The Good Sisters: The perfect scary read to curl up with this winter

Leave! screamed a voice inside Agnes’s mind, although she would never say that. She was far too polite and that wouldn’t be a very charitable thing to do. She knew that Father Patrick would be disappointed in her lack of empathy for a fellow human being.

‘No, thank you, I don’t believe there is. Can I ask how long will you be staying here, Lilith? Do you have family or friends you can stop with?’

The words came out before she could stop herself. A loud knock on the front door broke the interaction between the two women. Agnes went downstairs to let a rather red-faced Constable Crosby inside.

‘By heck it’s cold out there, Agnes. I didn’t think the patrol car was going to start. Have you woken Mary up yet?’

‘No we haven’t. There’s no answer. I can’t even hear her snoring and trust me, Crosby, she has on occasion snored so loud that it’s kept me awake all night.’

Crosby chuckled at the thought of a nun snoring. ‘Right then, you better show me which one is her bedroom. I have to say I never thought I’d get to see the day I saw the inside of a nun’s bedroom.’

He winked at Agnes who shook her head. He was a loud, brash and sometimes funny man who was also very good at his job. He was a big help whenever they had cause to ask him for any. She led him upstairs. Lilith was now standing across the hall from Mary’s bedroom with Edith. Her slender arms were crossed and she smiled at Crosby, who looked at her and smiled right back.

‘A new recruit into God’s army, Agnes?’

Lilith began to giggle. ‘I’m afraid not, Constable. I don’t think he would let me join. I’m not a very good girl.’

She winked at him and Agnes noted the faint redness creeping up his neck. She pointed to Mary’s room and he strode across and hammered on the door with his fist. It was so loud it echoed around the hall; in fact it was so loud Agnes was sure it would wake a deaf person.

Constable Crosby stopped to listen at the door. Silence greeted him. Agnes felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. They didn’t need a policeman to tell them something was wrong. He lifted his foot and kicked the door. It moved a little, not much. So he stepped back then barged the door using his shoulder and putting his substantial weight behind it. The door splintered and cracked. He looked over his shoulder at Agnes. They both knew the noise he was making was loud enough to wake the dead, so why hadn’t Mary opened the door?

As he launched himself at the door once more, it gave with a loud splintering sound and he stumbled forwards. He seemed to be trying to take in the sight before him, but his eyes would not or could not register what he was seeing. Agnes motioned with her hand for Edith and Lilith to wait there. She stepped in behind Crosby and, just as he had, she looked around trying to understand what it was she was seeing. The normally white walls were covered in splatters of red. The smell hit them both at the same time, making them gag. Agnes lifted her hand and made the sign of the cross. Crosby uttered one word: ‘Fuck.’

It had taken hours before the police had taken Mary’s body away. Father Patrick had taken them all into the front room where they’d prayed for Mary’s soul. There was no way she had killed herself and it couldn’t be murder either, could it? Constable Crosby had needed to break the door down himself. The windows were shut and locked from the inside.

Agnes’s first thought had been that somehow Lilith’s husband had gained entry into the house, looking for his wife, and killed Mary by mistake. Then she realised it had been her who had unlocked the front door to let the constable inside and all the locks and bolts had still been fastened. It didn’t make any sense and throughout everything Lilith had kept very quiet. She hadn’t suggested it was her husband and she had taken to her room, locking herself inside.

Agnes had spent over an hour with Crosby and Father Patrick, talking them over what had happened since Lilith had knocked on the convent door. Father Patrick had done his best to reassure both women that it wasn’t their fault. Yes it was very strange, but they would find out what had happened. Edith, who hadn’t stopped crying for hours, had started to panic when Father Patrick had told them he was going back to the vicarage and he’d had to promise her he would go home, get a change of clothes and then come back and spend the night.

By this time Lilith had come out of her room and was loitering in the doorway of the front room. She kept smiling at the priest and Agnes didn’t like it one little bit. Agnes had asked Patrick if they could tell the woman to leave when they had been alone in the kitchen, but he’d shaken his head.

‘Agnes, I admit it’s all a very strange and sad coincidence, but that’s all it is. We can’t really tell her to leave when she has nowhere to stay that’s safe. The church has always been a safe place, a haven. How many times have we offered sanctuary for those in desperate need? Over the centuries, it’s been too many to count. Lilith needs our compassion and our help. We will let her stay here until she has somewhere safe she can go to.’

‘Very well, Father. There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on though. She makes me feel uneasy.’

‘Agnes, if I didn’t help the people who made me uneasy I’d never be able to do my job. It will be fine. The poor woman must be terrified, escaping a violent husband then waking up to this. We must be patient with her and show her more kindness than before.’

‘Very well, Father, whatever you wish.’

Agnes wasn’t happy at the thought of Lilith still being a guest inside the house. Father Patrick had offered to bring someone in from the village to clean up the mess in Mary’s room and Agnes had declined. She thought it was the least she could do and she wanted to see what had happened now that Mary had been taken away to the undertaker’s, the various parts of her body all wrapped up in a sheet.

Crosby had told her before he left that they could clean up the mess if they wanted to either tonight or tomorrow. As tempting as it had been to leave it until tomorrow, Agnes wasn’t a fool and knew that the room smelt horrendous already. To leave it another day before trying to clean up the blood and mess would make it unbearable.

Edith was in the kitchen with Lilith and Father Patrick, so Agnes went to the cupboard under the stairs where they kept the disinfectant and mop buckets. She took a big bottle of bleach, a box of rags and the mop bucket. Locking the door behind her, she went upstairs. Mary’s room was the seventh one along the landing. The door wasn’t shut properly because of Crosby’s attempts to kick it in.

Agnes’s mouth felt dry and her hands were trembling at the thought of going inside it on her own, but she needed to do this. She was in charge of running this convent and the responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. Mary’s family would be coming tomorrow and might want to stop here. It was the least they could do and she wouldn’t have them going into their daughter’s room if it was still stained with her blood.

Agnes was only a small woman, but she was strong. The corridor seemed to her as if it had increased in size because Mary’s bedroom door looked so far away from where she was standing at the top of the stairs. As she forced her feet to walk forwards, she began to pray under her breath. She prayed for Mary and for the rest of them because she couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened to Sister Mary was just the beginning of something terrible.

The smell hit her as she got halfway along the landing and her empty stomach lurched. She crossed herself. How had this happened to Mary? What had happened? It didn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. They had all been fine last night.

Agnes thought she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from Mary’s room and she paused to listen. The police, doctor and undertakers had all left. There should be no one here. She waited, her heart racing. Stop it, woman, you’re scaring yourself. Holding herself straight she walked the last few steps and listened at the door, pressing her head against the wood to make sure there was no one still in there. She was greeted by silence.

She pushed the door open and gasped once more; the sight in front of her eyes was horrendous. Earlier had been bad enough, although the shock had numbed some of it. The blood was everywhere. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and splashed it all around the white walls. The bed had the white outline of where Mary had fallen, but surrounding it and bleeding into it were dark, almost black congealing pools of blood.

The stench was how Agnes imagined an abattoir would smell. That was it. Mary had been butchered to pieces in her own bedroom and not one of them had heard a sound. How had that been possible? Her eyes fell onto the book on Mary’s bedside table: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Something bothered Agnes about that book, but she didn’t know what. Why had Mary been reading that? Mary and Edith had been to the picture house in the town to watch it and both of them had come back scared of their own shadows for days. So what was it that had compelled her to go out and buy the book?

Agnes stepped forward and reached out for the soft, leather-bound book. As she flicked open the front page, her eyes began to stream and her nostrils flared at the strong smell that was emanating from it. It smelt like embalming fluid, but what on earth would that be doing on the pages of a book? Agnes had helped out at the undertaker’s a few times back in her younger days and although it was hard to describe exactly what it smelt of, it always had the same effect on her. Dropping the book back down she stepped away. Something strange was happening in this house and she didn’t have any idea what it was.

Agnes began to blot, wipe, scrub and wash every trace of blood away that she could find. Every couple of minutes she would twist her head from one side to the other to look behind her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Mary’s room was huge, but so were all the others. It was a massive house, which had obviously been designed for a wealthy family. Not a small group of women who had given up their everyday lives to serve God.

She was kneeling on the floor, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bloodstain, when she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle as a cold gust of air rushed against her. She pulled herself from her knees, which made two loud clicks that echoed around the room as they straightened up. Agnes half expected that woman, Lilith, to be standing in the doorway watching her. She turned around. There was no one there.

The room was beginning to smell much better. The harsh, coppery stench of the blood was being wiped away by the strong-smelling ammonia. There was another smell coming from the corner of the room where Agnes felt as if someone was standing. It smelt like electricity. Agnes would describe it to Father Patrick as the smell in the air when there is about to be a thunderstorm. She waved her hand in front of her, expecting the air to crackle and fizz, but it didn’t.

She began to hum to herself, one of her favourite hymns. She was too old to believe what her mind was trying to say. It was being ridiculous. She was being silly. For whatever reason, Mary had done that to herself. Agnes didn’t know why or even want to know how, but there was no evidence that suggested any other explanation.

She turned back to the floor and felt her heart miss a beat to see the book that had been on the bedside table moments ago now on the floor, next to her mop bucket. How? There had been no noise, no draught. Agnes knew that she hadn’t knocked it over herself; with a hand that was shaking so much she found it hard to get her fingers to pick it up, she gripped it as tight as she could. The icy-cold leather stuck to her fingers and she shook them, almost dropping it with revulsion.

She started to read the words in front of her and the room began to spin. Frankenstein’s monster had just killed Victor’s new wife Elizabeth. Tucking the book into her pocket she left the room, unsure of what or who was watching her, but certain that someone was. She went to the bathroom to clean herself up; her clothes were ruined and smelt terrible. She turned on the taps and began running herself a bath. As she undressed she looked into the mirror, asking herself: ‘Are you going mad, woman?’

She didn’t feel as if she was. Her face didn’t look much different. Well, apart from the few new wrinkles that had appeared around her eyes and forehead overnight. Once more the feeling she was being watched made her shiver. She turned around to check the door was still locked. Then she slowly bent to look through the keyhole and make sure that there wasn’t anyone peering through it; although what anyone would want watching a sixty-year-old naked woman was beyond her.

She squinted; all she could see through the tiny lock was the landing outside the door. Wondering where Lilith was, Agnes straightened up and walked across to step into the bath. This wouldn’t be a quick in and out like usual. She would be spending as long in here as she could. She needed to soak away the smell of dear Mary’s blood, not to mention her aches and pains from being scrunched up on the floor scrubbing.

As she sunk into the steaming water she wondered what had happened to change the whole dynamics of this house of God, and try as she might the only conclusion that she could come up with was the arrival of Lilith Ardat. Why did she feel such revulsion towards the woman? Agnes didn’t dislike many people; it wasn’t in her nature. Why had they let her in? What was it that she had said to Agnes earlier: ‘Thank you for giving me permission to come in’?

Agnes had her own horror book tucked away in her bedside table drawer. She had read Bram Stoker’s Dracula many years ago. Her copy had been a gift from her sister – just before she’d died – so even though Agnes hadn’t particularly enjoyed the story, the fact that the book was more sentimental to her meant that she kept it close to her. Agnes had been terrified of the vampire Count Dracula and his wicked, evil ways when she’d read it, but she knew it was only a story. All this talk of not having a reflection and needing to ask permission to enter someone’s house was plain ridiculous. Or was it?

Chapter Three (#u1ad6b308-eed2-5c5b-ac65-47d1d8776b21)

The house no longer smelt old, damp and empty. It now smelt of plaster, wood filler and paint. There were two bedrooms finished and the en-suite bathrooms were plumbed in so that Kate could have a hot shower after a hard day’s graft. She had begun reading the old diary that she’d found on the very first day and had to stop because it was terrifying her. She’d discovered that the house had become a convent at one time, which explained the crosses when she’d moved in.

The first few pages had been written beautifully. Then the writing had changed as if the writer, Agnes, had been in a hurry to document what was going on. Kate read about a nun who had died here, in her house. She shuddered as a strange feeling washed over her. She had a great, great-aunt called Agnes who had been a nun. What if this book belonged to her? She pushed the thought away. Agnes was probably a popular name back then. It was probably just a coincidence.

The death of the poor woman sounded so violent. After she finished reading, Kate had then gone upstairs. She had gone into each bedroom, studying the floorboards for bloodstains. Unable to distinguish any from the paint splatters and dust, she’d given up after Ethan had asked what she was looking for. Kate had laughed and gone back down to put the small diary away because it had terrified her. She was just relieved that all of this had happened such a long time ago.

To take her mind away from the terror in that small book, she had spent hours poring over the magazines that her friend Sam had dropped off for her. Kate was trying to decide on a practical, yet perfect kitchen. She didn’t want to spend a huge amount of money. Because of the size of the room, it was going to be expensive – even if she picked a cheap one.

Ollie had been a godsend. She didn’t know what she would have done without him these last few weeks. He always stayed later than Jack and Ethan – the lads who worked for him. Kate often wondered what his wife thought about the amount of time he was spending here, but it wasn’t any of her business. For all she knew they could be on the brink of a divorce and his wife was glad to see the back of him. She wished she knew because the more time she spent with Ollie the more she liked him.

Kate sat down on the top step, an overwhelming feeling of tiredness taking over her. As exciting as this project was, it was taking it out of her. Today she hadn’t been able to shake the headache that she’d woken up with. She decided she needed strong painkillers washed down with a mouthful of vodka. She crept down to the kitchen for a shot of the ice-cold alcohol that was in the freezer compartment. After glugging down the tablets she went straight to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Ollie was hardly going to find a forty-five-year-old alcoholic attractive, was he? And she still felt embarrassed by the need to use alcohol to get her through the day, although she wasn’t drinking as much now. She was making a conscious effort to reduce her intake.

As she patted her mouth dry, she looked into the mirror. Her life had gone almost full circle and she was lucky it didn’t show on her face. The wrinkles she had feared so much in her thirties hadn’t put in much of an appearance, except for the laughter lines around her eyes – although the last twelve months she hadn’t really had much to laugh about. Maybe they were crying wrinkles because she’d spent a whole lot more time crying than she’d ever done laughing.

The air, which was normally full of minute particles of plaster dust, smelt different. As Kate turned around to open the bathroom door, she inhaled again. What was that smell? It smelt like old leather, burnt skin and garlic all mixed together and it was rank. She looked around the bathroom then opened the door out onto the corridor. It was stronger out here.

The lads had all gone into town for their dinner – even Ollie had gone with them and he normally ate a packed lunch, but all they’d been talking about during the morning had been meat and potato pies and cream cakes from the bakery. She stood and listened to the house. It was so silent and still without the workmen banging around and singing.