“I told you, I never left here. Of course I knew about it.”
I exchanged confused glances with Vicky and Diana. My heart thumped painfully and I had the sensation of rushing water in my ears. “Did we?” I asked. “I can’t believe I can’t remember.”
“I can’t either.” Vicky said. “I don’t think we did, but I have no idea why we wouldn’t. We had first refusal on that house Diana had seen. It sounded ideal.”
“It was,” she said. “For the record, I can’t remember either.” She sighed. “I want to get out of here now. It’s becoming too oppressive.”
I knew what she meant. The atmosphere felt heavy and, inexplicably, the room felt crowded. “I’ll join you,” I said.
“Let’s go over to the Yarby,” Vicky said.
“Oh no. I don’t think so.” Suzie’s tone unnerved me. She had issued an order, and I, for one, didn’t think it would be wise to disobey.
“And why not?” Diana demanded.
“Because our business here isn’t finished. It’s nowhere near finished.”
Something about her tone chilled my blood. This wasn’t the Suzie I remembered, but at this moment, I could barely remember a single detail of my life since 1972, so how could I even trust what memories I had? I shivered. The room had grown icy and its heavy atmosphere bore down on me with almost physical weight.
“What’s happening here?” I asked. “Does anyone else feel like they’re being crushed?”
Vicky and Diana nodded. Suzie remained impassive. The smug smile had gone, replaced with a cold, hard stare. As I looked into those brown eyes, I flinched. Instead of the genuine warmth and humor I associated with her, I saw emptiness. The old Suzie had gone. The new Suzie—an imposter.
“Who are you really?” The words were out before I could check myself. “You can’t be Suzie, so who are you?”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. I am Suzie, just as you are Alice.”
“This is ridiculous,” Diana said, as she turned towards the door. “I’m leaving. Anyone joining me?”
Suzie barred her way. “That won’t be happening. You are all staying here.”
Diana made to push her out of the way, but Suzie ducked. Diana fell backwards and crashed to the floor. Vicky and I rushed to help her.
My temper exploded at Suzie. “What the hell did you do that for?”
Suzie rewarded my fury with that smug smile. “Me? I did nothing. Did I, Diana?”
Vicky and I each took one of Diana’s arms and helped her to her feet. She seemed more stunned than physically injured.
“She’s right,” Diana said, her breath coming in short gasps. “She never touched me. Something… I don’t know what… Something punched my stomach and pushed me back.”
“We’re definitely getting out of here,” Vicky said. “Come on.” The three of us darted forward. Something grabbed my shoulders and dragged me back. Invisible hands held my arms in a bruising grip. Vicky and Diana struggled, as did I.
Suzie laughed—a horrible, mocking sound. “You might as well accept that you are going nowhere. He won’t let you. They won’t let you. Here you are and here you will stay.”
I stopped struggling. Her words held such a note of finality, but Diana wouldn’t give up.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this, Suzie, but it has to stop. Now.”
“Me? I’m doing nothing. And struggling like that will only make him more determined.”
From far away, came a rushing sound like a mighty gale. Moving closer. My hair blew around my face, the force nearly knocked me off my feet and I staggered against the invisible hands that still clung to my arms.
Beside me, Vicky sobbed. “Make it stop, Suzie. For God’s sake make it stop.”
“God?” Suzie laughed. “No, God doesn’t come into it.”
“For pity’s sake then,” Diana shouted over the roar of the wind.
A sudden dark mist robbed me of sight. All I could sense was a swirling mass. All I could feel were the hands gripping me and the wind buffeting my face and body. A strong smell of sulfur filled the air and we coughed and spluttered as it choked us.
In the mist I began to make out shapes. Human figures. A hag’s face. Its skull features barely covered with peeling skin. Dark green. Almost black. It bared its rotten teeth and hissed—then vanished. A man’s face. Familiar. Jutting, pointed chin, penetrating gray eyes, flecked with yellow, shoulder-length white hair. Josiah Underwood emerged from the mist, shadowy and ethereal at first, then growing clearer, more solid, as the wind died down and the mist evaporated. He stared at us, his eyes holding a menace so black and soul-less that I feared for us all in that moment.
Behind him, swirling shapes transformed into nine men and women. Most hung back, content to stare at us with those same eyes as their master’s. Because of that there could be no doubt. Josiah Underwood controlled everything that went on in this room. Including Suzie.
One woman, in Edwardian dress, stepped forward and stood next to her leader.
“Elizabeth Jordan,” Suzie said. “Only you, Alice, know her better as Eliza Montague Jordan.”
“‘The Darkest Veil’.” My voice was no more than a whisper. The woman nodded but didn’t speak.
“That’s right,” Suzie said. “She gained all her inspiration from here. From her master.”
Another woman stepped forward and took the man’s arm.
“Jessica Underwood,” Suzie said. “And now we are thirteen.”
Chapter Eight
1976
Sister Immaculata, formerly known as Anita Lewis, adjusted her wimple. No mirrors were allowed in the convent, nor untidiness of dress or person, so the nun felt around her head and shoulders, ensuring she would be properly attired when she opened the door of her cell.
She clutched the simple wooden cross around her neck and breathed deeply. She closed her eyes.
Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. Amen.
She repeated the silent prayer ten times and followed it with an “Our Father”. Calmer, she opened her eyes and let go of the cross. Today was a big day. Finally, the Mother Superior was allowing her to go back to Yarborough Drive. But not alone, and for that Sister Immaculata felt grateful. Father Patrick Shaughnessy would go with her. The elderly priest had some experience in casting out demons—and in debunking fakes.
Reverend Mother had prayed on her decision for weeks before she called the nun into her office.
“Sister, you will soon be taking your vows and I know this matter has troubled you for some years.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother. Ever since I fled from that cursed house, I have feared for the fate of the girls I left behind. They invited evil in, but I don’t believe they intended to.” Sister Immaculata stared down at her clasped hands. She always found the Reverend Mother’s intense gaze disturbing.
“After many hours of prayer and contemplation, I am driven to grant your request. Father Patrick will accompany you and you are to obey his requests. He knows how to keep both of you safe from whatever may remain in that house. Will you promise me that you will do as he tells you?”
Sister Immaculata forced herself to meet the clear blue eyes of the Mother Superior. “Yes, Reverend Mother. I promise.”
“Then you shall go tomorrow afternoon. Now we will pray together for your safety and, if necessary, success.”
At just after three the following afternoon, Sister Immaculata stared up at the ruined house. Beside her, Father Patrick fingered his rosary and tutted.
“You’re sure this is the right place, Sister?” he asked. “It looks as if no one has lived in it for years. All those boarded-up windows. Dear me.” He sighed.
“This is definitely where I lived. Number four. I had the bedsit at the back on the first floor.” Sister Immaculata’s voice wavered. “I told them they shouldn’t have done i
t. I knew no good would come of it.”
“The Reverend Mother told me that, all through your novitiate, you have begged to be allowed back here. You said it weighed on your mind.”
“I have felt more and more I did the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have deserted those girls. They had no idea what they had done. At least I knew the danger they were putting us all in. I should have stayed and help them fight it. I should have gone to the priest of my local church and told him so he could bless the house before any more damage could be done. Now look at the place.” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “You can practically taste the evil inside from here.”
Father Patrick frowned. “Sister, you have an acute sense of the spiritual and that is to be commended, but please don’t confuse that with a lively imagination. There are a hundred and more reasons why this building has been left to rot like this.”
Sister Immaculata stared at him. Surely Father Patrick must sense the darkness. She could taste the rot and smell the fetid atmosphere that would be magnified a hundredfold when they opened the door. “Father, how can I explain this? The night the four of them held that séance, I was sitting in my room in quiet meditation. My eye became drawn to the corner of the room and I saw a vision. An angel crying. Not real and solid as you and I are, but ghostly. I should have been afraid but I wasn’t. As I continued to watch, a voice came into my mind. It told me evil had entered through a portal in the house. Then the vision faded and left me with so many questions. I heard a crash from upstairs and I jumped out of my chair and out of my room. Presently three of the girls came down and I confronted them, but they didn’t understand. They thought I was mad. Some kind of religious freak. The next day, I left, and the torment has grown within me until I know I cannot take my vows until I have put right what I failed to put right four years ago.”
Father Patrick listened intently. When she had finished, he nodded and sighed. “I must warn you, Sister, I have seen many strange things over the years. I have witnessed heavy furniture moving all by itself. I have seen a young woman levitate six feet off the ground and I have been in the presence of real, stinking, vile evil. If you’re right and this house is as badly infected as you believe it to be, you could be putting your very soul in danger by coming back here, and mine as well. Are you sure you still want to proceed?”
Sister Immaculata had never been more certain of anything in her life. “Quite sure, Father.”
Father Patrick sighed. “Well, if we’re going to do this, we had better see if we can get in.” He turned the handle of the front door. “Locked, I’m afraid.”
“I tried to get hold of the landlord,” the nun said, “but apparently he died last year. This property is all bound up with his estate. He didn’t leave a will and it’s going to be a long time until probate can be granted. There are quite a few family members scattered all over the world.”
Father Patrick looked up at the boarded-up windows. “We won’t get in through there, that’s for sure.”
Fear shot through Sister Immaculata. They couldn’t give up, especially not now since they were finally here. “But we must get in somehow. We must rid this place of the evil those girls let in. You read the newspaper reports. People around here are terrified. Stones keep being thrown. Windows are broken on an almost daily basis.” She pointed at a nearby parked van bearing the name George Wainwright and Son, Glaziers. “The police are baffled because no one is ever seen throwing the stones. They seem to appear from nowhere.”
“Sister, you know how hysterical the tabloid press can get. I said I have seen some strange phenomena in my life, but those instances are far outweighed by deliberate hoaxes, practical jokes and sheer delusion. No doubt someone, somewhere, is having a good laugh at everyone’s expense. That’s usually the way of it.”
“Not if the devil is at work here.” Sister Immaculata clutched the rosary in her pocket.
“Father?”
Sister Immaculata turned to see a young woman, dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt with a kitten motif.
“Yes, my child?” the priest replied.
“Have you come to exorcise the evil spirits from this house?”
The girl couldn’t have been more than twenty. Dark circles under her eyes gave her an exhausted look and her hair probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. It hung in greasy strings around her pinched, white face.
Sister Immaculata instinctively touched the girl’s trembling hand with her own. “What have you seen, my dear?”
“Lights. Strange flickering lights. Figures dancing outside the back of the house. But they can’t be there. They’re dressed in old-fashioned clothes, but they’re not real, are they? I can see straight through them. They’re not…solid, like us.”
“Does this happen regularly?” the priest asked.
The girl nodded, casting a fearful glance at the house. “Every month. And then there’s the weird chanting. All sort of…echoey. No proper tune or anything. As if it’s coming from another place.”
“Like the radio?” Sister Immaculata asked.
The young woman shook her head. “No. Further than that. I can’t explain. Like it’s coming down a tunnel from a long way away. Oh, I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the best way I can describe it.”
The nun looked to the priest for guidance and, hopefully, some explanation, but the young woman interjected before he had chance to respond.
“Then the stones come. Like hail sometimes. We’ve had our kitchen window smashed three times in the last year and now the insurance won’t cough up.”
“Father,” Sister Immaculata said, “Now, surely you can see how important our mission is.”
The priest coughed. “There still remains the problem of how to get into the house. We don’t have a key. The front door’s locked—”
“Then we should try the back door.” The nun had already begun walking briskly down the road to the short alleyway which would take her to the back of the houses on Yarborough Drive. The priest and the young woman scurried after her.
“What is your name, child?” The priest was already out of breath trying to keep up with Sister Immaculata’s steady canter.
“Rosalind,” the girl said. “I live at number eight.”
“And you can see the goings-on from there?”
“Yes. You’ll see when we get there. There are no fences or walls between the houses. We just have our own yards. I’ve watched them from the kitchen.”
They had reached the end of the alley and Sister Immaculata went left, maintaining her brisk pace. She turned into the untidy yard, overgrown with weeds and household rubbish blown in from neighboring properties.
“That’s my house there.” The girl pointed at an extension two doors down. It had a boarded-up window. “Of course, I can’t see them anymore. Glad really. They scare me. There’s real evil there.”
They were outside number four and the young woman backed away. “I’ll have to go. Got to pick up my little brother from school.”
Before either of them could respond, the girl hurried away, back down the passage.
Sister Immaculata turned back to the business in hand. She pointed at the window on the left of the door. “Alice’s room.” The curtains were drawn open. Closer inspection revealed them to be coated in grime. Peering through the window, she saw debris, broken furniture and a bed that had seen far better days strewn around the once neat and tidy room. She stepped back to let Father Patrick take a look.
“Someone has had a fine old time wrecking this place and that’s for sure,” he said.
“Someone…or something.”
The priest stared at her hard. Sister Immaculata broke eye contact. His gaze seemed to penetrate her soul.
“Sorry, Sister. I still have a problem with this. Let’s see if this house is going to let us in.”
He turned the handle of the back door. It too was locked, but this time with a simple Yale latch. Father Patrick rummaged in the pocket of his cassock and pulled o
ut a piece of rectangular rigid plastic. “My bank card.”
Sister Immaculata watched in mounting horror as the priest carefully inserted the card in the crack of the door and slid it gently upward while turning the handle.
“I used to be a prison chaplain,” he said.
His explanation did nothing to reassure the nun who immediately offered up ten “Hail Marys” and an “Our Father”. She crossed herself.
An audible click preceded the opening of the door.
“Always knew that would come in handy one day. An inmate told me how to do it after I arrived late for confession one day. I had locked myself out you see. Had to get a locksmith.”
A chipped and dirty cup stood on the grime-covered draining board. Greasy dirt clung to the curtains and smeared the previously cream-colored walls. A smell of ancient cabbage and blocked drains sent bile shooting up into Sister Immaculata’s mouth.
Father Patrick called to her from the hallway. “Sister, come along. We’d better not linger around. We have serious work to do.”
The nun hurried after him into a hallway where dust covered the tiled floor. She stopped as she caught sight of the devastation that had once been Vicky’s room.
The door had fallen off its hinges and leaned drunkenly against the wall. As she and the priest peered inside, the ripped wallpaper, overturned and broken furniture and ragged curtains met their stunned gaze. They stepped inside.
A small book lay, somewhat incongruously, on an overturned chair. It had fallen open and, as she stood next to it, Sister Immaculata caught one line:
When death’s darkest veil draws over you, then shall shadows weep.
She shuddered. Something about those words…
Father Patrick touched Sister Immaculata’s hand. “Look at the floor.”
Deep gouges raked across what remained of the floorboards. A gaping hole yawned wide in the middle of the room.
“Careful, Father,” Sister Immaculata called as the priest took tentative steps to get a closer look. The floor creaked and the priest nearly lost his footing. He stopped near the edge of the hole.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God!”
The Darkest Veil Page 8
