by Helen Phifer
He wanted to turn around and drive away so much, but he knew that he couldn’t. She might be all alone, ready to fall prey to whatever it was that she was scared of. That the house knew she was scared of. He wanted to laugh out loud at himself, but he couldn’t because right at this very moment every single word that Anthony had told him rang true and he believed him.
As he pressed the doorbell nothing happened. There was no sound of chiming from inside so he lifted his hand, curling it into a fist, and hammered on the old wooden door. The sound echoed around the empty building inside. Stepping away so he could run if he needed to, he waited for the sound of Kate’s footsteps to come. There was nothing. He knocked once more then jumped back, his body feeling as if he’d just got an electric shock. A mild sense of relief that there was no one in flooded his body. At least he’d tried.
He turned and walked back to his car. Not once did he turn to look up at the house. He didn’t even look at it when he began reversing. For some reason he knew that if he stared up at the windows he was going to see the ghostly figure of a nun or worse. Instead he switched his lights on full beam and drove as fast down the overgrown driveway as he possibly could, hoping that Kate or one of the builders weren’t driving as fast in the opposite direction towards him.
6 January 1933
At some point in the night Agnes woke up. Her throat was so dry she’d begun to cough in her sleep and thought she was choking. As she left the safety of her bedroom to go down to the kitchen she was angry with herself. She should have brought a drink of water upstairs with her. Now she would never get back to sleep. She shivered. The house was cold, too cold, and she pulled her woollen blanket closer around her shoulders. As she got to the bottom of the stairs she jumped to see Lilith standing there, waiting for her in the shadows.
‘Sorry, Sister, I didn’t want to cross you on the stairs in case it was bad luck.’
The light was terrible, but she could make out the expression on the woman’s face. She was wearing that sly smile that she seemed to reserve just for her. ‘What are you doing up so late, Lilith?’
‘I thought I heard a noise and came down to check the front door was locked. I didn’t realise that Father Patrick was asleep in the front room. I only just stopped myself from falling over him, lying there on that sofa.’
Agnes wondered how on earth she’d almost fallen over a man on a sofa when she’d come down to check the front door. The woman made her skin crawl and she got a faint whiff of that terrible smell of rotting flesh once more. She stepped off the bottom step and looked into the huge mirror on the wall opposite – above the mahogany sideboard. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end; the only reflection in the mirror was hers. Lilith began to walk slowly up the stairs, her back to Agnes. She should have been able to see the back of the woman’s head, but there was only herself staring back.
Agnes turned around to look at the petite woman who was halfway up. She slowly turned back and stared at Agnes, whose heart was beating so fast she wondered if she was about to have a heart attack and collapse on the spot. Why did she have no reflection? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t right and then the burning feeling that had been irritating her underneath her skin for the last couple of days erupted as she realised what she had feared was completely true.
The woman had to be a vampire. There was no rational explanation as to why she smelt of rotten flesh, had the palest of skin, didn’t go outside in the daylight and had no reflection. Hadn’t Lilith herself thanked her for giving her permission to enter the convent? Vampires needed permission to enter a home before they could feast on the human inhabitants. Agnes forced herself to carry on walking towards the kitchen for her glass of water, her mind a swirling fog of confusion.
She lifted her fingers up to feel the heavy weight of the silver cross that she never took off her neck. If this was true then thank God she had his protection. She switched the kitchen light on and crossed to the sink. She wanted to run and wake Father Patrick up. Oh God what if she’d been down here because she’d seduced him and been feasting on his blood? Agnes turned and hurried towards the lounge where she’d left him earlier. As she opened the door the sound of his gentle snores filled the air and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. Calm yourself down, Agnes. What on earth is the matter with you? Talking such rubbish. You need to sort yourself out. You’re acting like a superstitious old woman.
As she closed the door she didn’t hear the muffled scream that came from Edith’s room, because her own heart was pounding so loud in her ears. Returning to the kitchen she ran the tap and filled a glass with cold water. As the tap water filled the sink she never heard the sound that emanated from the room at the opposite end of the corridor to hers. Her hands still shaking, she made her way back upstairs and back into her room. Dragging a chair over, she pushed it underneath the doorknob. Her stomach was churning inside and her hands were shaking. Did vampires exist?
She had been under the impression when she’d read the book that they were all a figment of Bram Stoker’s twisted mind. Maybe he’d known all along they were real and that was why his book was so convincing. She would ask Patrick what he thought about it all in the morning. As she climbed back into her bed she couldn’t switch her mind off. Had it been a vampire that had killed Mary? But she had been torn to pieces, literally. Didn’t vampires suck blood? If that was the case Lilith would have sucked Mary’s blood until she was an empty shell of herself. No, poor Mary had been ripped to bits and there had been blood everywhere – so much of it.
The hammering on Agnes’s door woke her from her slumber. It took her a few seconds to focus. She had been in such a deep sleep.
‘Agnes, you need to get up and come see. I can’t get into Edith’s room and I had a terrible nightmare. The door’s locked and she’s not answering.’
Agnes blinked. Please God, not again. She got out of bed as fast as her weary legs could go. She felt drained, exhausted. What was the matter with her? As she quickly dressed she pulled the thick grey woollen jumper over her head and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She was shocked to see how pale she was. Stepping closer she turned her head to the side and ran her finger over the two, dark red, crusted puncture marks on it. The blood was dry, but they were there. She wasn’t imagining it. How had they got there? It made no sense.
Turning around she checked if her door was open. The chair was still wedged under the handle. A cold draught ran down the full length of her spine and she shivered. She turned to face the window and gasped. It was open six inches. It had been shut last night, and because it had been such a mad, crazy day yesterday she hadn’t even thought to crack it open to let some fresh air in like she usually did.
‘Agnes, can you hear me? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, Father, I hear you. I’ll be out in a minute.’
She stepped away from the mirror, pulling the roll-neck jumper above the two puncture marks. She didn’t want Patrick to see them. What did it mean? Was she unclean now? Oh Lord was she going to turn into a vampire? This was terrible. Unable to concentrate she dragged the chair away from the door, almost laughing out loud. What a waste of time. It hadn’t stopped whatever it had been that had come inside her room one little bit. Patrick was standing outside waiting for her. His face looked almost as pale as hers and she wondered if he’d also had a visit in the night and had two puncture marks on his neck.
‘Agnes, why isn’t Edith answering? Has she gone out early? Do you know?’
‘Father, I have no idea where she is. As far as I know she wasn’t planning on going anywhere today.’ She dragged her feet along the long corridor to Edith’s bedroom.
‘Edith, it’s Agnes. Are you ill?’ Déjà vu filled her head. It was as if yesterday morning was replaying again – only with Edith instead of Mary. Agnes felt her heart begin to hammer inside her chest and her hands began to tremble. She looked down to see if the key was in the lock like Mary’s had been. The lock was empty so she twisted the brass kno
b, which was freezing cold to her touch. It didn’t open. She couldn’t think. Where was her spare key? Oh yes it was attached to the key ring that had been lost. She turned to Patrick.
‘Have you looked through the keyhole?’
‘No I have not; it wouldn’t be right.’
Agnes supposed the man had a point. She twisted the handle once more and it was definitely locked. ‘You’re going to have to break it down, now.’
‘Shouldn’t we call Constable Crosby and let him do it?’
‘No, what if she’s injured and needs medical attention? Can’t you at least try and break it?’
Patrick nodded and stepped back. Agnes moved away. Clasping her hands together she began to pray that Edith had gone out for an early morning walk, locking her door behind her. He ran at it with his shoulder and there was a loud crunch as he slammed into the door and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think I’ve broken my collarbone.’
Agnes watched in disbelief as he shrunk into himself and backed away from the door. Turning, she went downstairs to phone for the police. Where was Lilith? All the noise they had made and she hadn’t put in an appearance yet? Yesterday she had been there on the stairs watching from the side-lines with eyes as wide as saucers. After she’d relayed her fears to Crosby and told him that Father Patrick had been unsuccessful in his attempts to break the door, she’d listened to the man on the other end of the phone as he’d given his instructions.
‘Sister, please step away from the door and don’t let the good priest do any more damage to himself. If you could wait downstairs for us to get there we’ll be as quick as we can.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
She replaced the receiver and turned around to see Patrick standing at the top of the stairs listening to her.
‘We’re to wait downstairs for him to arrive and he will take care of it. Come on, let’s get something cold to put on your shoulder and see if Sister Edith turns up and wonders what all the fuss is about.’ But she knew deep down inside that it was too late for Edith and the poor girl was lying dead in her room behind that heavy, oak door. Agnes didn’t want to have to face the mess again like yesterday and her heart didn’t know how much it could take. Those girls were the closest things she had to daughters of her own.
If Edith had met a similar fate to Mary she would never forgive herself for not being there to take care of them. Patrick sat down on one of the battered, pine chairs and groaned. Agnes picked up a tea towel from the side and ran it under the cold-water tap. Wringing it out, she told him to undo his shirt so she could place it on his damaged shoulder. Thinking he would object, she was mildly surprised when he didn’t and tried to slip his shirt off. She helped him as gently as she could. His shoulder was turning dark purple and blue in front of her very eyes. It was an explosion of colour that seemed to be spreading. She placed the cold cloth on the centre of it and heard him gasp. She looked at his neck. There didn’t seem to be any puncture marks on it – unlike hers.
‘I’m afraid you’ve made a bit of a mess of that. I’ve never seen such bruising appear so fast.’
‘I’m sorry, Agnes, but I feel quite faint. My head’s spinning.’
‘Try and drop your head as low as you can. I’ll make you some sweet tea.’
Something very wrong was happening in this house. They should never have let Lilith in. A loud knock on the front door startled her and she went to let Constable Crosby in. She opened it to be greeted by a solemn-faced Crosby and his slightly younger junior constable – if that was what you called him; she wasn’t sure.
‘Any sign of Edith? Please tell me she was out walking and has come back.’
Agnes shook her head and stepped to the side to let them in.
‘Where’s Father Patrick?’
‘About to faint in the kitchen. I’m afraid it’s my fault. I asked him to try and break the door down and he’s done some damage to his shoulder. It’s a complete mess of bruises and he’s not taking it so well.’
Crosby rolled his eyes at the other man. ‘You better show us which Edith’s room is. I have to say I do not really want to look inside in case there’s a replay of yesterday.’
‘And I am? These girls are under my supervision, Crosby, and up to now I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of supervising them.’
She didn’t wait for his answer and trudged up the stairs, each one looking steeper and steeper. Her legs were so tired; she felt so drained. She led them to Edith’s door, not really wanting them to get it open. Maybe it would better if they all left it alone and ignored the facts. Crosby stepped forward and twisted the handle. It turned and clicked as the door opened. Agnes felt her mouth fall open. How was that even possible?
Before he pushed it wide open, Crosby shouted, ‘Sister Edith, it’s Constable Crosby. I don’t want to come in if you’re not decent but we’re worried about you.’
The silence that greeted them was so heavy Agnes felt as if it weighted her down even more. He looked at her and she nodded, too afraid to see what was on the other side, yet needing to know.
‘Edith, I’m coming in so if you don’t want me to you need to tell me right now.’
There was no answer so he opened the door and looked at the sight of the naked, spreadeagled woman on the bed in front of him. A groan escaped his lips. ‘Not fucking again. Jesus Christ.’ Agnes squeezed past him not wanting to see but needing to. He grabbed her arm.
‘Agnes, I don’t think you should.’
But she pushed past him and crossed herself. Dear God, what had happened in this sacred house? Edith was tied to the bed by her arms and legs. Her naked body was almost too much to bear. Agnes walked closer, needing to know how she had died. Agnes saw that her arms and feet were bound to the bed with what looked like dirty, off-coloured bandages. Edith’s cold, glassy, dead eyes stared at her – sending a shiver down her spine so violent that Crosby reached his hand out and placed it in the small of her back to steady her. There was a dirty strip of bandage wrapped so tight around Edith’s neck it was cutting into the soft, fleshy skin. There was a faint smell in the room of herbs and spices mingled with the smell of something damp and foisty – something very old.
‘Can you smell that, Constable?’
Crosby tore his eyes away from Edith’s body and looked at Agnes. ‘Smell what, Sister?’
‘I don’t know exactly what it is. It smells how something very old, even ancient might smell.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean. All I can smell is death. Poor Edith. Have you got a sheet to cover her with for now until I’ve spoken to someone back at the station to see what the hell I should be doing here? Pardon my language.’
Agnes forced herself to walk towards the linen cupboard down the hall for a fresh sheet. There was only her left. What did that mean? She must be next, but why had they kept her until last? It came to her: whatever that woman Lilith had told them was all lies. She was evil, a demon in disguise, and they had let her inside. Of course no one was ever going to believe her. They would take her away to the local sanatorium for the mentally insane, but it wouldn’t matter one little bit where they took her because she was marked. That woman, demon, whatever she was, had left for now, but she didn’t think she was very far away because she would be enjoying this spectacle far too much.
Agnes had to figure out how to stop it because there was no doubt in her mind this was just a game for it and she was the last piece standing on the board. Unless you counted Father Patrick, but he didn’t live here. He hadn’t been here the night they had opened the door and willingly invited her in. Agnes took one of the crisp, clean cotton sheets off the shelf. As she began to close the door she got a whiff of rotting meat and knew that Lilith was close by.
Lifting her crucifix from around her neck she kissed it and began to pray under her breath. Agnes might be old and weak when it came to her bodily strength, but her faith – which had never let
her down all her life – was stronger than ever. As she began to walk back to Edith’s room the smell dissipated. She would fight that thing with whatever strength she could muster. She would not be left for dead in her bedroom – which was her most private sanctuary – for all and sundry to see. She passed the sheet to Crosby who shook it out and threw it across the bed.
‘I think it would be best if you were to wait downstairs now, Agnes, and let us get on with our jobs. We need to work out who would want to hurt Edith in such a terrible way and why. I don’t want to scare you; there’s only you now. I think perhaps when we leave today that you should go to. I don’t want you stopping in this house on your own. There’s a killer out there somewhere and until we find out who it is and have them locked up we have to consider that you are in grave danger.’
Agnes smiled at Crosby. She felt as if she was losing her mind, shaking her head. ‘I can’t leave. Whatever has done this to poor Edith and Mary will come looking for me wherever I go. I would rather stay in my home and fight it on my ground because I fear that it will be a fight unlike anything I’ve ever known.’
The young man standing next to Crosby looked at her then at Crosby as if to say, ‘She’s mad, maybe we should lock her up.’
‘Well if that’s how you feel, Agnes, then I’ll be stopping here with you. I’m not leaving you on your own to face a killer. No disrespect to you, but you’re not as young as you used to be. If whoever it is comes back we’ll be here, waiting.’
Now the young man looked horrified.
‘Thank you, Crosby; however, this isn’t your fight and I fear it’s not one that can be won with the strength of a young man or two. This is a spiritual fight. There is evil at work in this house of God and I will stand and fight my ground.’