The Smoky Corridor

53

Zack stared blankly at the mirror.

Azalea and Malik were speaking to him but their voices sounded like they were underwater.

Zack’s eyes were riveted on the mysterious figure wavering inside the mirror, a young woman wearing a wreath of white leaves in her raven black hair, long white gloves, and a ruffled white wedding gown that made her look like a bell.

“I am Azalea’s guardian,” the ghost said in a woeful whisper. “She is in grave danger.”

“Is it the zombie?” said Zack.

He felt Azalea nudge him in the ribs when he said that.

“No, but I cannot say his name, for were he to hear it spoken, all would be lost.”

Zack nodded. He understood. Sort of.

“Guard Azalea. Do not let her fall into the evil demon’s clutches, for if she does, within the day, she will surely lose her soul.”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

Azalea nudged him in the ribs again and said something like “You’re just pretending” and laughed, so Zack laughed, too, even though the woman in the mirror was weeping.

“I am but an outcast daughter. A weeping widow. A great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.”

All those greats made Zack gulp.

“My name is Mary. Mary Jane Hopkins.”