by Carrie King
“I must go,” she said falteringly. “Thank you, sir, and I am sorry to have bothered you.”
Run! Run like the wind!
Her legs shook and she felt sick and unsteady.
The man’s eyes locked onto her, unseeing. She caught a further terrifying glimpse of the evil within and her heart began to beat wildly against her chest. “Goodbye,” she called, already turning to flee. “I will pray for you.”
Run! Run far from here!
Strong, rough arms gripped her by the throat. Pulling, then pushing as they crushed the air from her. She saw the ground rush up to meet her and she screamed, her cry for help lost in the remoteness of the sprawling property. No one could hear. She was alone, all the way out here with an evil and unhinged man.
She hit the ground heavily. Dirt wedged between her teeth and her shoulders screamed as the breath rushed from her body. Fighting for breath she struggled against the weight and large hands that pushed her down, but it was no use.
The man was strong, far stronger than she had ever imagined a man to be. The sound of tearing filled her ears as her dress was ripped from her. Cold air touched her flesh and increased her terror as she felt its frigid caress. Struggling and screaming with all she had she bit back her tears. She would escape this... wouldn’t she?
Pushing with her arms her shoulders screamed once more but still she yelled loudly and frantically. Once more her face was slammed into the ground and her nose exploded in pain.
There was no hope, but still she struggled, the drive to live ingrained deep within her soul.
Sister Agnes shook uncontrollably with fear and pain as she felt sharp teeth grip the skin of her buttocks and tear harshly at the flesh. Her throat was dry and raw from her screaming but still she shouted and cried for someone to help her. The shock of intense pain and the sense of a sudden wet warmth spreading across her skin flooded over her.
For a moment she passed out, and then she was suddenly and awfully back in the moment and writhing with indescribable agony as she felt his teeth tear at her skin once more. Her screams filled her head as she struggled and clawed at the ground in a useless attempt to escape the horror that now overcame her.
Nicholas stared down at the bloody mess in front of him, bewildered. Now he had a mess to clean up. Who had put this here, right on his doorstep? Since his banishment he had always kept a clean and tidy home, and he was proud of that fact.
People had no consideration.
He rubbed at his temple and then pulled his hand away, staring down at it in surprise and fear. Why was his hand thick with blood and gore?
The whispers murmured in his head, low and insidious.
His mouth tasted metallic and his tongue was coated with a sticky, viscous substance. He would collect water from the pump to wash himself and to scrub the step, and he would make himself feel cleansed again.
He sagged with sudden exhaustion. Perhaps he would do it tomorrow, and tomorrow he would also find his shovel and dig a hole to bury this whole dirty mess. He staggered, dizzy and faint, and grabbed for the door to steady himself. Yes, he would deal with all of this tomorrow. For now, he needed to sleep.
A yellow mist swirled around Sister Agnes’ lifeless body and spun in the air above Nicholas’ head as he turned to walk back inside the house. The faint sound of maniacal laughing rippled through the still air. Nicholas shook his head, as if to discourage an annoying insect, and unsteadily pushed the door closed behind him.
Chapter 7
Father Matthew knelt by his bed in prayer, his body ancient and frail. Only a wisp of gray hair remained atop his bald head, and his clasped hands were spotted and wrinkled with age. Knotted blue veins showed through the thin skin and his hands shook as he prayed. He fondled his rosary beads as he whispered to his Lord.
A soft knock at the door to his room roused him from his prayer. The elderly monk creakily pulled himself to his feet and perched himself carefully on the edge of his bed. “Come in,” he said, hating the way his voice shook.
The door opened and Brother John poked his head around the side of the wooden frame. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Father Matthew nodded his head. “I am ready.”
With heavy footsteps the old man followed Brother John from the room and down the corridor toward the brightly lit meeting room adjacent to the kitchen. The other brothers were already gathered around the table, and several beeswax candles burned in the middle of the wooden trestle. The men stared intently at Father Matthew as he slowly took his seat at the head of the table.
Father Matthew began to speak haltingly. “I’m sorry. I should have ordered his execution long before now. I know that.”
The brothers said nothing. All eyes were fixed on the face of the elderly monk. He cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Brother Nicholas should have been put to death years ago. The death of the young woman yesterday was pointless and unnecessary.” Tears sparkled in the old man’s eyes. “A young sister of God lost her life and it is all my fault.”
Brother John spoke up. “Regardless of whose fault it is, what are we going to do? We can’t allow this man to kill again. He is—he was—one of us. We need to act quickly and take charge of his punishment before the state takes him away. He summoned the haunting, the demons and the evil is attached to him. If he is removed from the house, the demons will follow him, and they will continue to create havoc, mayhem, and death. It is up to us to finish this before it can go any further.”
The other men nodded in agreeance. “Yes,” said Brother Eric. “We were told about the incident first, thanks to Mother June, but it is only a matter of days before the authorities are notified. The nuns are terrified. Mother June has asked us what to do, but she is being pressured to report the death. I propose we go to the house in Briar Park and deliver our own justice... and we must do it today.”
The room was filled with the sounds of the men calling out their affirmations. Someone banged their fists down on the table. Father Matthew raised his hands. “Wait. We have to plan. Be calm, I beg of you.”
The group of men crept through the trees, towards the house. It was early evening and Brother John could see the cow placidly grazing as he peered through the leaves and branches. They had planned this mission carefully, and their arrival would coincide with Brother Nicholas’ nightly routine. Soon, he would leave the house to milk the cow.
The men planned to surprise him as he sat, head leaned against the beast’s broadside and hands rhythmically moving. He would be distracted and they could quickly accomplish what they had come to do.
Brother John felt the weight of the stake in his hand and lifted it confidently. The monk would have no chance against six strong men, each carrying a heavy stick or staff and each intent on ending this now. Added to their weapons was the element of surprise, and Brother Nicholas and the evil he contained would be dealt with simply and easily. He held his hand up in warning as one of the men stood on a fallen branch and the sharp crack filled the air. “Ssshhhhh.”
When Nicholas eventually stepped from the house, Brother John was surprised to see how frail and thin the man looked. The figure now making its way across the yard to where the cow grazed was only a shadow of the man he’d once been. His hair was long and straggly and hung way past his shoulders, and his clothes hung loosely from his skinny frame. And even from this distance, Brother John could see the dark circles around the man’s eyes and his haunted face. How could this man have even been capable of the atrocity he was said to have committed?
Brother John glanced at his companions. The men were poised and ready for the attack. “One, two, THREE!” The last word was a shout, and with a roar the monks burst from the trees and ran towards the surprised figure of Brother Nicholas, brandishing their weapons in the air as they ran. The cow started in fear and ran towards the back of the house, and the chickens clucked and shrieked and flew in all directions. Brother Nicholas stared at the rapidly approaching men open-mouthed, but he made no mov
e to flee.
The charging men had almost reached their target when a sudden demonic screaming filled the air. The monks faltered and stopped, staring around in fear. As they watched, a thick yellow mist seeped from the house and filled the air around them, choking the men with its suffocating intensity and causing them to cough and splutter. The infernal screeching tore at their eardrums and pierced into their brains. The monks dropped their weapons in confusion and held their hands over their ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Unseen hands clawed at their clothes and raked sharp fingernails across their faces.
“Run!” Brother John gave the order, and the men did not need to be told twice. Falling over each other in their haste to escape the mist and the shrieking, they lifted their gowns to allow unimpeded strides, and they raced towards the relative safety of the forest.
Crashing through the branches and jumping over tree roots, they ran as fast as they could from that awful, screeching fog and back towards the monastery.
Brother John glanced over his shoulder as he ran, and he saw the mist undulating and twisting in the air above Brother Nicholas’ head, a crazed cloud of unbridled and unrelenting fury.
“We are damned!” one of the men shouted as they ran, pushing their way forward through the densely wooded forest and as far away as possible from what they had just witnessed. “Pray for our souls, brothers, and pray for the souls of all who have encountered this evil!”
The scent of wood smoke and burning reached the men’s nostrils before they caught sight of the monastery. As they pushed through the last of the trees, they finally saw it, an unbelievable scene of destruction. The brothers stood and watched in horror, helpless as their monastery was consumed by hungry flames. The air was filled with black, choking smoke and fingers of fire licked up to the roof. As the men watched, the strong wooden rafters collapsed, the centuries-old building collapsed in upon itself in a thunderous avalanche of stone and wood, and the heart-wrenching screams of the trapped and terrified monks assaulted the air.
Brother John raised a shaking hand and crossed himself. “Only God can save them now,” he whispered.
Epilogue
Nick didn’t resist when the men came to take him away. He docilely allowed his arms to be wrenched behind his back and he held perfectly still while the men grasped at his body hard enough to leave bruises as they forced him into the straitjacket.
Smiling serenely, he was bundled into the back of a dirty wagon and a rough blanket was thrown over his body to keep out the elements. A man jumped up beside him and the driver raised the reins to move the horses on.
As the wagon trundled up the track, he watched as two men chased and caught the chickens and rooster. Someone else rounded up the cow. He wondered, fleetingly, who would tend the garden and chop the wood now that he was leaving. And then he settled back against the side of the wagon as it jostled and rumbled away from the house he had called home for so many long years, the smile still playing on his lips. He was free. At last he was free.
The man in the back of the wagon glared at Nicholas, his eyes burning with hate. He glanced around. The driver was focused on the path ahead, and the other men were busy collecting up the livestock. Quickly, he picked up the rough gray blanket and held it over the other man’s head, pushing it down over his mouth and nose. He felt Nicholas struggle for just a moment, but he had no chance to fight with his arms held tight by the straitjacket. The man kept the blanket over Nicholas’ head for several minutes after he stopped struggling, just to be sure. He glanced over at the wagon driver, noting that the man had not noticed the heinous crime he had just committed.
Finally, the man removed the blanket and looked down in distaste at Nicholas’ still and lifeless body. Suddenly, his eyes widened in fear and he threw himself backward. Curling from the madman’s pale nostrils were two plumes of yellow mist, and a horrid stench immediately filled the air. As the man watched, the plumes thickened and danced in the air in front of his eyes. Terrified, his back pressed close against the wooden side of the wagon. The smoke formed into two demon-like faces, with horned heads and wide, staring eyes. He couldn’t be sure in the midst of his fear, but he thought he heard a low cackling laugh emit from the mouth of one of the faces. The misty faces suddenly dissolved into a long, thin line and he watched as it curled into the air and sped back towards the house before settling over the building as a pale, grimy dust.
He shivered and leaned forward to speak to the wagon driver, not giving the slightest indication of what had just occurred. “Could you hurry it up? I don’t like being back here with this lunatic. Get us back to the asylum as quickly as you can.”
With Wicked Intent
The Haunting in Briar Park – Book 2
By
Carrie King and Caroline Clark
©Copyright 2019
All Rights Reserved
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Chapter 8
England, 1950
Erica pushed the door open and peeked inside, a feeling of eager anticipation was threatening to burst over and make her squeal with delight. This could be their first home.
The kitchen was large, with ample windows and a quaint wood stove set against one wall. A modern stove was set into the cabinetry on the other side of the room, but the sight of the old stove made her smile. “Nigel! Come and have a look at this!”
Nigel was standing behind her looking slightly bemused. He ran a hand through his thick black hair and then over his stubble.
Erica loved his new look, but she understood the gesture, he was nervous and excited, but trying to look cool. He had explained to her that they should not be too enthusiastic and that way they could maybe talk the price down a bit.
Yvonne Woodley, the real estate agent, walked quickly into the kitchen, all pastel suit, clicking high heels, and over-styled hair. Dust bunnies rolled across the floor in the wake of her footsteps and she made Erica feel a little intimidated.
At 22, Erica and Nigel were looking for their first house and this was only their second viewing. It was all so exciting, especially as this one was more than they could hope for and very affordable.
Erica flicked a lock of long blonde hair behind her ears and wondered if she should have worn makeup. Running her hand down her jeans and pulling her plain blue T-shirt straight, she followed the immaculate woman, determined not to miss a thing.
“The kitchen was updated 20 years ago, and it has many modern conveniences, as well as plenty of cupboard space,” Yvonne gushed.
Erica opened some of the cupboards. Thick layers of yellowing dust covered the empty shelves and spiders had hung their webs across the framework. She shuddered and closed the cupboard doors. “We’ll have to do a lot of cleaning,” she said. “There is so much dust everywhere.”
“The woodstove still works. It’s connected to a wetback cylinder to enable your water to be heated, which is a real boon, with the price of electricity these days. And I noticed several large stacks of wood throughout the yard outside,” Yvonne continued her spiel as Nigel walked slowly around the room.
“This is a good-sized area,” he commented, looking around. His gaze settled on his young wife, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “What do you think?”
Erica leaned over and rubbed her fingers across the grimy glass of a window, its surface thick with decades-old dust. She peered out through the cleared space she had made, her face pressed close to the glass. There was a large vegetable garden outside, over-run with weeds, and several sprawling and untrimmed rose bushes grew in shambolic rows beside it. “I like it, but as you say, will take a lot of work.” She turned around and leaned back against the countertop trying to keep a big grin off her face. “I like it a lot.” She couldn’t stop the enthusiasm from showing in her voice and looked at Nigel.
He grinned, and nodded to show he understood. She could see the same excitement in his own smile.
Y
vonne consulted her notes. “An additional wing was added at the turn of the century, giving the house an additional living area and two more bedrooms.” She looked up, smiling professionally. “Which means you will be getting five bedrooms, an office, two living areas, and this wonderful kitchen.” She waved her arm around. “Plus, of course, there is the attic and basement. It’s a great buy for a young couple, with plenty of room for any children, if or when they come along.”
Erica smiled at her husband and walked across the room to join him. He placed his arm around her shoulders and looked down at her. “I like it too. It needs a lot of work, of course …” He gazed upward, his attention caught by something.
Erica and Yvonne followed his look. A dark stain covered part of the ceiling. “What is that?”
Erica frowned at the sight of the mark.
“It’s probably just the remains of an old leak,” Yvonne said quickly. “These old houses often have trouble with the pipes. It’s all easily fixed by a reputable plumber.”
The windows above the sink rattled suddenly, causing them all to jump. Erica walked back to look out the window. “It’s clouded over outside. Looks like a storm is coming.”
“How much land did you say comes with the property?” Nigel asked the real estate agent.
Yvonne consulted her notes again. “Several acres. The Briar Park property has remained unaltered for hundreds of years. There is the remains of an old fence around the boundary and the deeds will show it clearly.”
“I don’t understand why no one else has bought it.” Erica looked at Nigel willing him to feel as excited as she did. Once more, he nodded. “How long did you say the place has been vacant?” Erica turned the tap over the sink. The pipes gurgled and hissed, and a rusty trickle of water spattered into the basin. She quickly turned the tap off and spun around to look at Yvonne.
