Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  “Why are you here? I instructed you to do your sacred duty.” The older woman took a few steps forward, her aging, blue-veined breasts moving like soft, flabby pendulums. A cat o’nine tails, studded with metal barbs, hung next to her leg, the end of the handle tapping against the folds of skin. There was madness in the old crone’s eyes; bloodlust. Agatha realised that the Mother Superior would not take her insubordination lightly, and she suddenly understood why the older woman had followed her into the kitchen.

  “Reverend Mother.” Her hand clutched the knife behind her back tighter, her eyes fixed on the woman’s pale blue ones. She was aware of the gentle swaying motion of the whip. “I was just on my way…”

  “You don’t understand, do you? You don’t grasp the importance of what we do here?” The whip dragged across the floor, the metal spikes scraping against stone. “We suffer in our own way, Sister Agatha. We are the Angels sent by God Almighty to keep the world safe. We torment these children out of love. One day you will understand this, but today you must be punished for your heresy.”

  Agatha straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  “Very well. If that is what God demands of me, I shall take my punishment.” She inhaled and held her breath as she walked towards the greying nun. Her hand moved from her back to her side, still hiding the knife from view, her arm stiff with tension. The elder woman’s blood-streaked face stayed on her, but Sister Agatha didn’t think she’d spotted any suspicion in the Reverend Mother’s eyes. The other woman’s arm twitched, and the whip made another rustling sound. Agatha waited until she was close enough, then lowered her head in a false sign of submission. The older nun took a step aside, allowing her to pass by on the way out of the kitchen, but instead of walking to the door, Agatha turned and slid the knife into the Mother Superior’s kidney. The woman let out a wet gasp and toppled forward. The whip clattered to the ground. Agatha was aware of its existence, as if it was a poisonous snake that could still be a threat. With one foot, she tried to kick it away, but the barbs caught and tore her skin. She pulled the knife free with one swift motion, flipped the Mother Superior around, and clutched her neck, pressing the sharp edge of the blade against the folds of skin under her chin. Her body was tough and hot, blood and sweat making the Reverend Mother slippery. The wound must have taken the old woman by surprise because she barely struggled as Agatha pushed her towards the kitchen doors. The Reverend Mother’s body pushed against Agatha’s breasts, twitching and gurgling as they walked.

  “I’ve decided I will try this ritual after all, Reverend Mother.” Agatha’s voice was a low hiss, and a guilty pleasure in feeling the older woman tremble filled her mind. “I need the blood of a virgin. Initially I thought I would have to use one of the children, but then I saw you…”

  The Mother Superior moaned and struggled to get loose, but Agatha pressed the knife harder against her neck, and the woman stopped moving. She pushed the reluctant figure towards the library.

  “God will punish you for this.” Defeat resonated in the older woman’s voice, and Agatha realised that the Mother Superior was a coward. She appeared strong and merciless in the face of those who were weaker, as Agatha herself had been, but fear ruled this woman as much as it did the children.

  “What are you doing?” Sister Anne stood in the centre of the library, her long, rosy face a mask of incomprehension. “I thought Mother Superior didn’t agree to our ritual, and yet you bring her…” The words died on her pale lips as her eyes moved down Agatha’s face to the way her arm was wrapped around the older nun’s throat, then further still to the cut in the abdomen, from which blood poured in languid trickles.

  “You said we needed blood from a virgin.” Agatha moved the knife against the puffy skin right beneath the Reverend Mother’s eye. “I would stake my life on the Mother never having felt the pleasure of a man between her thighs.” The metal point pierced her skin and a red drop welled from the wound. Agatha met Sister Anne’s eyes, and for a moment, the world appeared to stand still.

  “Sister Anne, please…” The gnarled hands reached up towards the younger woman. “Help me stop this insanity. You of all people must know why it is so important we do what we do. You are one of us.”

  The expression on Sister Anne’s face changed from shock to determination, her eyes hard and filled with hate.

  “She’ll do,” the Sister finally agreed, and she turned back to her ritual. “Just hurry.” Agatha brought the knife to the soft flabby wattle beneath the Mother Superior’s chin and drew the sharp end of the blade across it with all her strength. The flesh gave way to the pressure, metal sliced through skin, muscle and larynx. Hot, sticky blood gushed over Agatha’s arm, and she took a step back, releasing her victim. The Mother clutched her neck and fell to the ground with a wet, meaty thud. A rattle escaped from her creased lips, and her eyes rolled up into her head. Her body twitched, and blood pooled around the dying woman as Agatha grabbed her ankles. The Mother Superior didn’t struggle as the younger nun dragged her around the library floor, her gushing blood creating a smeared circle on the stones, and by the time the triangle was halfway done, she had stopped twitching altogether. The final markings on the sign were fainter, but the symbol was complete. Agatha discarded the body to one side.

  “It’s not perfect.” She eyed her handiwork and tapped her blood-covered hand to her chin.

  “It’ll have to do,” Anne said, and she pointed towards the triangle. “Now it’s your sacrifice that I’ll be needing. Hurry, the sun is almost set. This won’t work in the moonlight.” Agatha nodded, not giving herself time to think about her imminent death. The floor kissed her skin with icy cold stone, and Agatha couldn’t stop shivering.

  “Are you prepared?” Anne loomed over her, a lit candle dripping hot wax on her face. Agatha flinched, but fought the urge to protect herself, allowing the hot drops to slide down her cheeks in a scalding path.

  “I’m ready.”

  “I’m not quite sure what the side-effects of this spell will be. It’s very dark magic, you… you might suffer.” Anne’s eyes shone with guilt.

  “I told you, I’m prepared.”

  Anne nodded and took a deep breath, her chest swelling in her chemise, pressing the lightly freckled skin to the white fabric.

  “In order to activate the spell, I have to crack the seal.”

  “What… no, you never told me… you can’t…” Agatha sat up, but a bare foot pushed her back in her place.

  “It is the only way to keep the dead bound to this place. It is the only way to make their suffering eternal.”

  “But, if you do it wrong, you may break the seal completely.”

  A flash of irritation flickered across Anne’s face. “Then I must not do it wrong.”

  Sister Anne held the tome that Agatha had copied the symbol from, her eyes hazy with concentration. Then she began to read.

  “Nunc mei mano fati facio.

  Astrum et Infernum abdicabo.

  Meus spiritus diu aeternitem since pace an redempte sufferbo, finalam hostiam mundo numero.

  Cum amor et tormentum adorabo omnipotentiam dominum servire defendo.”

  The ground shuddered and the convent creaked. Loud, ominous echoes reverberated off the grey walls and the shelves shook, spilling books across the floor like broken butterflies. Dust sprayed from the cracks between the bricks as if the walls were bleeding dried mortar.

  Sister Anne repeated the words, and this time Agatha felt the stone floor shift and crack. The blood of the symbol flared up, forcing Sister Anne to take a step back and leave the circle. The light was so bright it looked as if the blood were made of liquid sunshine. At that moment, the last of the actual sunlight faded from the windows. A stench of sulphur wafted through the air, turning Agatha’s stomach, and the sound of glass shattering echoed through the library. The cracks in the floor grew longer and deeper, and thick, black smoke oozed up from underneath and crept across the floor, avoiding the blood circle. Agatha raised he
r head. There was movement within the smoke, as if something was alive inside it. The blackness moved towards the chanting nun, slithered up her pale limbs and under her long white chemise. The young nun screamed and dropped the book, which slid inside the circle of blood with a whoosh. Agatha saw the white of Anne’s nightgown turn crimson, and a shadow poured out of her collar, turning into the shape of a broad claw tipped with sharp ethereal talons. It forced its way into the young nun’s screaming mouth and gripped her jaw, pulling. Agatha heard a sickening snap and crunch as the lower half of Sister Anne’s face was torn loose.

  “Anne…” Agatha crawled to the edge of the blood circle, but noticed just in time that the shadows stayed clear of the circle’s light. She could see them clearer now, translucent black creatures with long arms and big heads. Their skulls were oblong, with beady white eyes, and black teeth protruding from their hideous maws. Short torsos ended in smoky trails rather than legs, and the creatures used their sharp claws to pull themselves forward with incredible speed. Their movements made the convent tremble again. Stones fell from the ceiling and shattered on the hard floor.

  This is what the spell looks like. We’ve conjured monsters.

  Tentatively, Agatha stretched out her hand and touched the light with trembling fingers. It felt warm. A pleasurable heat spread between her thighs, and Agatha moaned. Outside of the circle, Anne fell to the ground as more shadows rushed towards her, ripping the skin from her carcass. The creatures swarmed over her body, feasting, tearing the flesh to ribbons with their needle-sharp teeth and claws until nothing but bones covered in shreds of bloody tissue remained. Then they moved away from Sister Anne and scurried towards the chapel in search of more fresh meat.

  Agatha sat in the centre of the illuminated circle, one hand covering her open mouth, and she fought the tears as she looked at the bloody remains of her friend. The screams in the convent intensified as the voices of the Sisters of the order of Angels joined those of the children.

  “What have we done?” Agatha sobbed, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  “Sister Agatha…” The voice was soft and otherworldly, but loud enough to cause the young nun to look up. A ghostly figure rose from the dead body, transparent but shaped like a human being.

  “Sister Anne?” Agatha’s voice shook. “Is that you?” Her sanity was on the verge of shattering like glass, and the young nun stifled a sob.

  “I became the sacrifice, Agatha. I am part of this place now, bonded to the very ground the convent is built on. It is your task to finish the spell. The others will fall too, as I did. You must dispel the magic, not let its monsters reach beyond this sacred ground. Our souls will feed the master who sleeps for eternity, and the seal should be safe. You will be the Watcher of the Seal.”

  “It was I who should have died.”

  “No, you were meant to live.”

  “I don’t know if I can finish the spell…”

  “You can, and you must. If you don’t, the monsters will be free.”

  On her hands and knees, Agatha crawled to the book. She pulled the leather-bound volume towards her. The pages were folded and cracked, but they appeared to be otherwise unharmed.

  “What am I looking for?”

  Anne’s spirit closed her eyes, and the pages started to flutter by themselves. Agatha watched, holding her breath, until the pages settled. A salty taste flooded her mouth as her teeth clamped down on her tongue. The book stopped moving, and the text on the page glowed.

  Agatha read the first words aloud, but the ghostly image of Sister Anne put a finger to her lips.

  “Not yet… they aren’t done yet. The sacrifice needs to be complete, otherwise this will have been all for nothing.” The spirit cocked her head, listening to the distant wailing. The minutes passed with agonizing slowness while Agatha sat frozen to the spot, the muscles in her limbs burning with fatigue, but she didn’t dare move. Finally the screams died down, and Sister Anne nodded.

  “Now.”

  “My Latin, it’s not…”

  Something overtook her senses, and the words flowed from her lips. She called upon an ancient primal force and commanded it to pull the shadow creatures back through the cracks from which they’d escaped. The monsters screamed with bloodlust and rage. Their smoky talons tore deep scratches into the grey stone. The unseen fury compelled the monsters through the cracks, and then, suddenly, the convent was silent. Agatha clutched her chest and panted, her body drenched in sweat and blood; she shivered with cold. Warm liquid poured down her lip. Her fingertips touched her nose and found blood.

  “You are now bonded to this place by blood. It is your duty to keep the spirits within.” The voice of Sister Anne surrounded her. Behind her, dozens of white figures stepped into the library. Anne recognised most of the figures: some were the naked sisters of her order, others the children who had died in the convent that night. But she saw different spirits too; spirits of old nuns who had died years ago and of children Agatha had never seen before. There were men amongst them, and Agatha wondered who they might have been. Their translucent essence hummed slightly, and the young nun could feel their anger, fear and frustration pulsate through the air.

  “What’s happening?” Agatha looked around at the many souls. “Why do I feel this?”

  “These souls are tormented, Sister Agatha. Theirs is an eternal suffering. The spell demands it. You are their Guardian.”

  “Can these spirits harm the living?”

  Sister Anne looked at her with soulful eyes, and Agatha knew that her task would be greater than she’d ever imagined.

  May God help us all.

  Chapter 1

  August 2014

  The mansion bore the name ‘Angel Manor’, and was responsible for Freya’s fierce childhood dislike of anything even vaguely resembling one of those creatures. Whenever her mother spoke about the old house, it was with fear and loathing, and now that she stood facing the building, Freya could understand why. She shuddered and clung onto the handle of the car, as if letting go would hurl her into a vortex from which she wouldn’t be able to escape. Weak knees supported her weight as she looked at the large Victorian house standing on top of the remote hill on the Scottish Isle of Skye. The tips of the red pointed roofs reached up to the bright blue sky, and the windows in their white painted frames resembled dozens of tired eyes.

  The last time she had visited the house, Freya had been only nine-years-old, and the visit had not been a pleasant one. Being back here made her feel like a child again. The grand building with its three wings and soft yellow bricks loomed down on her, the summer sunshine colouring the house in a golden aura. The courtyard looked a little barren but, beyond the gates, the garden was filled with high grass and wild flowers.

  It’s not as scary as I remember, she thought, and yet Freya couldn’t fight the terror that licked at her insides. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of now, her grandparents having passed away a long time ago. Even her mother, who was terrified of this place, had calmed down a little since their deaths. Mum was still convinced that the solitude of the house drove people insane, but even the distance between the old manor and the nearby towns had changed since her mother’s childhood. The nearest shops were only a twenty-minute drive away, and Freya had no intention of living up here in solitude. Nor did she have any intention of following in her mother’s emotionally damaged footsteps. Her father had encouraged her to at least go and take a look at the house after she’d inherited it from her aunt.

  She remembered that last conversation with her father. He’d had the slightly sad expression he often wore when discussing her mother, along with a tinge of frustration in his voice. “Freya, you’ve only seen the house once, and you were with your mother at the time. Your grandparents left her pretty traumatised, remember that. Your aunt wasn’t the most stable of people either. But there’s nothing wrong with that house. Go build your dreams there. Chase away your grandparents’ shadows.”

  She had to admit
to herself that she felt nerves she couldn’t quite apply any sense of logic to. Her childhood memories, though extremely vague, played a part in that fear. She knew her mother and aunt were the victims of overbearing and abusive parents, and that was the only darkness the house truly carried, no matter how melodramatic her mother had always been about Angel Manor. Being here felt almost as if she were betraying her mother, dismissing her fears, yet at the same time, she was happy she had travelled to Skye. Mum’s past is not my own. I don’t have to feel this way.

  “Is this it?” Oliver’s voice rang over the sound of the passenger door slamming shut. He stepped up next to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his skin through her thin blouse. A soft breeze tugged at her hair, making the grass and leaves rustle in soft harmony. The wind carried the scent of wild flowers, and Freya inhaled deeply.

  “This is it.” Her voice sounded small and feeble, so Freya cleared her throat. “Angel Manor.”

  His breath tickled the back of her ear when he responded, and she could hear the slow awe in his voice. “It’s not at all what I expected.”

  The fingers on her shoulder squeezed a little, and she exhaled. A second car pulled up, a red Mini Cooper with a white roof and black stripes. Freya waved as Bam Green’s pink and blonde head peeped out. Her American accented voice was high with excitement.

  “This place is fantastic!”

  “Glad you like it.” Freya smiled as the girl got out of her car and ran over to them.

  “It’s much bigger than I thought it would be.”

  “Yes, that caught me by surprise too. I don’t remember it being this big. Which is funny, because I always thought kids remember things bigger. I think I just remember this one being scarier.”

  Oliver let go of her shoulders to embrace Bam, and Freya finally took her hand from the handle of the car door. She rubbed her arms, despite the warmth of the sun.