The Van Helsing Paradox

by Evelyn Chartres

  * * * *

  “Wake up, child,” Sister Maria said loud enough to wake the dead.

  Clara awoke in a start while her heart raced at a gallop. Her head hurt and she could barely focus, but Clara saw that she had arrived. At first, she was not sure whether to feel elated or dread, but at least the journey was at an end.

  Somehow she had been transferred onto a horse and cart without her knowledge. They were in the middle of a large gravel courtyard surrounded by several buildings. Since this was a cloistered school, she assumed these structures made up the various dormitories and classrooms of the institution.

  Sister Maria had not wasted any time in disembarking and was soon joined by another nun from the school. Given how she was unobserved, Clara took the time to take in the scene in greater detail.

  The horse and cart she noted were old and well used. The one at the reins had white hair, a shaggy beard, sunburnt skin and vivid blue eyes. His clothes were covered in dirt, his hands calloused and clearly fit in with her view of someone who worked the land.

  The nearest and most prominent structure was a three story building. There were evenly spaced windows throughout with an ornate metal roof and gables that meant the attic had usable space. Clara had a feeling that she would be spending the bulk of her time there.

  Another structure nearby was made of wood and stone. Clara could see other nuns through the windows and later learnt that it served as their dormitory.

  “Miss Grey,” Sister Agnes said. “Since you are awake, you may as well collect your things and join us.”

  “Of course” Clara said. She then noticed how Sister Agnes’ eyes were beginning to narrow, so she added a belated, “Sister.”

  Clara noticed that there was an authority concealed just beneath the veneer of Sister Agnes’ smile. Since this Sister was giving out orders directly, she must have been the senior of the two. Things were certainly going to get interesting.

  “Now child, there are a few rules you need to know before we take you in,” Sister Agnes said.

  Before more was said, both of the nuns paused and stared at someone approaching from behind Clara. She turned to find a young man walking towards them, his black clothes and a white collar were indicative of his vocation. The man appeared to be overjoyed to see her, even though she could not fathom why.

  “Sisters,” he said while holding his gaze at the new arrival. “Clara Grey, is it?”

  Clara looked flummoxed, she had not expected to be noticed this soon. One quick glance from Sister Agnes and Maria told her this was an unusual occurrence.

  “Yes, Father,” Clara replied.

  Sister Agnes attempted to bring some decorum by saying, “Father Michael, I was just—”

  “Thank you, Sister,” Father Michael said. “Just wanted the opportunity to see Miss Grey before she got settled.”

  The priest winked at Clara then walked away. Clara could tell that the nuns were fuming and she found it amusing to see Sister Maria on the verge of losing composure. Perhaps this place would be far more entertaining than anticipated.

  * * * *

  Her arrival marked her first exposure to both schooling and religious studies. These had been luxuries that her family could ill afford, since it was difficult to justify higher learning when one had to give up a meal or lose the roof over their heads.

  Clara readily embraced her new way of life, giving in to her newfound thirst for knowledge. She further utilised what she learned to make life difficult for the Sisters. Sister Maria bore the brunt of her pranks since Clara had sworn to see this nun smile before she was done with her schooling.

  There were other children who enjoyed pushing the boundaries as well, but Clara quickly learned how to avoid the nuns’ wrath. She noted that judgements were only rendered to those unlucky enough to get caught.

  Not only did this push Clara to conceal her movements, but it made her escapades much more elaborate. There was nothing more rewarding than seeing Sister Agnes’ eyes darting from child-to-child in another failed attempt to root out the culprit.

  On occasion Clara would get caught in the act, although that was normally part of the plan. She would take her lashings, pray or fast as required. All the while, she would plot her next bout of defiance. Getting caught only made them underestimate her capability for mischief.

  During her second year at the orphanage, Clara noticed how often Father Michael was called away. The man would disappear for days or even weeks at a time without raising suspicion. For a mischievous little girl, the concept of being able to avoid consequences had some allure.

  Motivated to discover his secrets, Clara shadowed the man. It seemed to be easy enough since he probably never considered that someone would follow him. Such thoughts must have been a foreign concept for those who lived under the watchful eye of their God, especially for those who had given their vow of poverty.

  In anticipation of his destination, Clara went ahead and hid in his quarters. She was reminded that the devout were notorious for remaining covered at all times. Clara once caught a sister flaying herself as she bathed, all in an effort to keep impure thoughts from her mind. She later learned that was the reason they adopted the habit. They did it to keep aspects of themselves hidden which might elicit any impure thoughts. Some orders were more strict, such as the nuns who taught at this school. They would go so far as to bathe clothed to avoid being seduced by their own bodies.

  Clara caught no more than a glimpse of his scar-riddled back. It had been long enough for her to know that these scars had not been left by a whip, paddle or any form of corporal punishment. There was an animalistic quality to the scarring, but what kind of animal was capable of inflicting those?

  While most assumed they were alone once in their quarters, this priest surprised her. So much so that it blew her earlier theories out of the water.

  “It is not wise to enter the house of God with impure thoughts,” Father Michael said calmly using the voice he reserved for his sleep-inducing sermons.

  Clara did not say a word, she even held her breath in an effort to remain undetected. He never turned back to look, nor did Clara see any reflective surfaces in the room. Her presence should have remained undetected.

  “You have been following me all morning, child,” Father Michael added.

  Clara knew that she had been discovered, which made it futile to continue on with this game. It was obvious that he knew; the question was, how?

  “Curious,” Clara replied while she mulled over her initial response. She then thought it best to add for good measure, “Father.”

  “Curious, child?” Father Michael asked while continuing to change.

  Clara noted how these new clothes were not a priest’s garbs. The more Clara questioned this situation, the more curiosity swelled within.

  “Why a man of the cloth disappears for days on end,” Clara replied. “The origin of your scars and your more recent wounds,” she added despite that being a wild guess.

  So why not turn the tables and evade his attempts at an inquisition? That tactic was much easier to handle than constant evasion.

  Once again she threw in, “Father,” as a belated mark of respect.

  “The sisters often mention how bright you are,” Father Michael said.

  Clara wondered why he dropped the formality of calling her child. Father Michael turned around then knelt to get a better view of her. It was the first time she had looked into his eyes, steel-grey and full of life, just like hers.

  “Clever enough to stay out of sight,” the priest said, which was quickly followed by a warm smile. “Quick enough to ask questions that would provide you with valuable insight.”

  Before she could reply, he raised his hand to interrupt. This confused Clara because the room was silent, there were no sounds to be heard, inside or out. Was this a veiled attempt at making fun of her? Perhaps this was an attempt to teach her a lesson?

  That answer came once the door was torn from its hinges. After the d
ust settled, Clara saw a woman of intense beauty. Clara had no words to describe her, only that she was as beautiful as Clara imagined angels to be.

  Such beauty might adhere a sense of trust in a little girl or even admiration, but it did nothing to arouse desire. There was no primal aspect of her soul which yearned for that woman, especially a child whose hormones had yet to sew confusion in her mind.

  Not so for Father Michael. He seemed bewitched, unable to think nor focus. At first, she wanted to say something, to help him snap out of it. Yet she sensed there were forces at play that went beyond her comprehension.

  Clara remained concealed and once more held her breath while she observed. If that woman was aware of Clara’s presence, she showed no obvious signs.

  The creature continued her slow deliberate approach towards the priest. Once she was a foot away from Father Michael, he broke out of his trance and pulled out a rosary from his pocket. This particular item had been fitted with a thin metal blade attached to the base of the crucifix.

  With one quick motion, he attacked but missed. This woman moved like a blur, reappearing just behind Father Michael and in one vicious strike, gouged out a chunk of his neck.

  Clara watched as blood shot out in spurts. The initial jet of blood covered the wall to his left and the second narrowly missed Clara. The third spurt never materialised because this creature had latched onto his neck to feed.

  Terror should have taken hold of this girl, culminating in a blood-curdling scream. Such a response would have made her the second victim that night. Fortunately, she remained even-keeled, her mind clear and focused.

  Clara snuck out of her hiding place then crept quietly towards the rosary. She picked it up prior to focusing on the scene. Given the nasty wound, it would take no more than a moment for that creature to finish her feast. Even now Father Michael was white as a sheet, a sign that he was far too gone to be helped.

  Regardless, Clara realised how this would be her only chance, she closed her eyes and recited a prayer. Relying on faith alone, she plunged the crucifix’s blade into the woman’s back and was greeted by silence. This entire situation evoked a sense of déjà vu although she had no clue why.

  In the time it took for her to blink the other had turned around to glare. Pure hatred was painted on the creature’s face, a clear indication on what she had in mind for Clara. Meanwhile, Father Michael’s body slumped to the ground with nothing more than a few drops of blood trickling from his wound.

  “How dare you,” the woman shrieked.

  Again this confrontation should have left her shaking like a leaf. Instead, Clara stood tall, with her blade in hand. Blood from that creature covered the bare metal and Clara wondered why it appeared to be thicker than her own.

  The girl then looked out to the doorway, noticing how it had splintered. Were these Titans? Who could be capable of such strength and speed?

  When shadows appeared in the hallway followed by the sound of footsteps, a smile fell upon Clara’s lips. The creature’s face flickered for a moment followed by a hint of worry, it seemed that she had arrived at the same conclusion. In a blink of an eye, that creature was gone, her escape left nothing more than a breeze from an open window.

  * * * *

  Clara was whisked away the moment the group of men dressed similarly to Father Michael converged on the room. They did not seem to hesitate nor ask any questions. Instead the eldest simply glanced at the youngest members who promptly carried her away.

  Why was it that Clara had never seen these men before? Normally in a cloistered environment there was near perfect segregation from the outside world, which made seeing a new face a rare occurrence. In any case, workmen, tradesmen or drivers were kept under a close watch.

  To see a dozen such men certainly got Clara wondering if she had missed something. Was there some sort of tunnel or access to the outside world that she knew nothing about?

  Sisters Agnes and Maria were waiting further down the hall. Clara was soon placed under Sister Maria’s charge who, in turn, escorted her back to her dormitory. From the corner of her eye she saw one of the men exchange words with Sister Agnes. When the nun collapsed, Clara had a good idea what had been said.

  “What were you doing in the rectory child?” Sister Maria asked.

  Clara looked down at her blood covered hands and remembered she was still holding onto the blade. Of all the things to ask? Clara palmed the crucifix under her sleeve to avoid making it a topic of discussion.

  “Sister Maria, I was following Father Michael,” Clara said in reply.

  “Now why would you go and do such a thing.” Sister Maria asked exasperated.

  That was a good question. However, the tone of the Sister’s voice hinted that she had her suspicions on what had happened. That meant she already suspected that Father Michael was dead. The question was how?

  Clara thought over her words before she said, “Father Michael told me earlier today that he wanted to discuss his plans for me Sister.”

  Sister Maria’s eyes went wide, despite this being a blatant lie it certainly managed to get her out of the hot seat. Now if she could only coax more information out of her before getting caught.

  “What exactly did he tell you child?” Sister Maria asked.

  Now Clara had to think on her feet. If she feigned ignorance, there would be no further gains. If Clara could guess his involvement, then she might gain more insight. The latter was riskier, but offered greater rewards. Besides, Clara enjoyed a challenge.

  “Father Michael had just begun explaining the particularities of his order,” Clara said.

  That was vague enough to avoid getting caught in an outright lie. A guess perhaps, but one reasoned on the fact that men of the cloth were rarely, if ever, armed. Father Michael had been armed for a reason and she guessed that the fallen angel had something to do with it.

  Sister Maria gave Clara a good long look before she said, “No matter, child.” She paused a moment before she opened the door to Clara’s dormitory and added, “Now get cleaned up and ready for bed.”

  A shame that bedtime was not for another two hours…

  * * * *

  News of Father Michael’s death did not circulate through the students like wildfire. Instead she was greeted by a wall of silence at every turn. Clara continued on for a few days, curious as to why they would not share his fate with the rest of the school. Even when a new priest settled into the rectory, the nuns remained stoic.

  Despite being the only witness to that event, no one questioned her about what happened. It left her feeling like she needed to wait until her father got home to learn of her punishment.

  For once Clara kept her nose clean and focused entirely on her studies. An easy matter when other children avoided her, most probably the result of a secret directive. Like all directives, tenants or commandments, the repercussions were severe for those who failed to uphold them.

  After a fortnight, Clara was pulled out of class by Sister Maria. Without notice, she was hurried over to the courtyard where a horse and cart were waiting for them. Surprisingly, her things were already packed into the same tattered suitcase she arrived with two years ago.

  “It seems that Father Michael’s got his wish,” Sister Maria said while getting into the cart. She then reached down to help Clara up before adding, “It’s time to start your training, child.”

  HALL OF HIGHER LEARNING

  1906

  For the second time in her life, Clara wandered out into the world under the watchful eye of Sister Maria. That meant waiting on a train platform for what she presumed would be the first of many connections. Little did she know that their first trip together would seem like a stroll through Versailles’ palatial gardens in comparison.

  For one, the distance they needed to cover was far greater, and that came with a dizzying rate of train transfers. At least their journey over the open waters had been a new experience for Clara. She enjoyed being unsure of herself while the ship heaved and
hawed with the waves. If her travelling partner had any inkling at all for amusement, Clara might have been granted a reprieve from her studies to enjoy the experience.

  Instead they spent the bulk of the trip below decks, engrossed in prayers and studies. Clara even missed seeing the iconic red shores of this land, although one would never know based on Sister Maria’s reaction.

  Once they made landfall, Sister Maria flagged down the first available hansom. The ride was pleasant enough and marked her first taste of a larger settlement. There were people and horses moving about every which way. While chaotic, it was an enjoyable experience because Sister Maria could do nothing to hurry up this leg of the journey.