Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time does not belong to me! All characters and references to the show belong to ABC and Channel 5
These urban legends also do not belong to me.
Urban Legends: Fairytale Style-Chapter 4
Aren't You Glad You Didn't Turn On The Light?
It was with the last, tiny drop of energy Mary Margaret Blanchard had left that managed to get her to the door of her shared apartment. She had been at Storybrooke Elementary late at night filing through paperwork, and then David had come by and told her he'd booked a room at Granny's and...well, long story short she was now exhausted.
Fumbling in her pocket, Mary Margaret dug out her keys and unlocked the apartment door. Walking inside, the first thing she noticed was that the living room was completely dark, apart from a sliver of moonlight shining through the kitchen window.
Rubbing her eyes, Mary Margaret fumbled along the wall to find the light switch. She quickly found it, and was about to switch the lights on so she could see what she was doing when her eyes got used to the dark, and she saw the faint outline of a silhouette laid across the living room couch. Emma.
Was she waiting up for me? Mary Margaret wondered. It would be very out of character for her to do this. She had been living with the Sheriff for a couple of months now, and not once had she ever waited up for her. So why would she start now?
Either way, she must've fallen asleep she thought, and deciding to abandon the light switch in favour of not waking her room mate, she unsteadily made her way towards her bedroom.
She had just managed to stagger her way to her bedroom door when she heard it.
The dripping.
Drip, drip, drip.
Mary Margaret frowned. What was that? A leaky tap?
Drip, drip, drip.
Too exhausted to wonder about it anymore, she shrugged it off and walked into her bedroom, not even bothering to undress before she collapsed onto the bed.
OUAT
The next morning, Mary Margaret walked out of her bedroom for her breakfast, and the second she did so, a gasp caught in her throat, her face turned whiter than ever, and her eyes became riveted to the horrific image that laid before her.
It was Emma. She was still on the couch, but she wasn't asleep. Her eyes were wide open, staring at a ceiling that she could no longer see. Her face whiter than a sheet, and her pale arms were resting either side of her head. The wrists had been deeply slashed, and Emma's dark red blood was pooling around her head, staining her blonde hair and dripping onto the wooden ground. Her blue lips were parted in a silent, final scream.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mary Margaret saw more red on her brick wall. She tore her eyes away from her room mate, and what she saw there made her horribly, hysterically, uncontrollably scream.
Written on the wall in Emma Swan's blood, were nine, mocking words:
"Aren't You Glad You Didn't Turn On The Light?"
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