by Carrie King
A smell of ozone filled the air and he looked up. The sky had darkened, rain was coming.
Nicholas carried the bucket of water inside and began to scrub the kitchen. His headache had retreated and all that remained was a dull ache across his temples. Taking a break, he called the kitten again, but it did not come running to his entreaties. It was probably asleep somewhere he told himself, pushing down the feeling of dread that being alone gave him. The kitten would turn up when it was hungry, even though he was at a loss as to what he should feed it. He hoped the animal was a good mouser. He picked the knife up off the bench and placed it in one of the drawers.
Well used to chores and hard work, Nicholas cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom in an hour. As expected, the clean windows allowed ample light to enter the house, though now, long trickles of rain covered the panes.
That job done, he moved onto scrubbing the floor of the entrance hall, deciding that next he would clean the living room before moving onto the upper floor.
Nicholas was hunched over at the base of the stairs, scrubbing at a particularly hard to remove spot, when he first heard it— a loud whispering. Stopping, he looked around, had this all been a joke? Were his brothers hiding?
The sibilant noise increased and he could not find the source. It was rapidly becoming louder and louder until it threatened to overwhelm him.
Where was it coming from?
Dropping the cleaning cloth Nick held his hands to his ears, trying to drown out the racket. It seemed as if a plague of locusts was swarming around his head, irritating him almost to the brink of madness. Disorientated, he stumbled to his feet and blindly staggered to the front door to escape the sound. For a moment, his fingers could not find the handle, when they did, he couldn’t turn it. Desperate, he gripped with all his strength and wrenched the door open, gasping in the sudden onslaught of wind and rain.
The intense whispering noise retreated and dimmed. Nicholas stared out across the windswept grounds. The trees at the edge of the forest bent and swayed in the wind, and the dark rain clouds were thick and dense. He could see the cow sheltering beneath a tree, she looked unperturbed by the storm.
The air was cold and damp, shivering, he pushed the door closed and turned back into the room. The noise had now stopped, but still, Nick looked around, trying to find the source of the whispers. He could see nothing. Had he imagined it?
Striding up the hallway, he opened the first of the three closed doors. Nick jumped back, his heart pounding, and insect crawled across his skin as the hair rose on his arms — something fell towards him.
Nicholas watched as the broom hit the floor and bounced, the sound of wood on wood echoed up the hallway. He bent and retrieved the broom and set it back in the broom closet. The small closet also contained a mop and a dustpan—useful tools for when he tackled the rest of the house.
Letting out a long sigh, he pushed the door closed and as his heart beat a little slower, he placed his hand on the handle of the next door. It was stuck fast and did not budge even when he placed his shoulder against it and shoved hard. He moved onto the next door, but it also remained firmly shut. Shrugging, Nicholas returned to his cleaning. The whispering sound did not return and the only noise he could hear was the rain hitting the iron roof and splattering against the windows.
After completing his thorough cleaning of the entrance way, Nicholas stopped to eat some bread and cheese. He stared out the kitchen window as he chewed his simple meal. When the rain stopped, or perhaps tomorrow, he would go and cut a pumpkin from the vine. The chickens were huddled close together, their feathers puffed out around them, under the cover of a stand of hawthorn bushes. The cow stood morosely in the rain, chewing its cud and staring into the distance. Nicholas hoped the rain would stop before he went out to milk the animal that evening. He called for the kitten again, but it did not come to him.
Finishing the last crust of his bread, Nicholas brushed his hands together. He opened the back door and collected several sticks of wood, placing them beside the woodstove. He pulled some dry twigs from the logs and pushed them into the grate before holding a light to the tinder. The dry wood burst into ready flame and Nicholas grinned, already feeling warmed by the light of the small fire. He placed a log on top of the tinder and closed the grate.
Nicholas walked into the large living room, carrying his cleaning cloth and bucket. He placed the items on the floor and looked around. Several armchairs stood guard at either side of a wide fireplace, and a long, low couch was placed against the dirty windows. A faded picture of a mountain scene was hung above the mantle. He glanced to one side of the hearth then quickly looked back, unable to believe his eyes. His mouth opened in a silent scream. The remains of the little kitten, its ginger fur soaked with blood and its entrails torn from its body, were strewn over the wooden floor.
Chapter 5
Nicholas looked around wildly. Who could have done such a thing? The whispering started up again and Nicholas dropped to the ground, gripping his head in his hands. He bent over, his face distorted in a grimace of pain. In a moment of clarity, he understood what Father Matthew had meant about the demons. Something evil and other-worldly had committed this awful act, and it was now tormenting him with its insane whispers.
As the whispers rose and rose he fell forward and lay sprawled across the chilled, dusty floorboards. The stark metallic scent of the kitten’s intestines and blood filled his nostrils. His friend, his only friend was gone. A sob burst from his dry mouth. And still the relentless whispering continued. Moments later, wracked by the pain inside his head, Nicholas fell into thankful unconsciousness.
It was dark when Nicholas opened his eyes again. He lay for several minutes, confused and disorientated. The smell of death came to him, only inches from his nose, and upstairs he could hear a dragging movement, as if someone was pulling something heavy across the floor.
He remembered. He was alone in the house in Briar Park. Someone or something had dismembered a tiny, helpless kitten, a kitten intended to be his friend and companion, and left its remains for him to find.
Fighting back a sob, he struggled to his feet. The movement caused a spike of pain in his head which settled to a dull ache.
The dragging noise on the floor above stopped.
What was it? Who was there?
The sense of isolation and despair was almost so strong that he wanted to run from the house and all the way back to the monastery, but he couldn’t.
Instead, grasping on to his head, he struggled through to the kitchen, holding onto the walls to steady himself. There he was grateful to see the faint and friendly embers of the nearly-dead embers in the woodstove gleaming at him. Life, in whatever format, was a welcome and warm associate.
Nicholas fumbled to the countertop. The clouds had cleared and a soft moonlight shone through the window. He could hear the cow mooing and calling. He hadn’t milked her. She would be in pain, anxious for the relief of an emptied udder.
Nicholas opened the box of candles and lit one, then two. He placed them carefully on the countertop and walked to the back door to fetch another few logs of wood. He returned to the kitchen and threw a log into the grate, watching the sparks rise and twinkle.
Feeling as though he was being watched, he looked around quickly. No one stood in the light of the kitchen, but what lay hidden in the flickering shadows?
He hesitated. Should he deal with the kitten’s body or should he go and tend to the cow? He hesitated for just a moment, then he chose life over death. Taking a small pail from one of the cupboards, he walked out to the yard and called to the cow, who gratefully ambled towards him. The chickens cooed and clucked softly from their perch under the hawthorn bushes.
Returning to the house, Nicholas placed the pail of milk on the bench. Irrationally, he suddenly felt hungry. The thought of bread and honey and a cup of warm milk was infinitely appealing. The fire crackled and spat in the woodstove behind him.
Nicholas cut a slice of bread
and spread it thickly with honey. He found a cup and filled it with the fresh milk. As he took a bite of the bread, the whispering in his head started again. He shook his head fiercely. He needed a respite. He needed to eat. He needed silence to regain his strength and deal with the torn and abused body of the kitten, but it looked like he would get none of those.
Over the coming weeks, Nicholas fell into a careful routine. He began the day just before sunrise, kneeling in prayer before milking the cow and preparing his meager breakfast. It was usually made up of eggs and cheese. Without flour or grains, bread was not available but Nicholas hoped that the ears of corn he had found fallen and spent in the overgrown garden would allow him to grow stalks of corn in the new season.
The pumpkins he had harvested allowed for a variety of meals, and the ever plentiful spinach added a change to his diet. He had begun to make cheese from the milk of the cow, and one joyous day he had discovered a nest of bees in the trees bordering the house. He was able to retrieve a slice of honeycomb, gaining himself only a few sharp stings in the process.
The whispering continued, arriving unannounced and unwelcome at any time of the day or night. Whenever the confusing and undecipherable noise descended, Nicholas was unable to concentrate on anything else. It filled his ears and blurred his eyesight and consumed his world, bleeding pain and discomfort into his entire body as he struggled to understand the hushed and incomprehensible words.
One day, three weeks after his unchosen arrival at the house in Briar Park, Nicholas placed a slice of bread and a boiled egg into his knapsack, along with a flask of water taken from the pump. He had sometimes heard, in moments when the wind stilled and the whispers were silent, the sound of distant water. Perhaps there was a stream close by and perhaps he could catch a fish to supplement his bland diet.
The tame chickens scratched around his feet and looked at him hopefully, keen for scraps of food, as he walked outside and looked around, deciding on which direction he should wander. Making up his mind, Nicholas headed off to the left of the house, towards a thick stand of sycamore trees. The cow mooed at him softly as he passed her by.
Nicholas pushed deeper into the woods. A stray branch raked at his face, and he felt a sudden sting and an opening of the flesh. He put his hand up to his face and felt the sticky heat of blood. He continued forward, determined to find a way through the trees.
Twenty minutes later, lacerated and scratched but still determined to find the stream, Nicholas burst through the trees and into a clearing. In front of him, a small brook danced and sparkled in the strength of the sun. Wildflowers pushed their yellow and white heads through the grass, and birds sang in the trees. For the first time, in what felt like forever, Nicholas enjoyed a sense of hope.
Pulling his knapsack from his shoulders, he threw the bag to the ground and crouched down beside the stream. Through the clear water he could see tiny fish darting this way and that. Enchanted, he leaned closer, then he suddenly recoiled. Glimpsing his own reflection in the water, he had seen over his shoulder the presence of something dark and menacing. Quickly, he whirled around, but there was nothing there, just the thick green of the trees.
Bees hummed in the warm air and grasses moved languidly in the soft breeze. Cautiously, he looked back at his reflection, and there it was again. A dark and foreboding figure loomed over his left shoulder, and as he looked, the sky darkened and a sharp wind cut through his flesh.
Nicholas flung himself backward onto the grass, breathing heavily. One sandal flew from his foot and lay on the banks of the stream, half in and half out of the babbling water. He looked around frantically. He was alone.
Scrambling to his feet, Nicholas pulled on his sandal, picked up his knapsack, and began to run. The whispering started up, filling his mind. He pushed blindly through the trees, only half aware of where he was going. He needed to get back to the house and to the shelter of the now-familiar rooms. The more he runs, the louder the whispering got. It raced with his blood through his veins, drowning out all rational thought.
Stop. Make the whispering stop.
Only the whispering didn’t stop they became his constant companion. Day after day, week after week, and month after month he lived with their incessant racket.
The noise and the demons haunted his every moment and it was all he could do to keep his faith. Little by little it wore him down. Grinding the life from his bones, driving the essence of who he was from his mind.
At times he thought they were trying to tell him something, but he could never quite catch it. Over the years he became used to the whisperings and soon they were all that he knew. They were his day, his night, and his life.
Chapter 6
Several years later.
“I think there is a house through the woods.” Sister Agnes’s voice sang and lifted in happiness as she chattered along the path beside Sister Polly. “The property is called Briar Park, but I have never visited. Perhaps someone lives there? We must do our best to advise everyone in the area of what we can offer.”
“I’ve not heard of anyone living in these woods,” Sister Polly said as she ran her hands down her skirts.
Agnes laughed, she was 10 years younger than the other woman and wasn’t afraid of a few trees. “Mother June is so kind to allow us to sell our handiwork from the nunnery, and the more people who are aware of what we are doing, the better. If we raise enough money, we will be able to build the second wing and open an orphanage!”
Sister Polly smiled to herself. Sister Agnes was a lovely girl. She had joined the sisterhood just over a year ago, and Polly had immediately taken a shine to her. She was always cheerful and happy and she loved the Lord with a passion. Of course, it was highly unlikely that the sale of a few handcrafts would raise enough money to build an orphanage, but who was Polly to tell the young girl otherwise? It was pleasant to be out and about on this fine and sunny day, visiting the people who lived in the area, and just enjoying the fact that they were alive.
“Look, there is a path through the trees here. We can go and find the house in Briar Park and I can go and knock on the door. Why don’t you go on ahead to the village? I’ll meet you by the wall on Hanson’s Lane in an hour, and we can walk back to the nunnery together.” Sister Agnes leaned over and impulsively kissed her friend’s cheek. “May the Lord walk with you, Sister Polly.”
Sister Polly grinned back at the young woman. Sister Agnes’ round cheeks were flushed and rosy and the light breeze whipped strands of blonde hair across her face. She looked impossibly beautiful and full of light.
“Thank you, my dear, that will save my old legs. I’ll see you in an hour.” Sister Polly watched for several minutes until Agnes had disappeared into the trees, then she continued on her way.
Agnes frowned as she pulled away the branches which constantly pulled and grabbed at her clothes. She had not expected the path to be so overgrown. Perhaps she should have continued on to the village with Sister Polly.
It was dark and cold here in the woods, far away from the warmth of the sun. She shivered as the chill air penetrated her thin dress. Hesitating for a moment, she looked back. Should she retrace her steps and walk back the way she had come? She could still meet Sister Polly at the fence. Briefly, she imagined leaning against the sun-warmed stone of the wall, swinging her basket on her arm, and waiting for Sister Polly to join her.
The trees suddenly parted and Sister Agnes saw the solid comfort of a house in front of her. A laugh escaped her as she wondered at her foolish fears. From her vantage point she could see roses twining their way up the side of the house, and a cow and chickens were browsing in the yard. The whole scene looked peaceful and inviting. Smiling, she skipped across the lawn towards the house.
Sister Agnes stood on the step of the little cottage and reached for the large brass knocker. She lifted the heavy ring and allowed it to drop. As she waited, Sister Agnes hummed to herself. This was such a pretty setting. Surely the owner of this house would be a kind and thoughtful p
erson and happy to help out the nuns with their dream of building an orphanage.
The door was suddenly wrenched open, startling her. She took an involuntary step backward, nearly overbalancing on the uneven step.
A wild and unkempt man, his hair long and untamed and his clothes raggedly and torn, stood on the other side of the door. His eyes were unfocused and cloudy with pain. He was thin to the point of emaciation.
“Oh, hello. I’m sorry to trouble you. My name is Sister Agnes and I’m from the nunnery a few miles from here. We’re calling on everyone in the area to advise them of our plans to raise money to build an orphanage.” Agnes felt her words tumble from her mouth, tripping over each other in their haste. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. She was not safe; she knew that with sudden and terrifying clarity. She should never have come.
Icy fingers of fear tiptoed down her spine and the very blood in her veins shrieked danger! This country scene no longer seemed calm and pretty, and instead, she clearly recognized the menace and malevolence she had innocently walked into.
Nicholas’ eyes widened with sudden understanding. He could hear what the whispers were saying! For the first time, he could hear them! Relief, and a euphoric sense of joy, flooded his body. The torment of the past few years fell away. He understood what he was being told! Now, if he followed the instructions, the whispering would go away and leave him in peace. He only needed to do as he was asked, to do what he’d been told to do day after day without ever hearing the words, and the demonic voices would finally cease.
Sister Agnes took another step back. The madman in front of her had suddenly sparked with a strange and unpleasant energy. She looked around, feeling more uneasy than she ever had in her life before. She should not have come all this way by herself. She should have stayed with Sister Polly. There was no one around to hear her screams.