow out the candles.”
With no warning, all the candles were blown out by a sudden burst of cold wind. It was windy in the typical early spring day outside, but no windows or doors were open to allow the wind to enter the room. Everyone became quiet and looked to see how Mary Alice did that as she sat with her head down.
Mary Alice whimpered, “I told her it wasn’t her birthday. It was mine. She wanted more candles on the cake.” She jumped up, causing her chair to fall, and tearfully ran to her room.
Richard, Mary Alice’s older brother chased closely behind her. “Wait! Wait, MA [pronounced May]. You don’t have to go. It’s ok. We know about Mary.” He placed his athletic arms around her and held her tight until she was in control of her crying.
“But why did she have to come today?”
“It’s ok. Let’s get back to your company.” He walked her back and as they arrived, silence fell on the room. With a broad smile, he announced, “I think MA is ready to blow out those candles herself.”
Their mother relit the candles. The rest of the day was Mary free and MA had a nice birthday with cake, presents, and laughter.
When Mary Alice retired for the evening, she called out to Mary, “Mary come out now. I’m sorry I to you to go away. But this was a special day for me.” MA sat quietly on her bed waiting for Mary.
Mary arrived and sat in the corner in the corner of a window seat. She pulled her knees, wrapped her arms around them, and just stared at MA. “Why is that so important? It’s just another day.”
After staring at her hands for a few minutes, she started talking again, in broken sentences, she tried to get Mary to understand. “Back in your time, it might not have meant much to turn sixteen, but to me it’s everything.” She continued, “I get to drive. And get a car. To go on dates with my boyfriend. I can’t do that when you are here.”
“Humph… doesn’t sound so great to me. Besides, I am here. I live here. You are my daughter. I need to be here with you.”
“No! No, I am not your daughter. You died over a hundred years ago and have just been here scaring people away. Then you latched onto me. I don’t want to play with you anymore. I’m too old now.” MA covered her eyes with her hands, then turned her face to her pillow and wept.
“But finally, I had a baby girl. I waited so long. “I can’t go away and leave you. That wouldn’t be right. I have to take care of you.”
“But I’m not your baby girl. I belong to my mother and father, and my brothers.
Mary and MA continued the back-and-forth discussion about who belonged to whom. MA said, “Okay. When tomorrow comes, I want to take you somewhere. It should help you understand. Now let me go to sleep.” MA struggled to get to sleep. When she did it was full of dreams from the Myth of Mary she had been told her entire life. The disagreements she had with her family trying to get them to understand Mary was there and she was doing tricks, making noises, playing with her, and singing her to sleep at night.
The sun was bright after the cooler windy day before. It was warm and spring blooms were everywhere. The hillsides were green from the earlier showers. Slowly the two walked up to the foothill to a beautiful cemetery spot. The family section contained the history of everyone who lived and died there from 1745. Mary’s parents were there and all the family members that had lived in the big red house. They were laid facing the house.
“You died more than a hundred years before I was born. I am not your daughter. I am your great-great-granddaughter. You are buried here between your mother and a brother. “Here lies Mary. Mother of 2 sons, no daughter.” The story is that they didn’t know your last name when you died.”
Mary cried. “I didn’t know. Is that why I can’t see myself in the mirror? No one told me I was supposed to be here. That was so long ago.” She finally stopped crying, “Now you go, dear girl. Grow up and be happy. Have a great-great-great-granddaughter for me.” Mary sat down on her grave and reached her hand out to her mother’s grave. “Goodbye Mary Alice.”
Tears raced down her cheeks as Mary Alice slowly walked back to the old red house alone. She felt an emptiness she had not expected.
No more sounds nor winds ever were related to the Myth of Mary.
THE END
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