Disclaimer: I don't own the Biker Mice and am making no profit from them. I wrote this for the enjoyment of others and my demented little mind. *grins* Thanks to Nikata for his story "Escape to Nowhere" because it got the ball rolling in my head. Unfortunately, it had to roll around for a while. I do not own Mary and no one else can either. To see what I mean, read on.

Resurrection Mary

By Redspot

September 1, 1998

Copyrighted 1998 Redspot, all rights reserved

It was a late November night, right around midnight. The air was cold and crisp with the hint of smoke from fireplaces around Chicago. The sky was clear of clouds with no moon to dim the stars that could be seen. The mice were on they're way back to the scoreboard in Quigley Field after they had just finished fighting Limberger over the garage again.

"Looks like Limberger's going to be licking his wounds for a while," Throttle said as they raced down the streets.

"Yeah, we really stomped ol' Stinkbutt good," Modo said.

"Yeow!" Vinnie crowed, popping a wheelie. "That was the perfect end for the day."

Chuckling, Throttle said, "Yeah, any day we whup Fishlips is a good day." They had just turned onto Archer St. going south when Throttle noticed a young woman standing on the side of the road. "Heads up, bros. Looks like we have a stranded citizen," he told the others.

She looked to be in her late teens, with long, flaxen hair and striking blue eyes. She was wearing an off-white ball gown from an earlier time with black, patent leather, dress shoes.

They rode up next to her and Throttle asked, "So you need a lift, miss?"

"Yes, please," she said softly. "Thank you."

Throttle pushed a button and his sidecar popped out, opening itself up. "Where do you live?" He asked.

"Up the street," she said, gesturing Northward up Archer St. and climbed into the sidecar carefully.

Throttle took off his vest and put it around her shoulders. "This should help keep some of the wind off," he said. They turned around and drove north, up the street. "What brings you around here this late at night?" He asked.

"I was dancing at the O. Henry Ballroom," she replied.

"The O. Henry Ballroom?" Modo asked. "Where's that?"

"Back there," she replied, gesturing the way they had come. A few miles further up the street she suddenly said, "Stop!"

They stopped near the only form of housing that they could see. It was an old, rundown shack that looked like no one had lived in it for many years.

"Here?" Vinnie asked, surprised.

She didn't answer as she climbed out of the sidecar. She put Throttle's vest on the car then started walking towards the cemetery that was across the street. They watch in silence as she walked to the gates then through them and disappeared. When she disappeared, they nearly jumped out of their skins.

"Where'd she go?" Vinnie asked.

"I don't know, bro," Throttle said. He had put his vest back on.

The three of them walked over to the gates of the cemetery to check it out. The gates had been padlocked with a chain. Throttle rattled them to see if they were truly locked, they were. Vinnie grabbed the bars where they saw the girl go through. He tried to move them but they were firmly set on the gate.

"Whoa, momma," Modo said. His fur started to rise as he realized what they had just seen.

"Sssheshe wasn't real," Vinnie stuttered with fear. His and Throttle's fur had risen also.

"But she was," Throttle said. "She had to have been. How else would she be able to wear my vest all of the way here?"

"Then how did she get in?" Vinnie asked, his voice starting to get louder. "How could she have gotten in when the gates are locked? We definitely did not see them open."

"I don't know, bro. I really don't know," Throttle said, resigned to what he was admitting.

"Oh, momma," Modo said again. They walked back to their bikes. Throttle turned to look at the stone arch over the gates to find out the name of the cemetery. Resurrection Cemetery, it said. They rode off in silence, all of them thinking about what they had just seen.

The next day, they were just waking up when Charley called over the CB. "Guys? This is Charley, come in please."

Throttle walked over to it, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah, Charley?"

"Good Morning Throttle," she said. "I'm heading over to my mom's house and was wondering if you three could head over as well?"

"Sure Charley," Throttle said. "We'll meet you there."

"Thanks. Out," Charley said, then she was off.

Over at Charley's Mom's house, there were conscripted into moving furniture around and bringing boxes down from the attic. They were quite willing to do this for the ladies.

In the middle of the day Mrs. Davidson called out, "Break time!" She and Charley were sitting on the floor of the dining room going through the boxes that Vinnie had been bringing down from the attic. Throttle and Modo were moving the furniture around the satisfaction of Mrs. Davidson. The mice stopped what they were doing and walked over to the ladies.

"Modo, would you be a dear and help an old lady off of the floor?" Mrs. Davidson asked, holding her hands out to him.

"You're not old, ma'am," he replied, lifting her to her feet.

"Depends on your point of view," she said, smiling to take the sting out of the words. "But, thank you." She patted his cheek, then walked over to the kitchen.

"Mrs. Davidson." Throttle started. They followed her into the kitchen.

"Mom," Mrs. Davidson interrupted.

"What?" Throttle was taken aback for an instant.

"I mean, you've all been here long enough and have been helping my daughter more times than I can count, that it's time you start calling me "Mom" instead of "Mrs. Davidson"." She said, smiling.

Throttle was surprised. "Thank you," he said. "Mommaybe you could explain something that happened to us last night."

"I'll see what I can do, but first, let's eat and you can tell me while you eat," she said. They sat at the kitchen table while she started cooking hot dogs.

". then she disappeared," Throttle finished. They had all eaten and Throttle told her and Charley about their experience last night.

By the time Throttle had finished the story Mrs. Davidson was nodding her head in understanding. "Sounds like you met Mary," she told them.

"Mary?" Modo asked.

"Resurrection Mary, to be more precise." She was taking their dishes to the sink. "She's one of Chicago's most famous people in the fact that she is a ghost." Charley looked at the mice and the looks on their faces. She had known about Mary since she was a child. The mice had wide eyes and their fur had started to rise again. "She's been known to hitch rides from men but then leave them as they pass Resurrection Cemetery. Or, they take her to the Willowbrook ballroom and dance with them."

"Willowbrook?" Modo asked. "She mentioned an O. Henry ballroom, but not Willowbrook."

"That was the name of the ballroom around 1934 when she died," she told them.


"Yes," she said, shaking her head sadly. "She was coming home from the ball one night in 1934 when she was hit and killed on Archer St."

"Who is she?" Throttle asked.

"No one exactly knows. People started calling her Mary when she started to appear in 1939. She would try to hop onto buggies and cars as they passed her."

"And they danced with her?" Vinnie asked. "How?"

"Yes. I don't know, I guess she's able to become solid enough for them not to know she's a ghost."

"That we can attest to," Throttle said, remembering his vest around her shoulders.

"Well, let's head back to work," she said, standing up.

The mice stood up as well, walking back into the living room. As the day progressed, they thought about what Mrs. Davidson had said and will never forget the experience of that night.

The End

P.S. This is based on a "true" ghost story from Chicago. I hope you all enjoyed it. Now you know what I meant by no one can own her.