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

‘Well let’s see how bad this room is and then if you decide you’re going to do this, I’ll drive you in the van to see what you need and bring you back.’

‘Really? Thank you so much, Oliver. I’ll pay you for your time.’

‘No you won’t. I’ll do this because I think you’re mental and also because you’re a friend.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘Aw, you’re such a sweetie. Thank you.’

4 January 1933

Mother Superior Agnes Nicholas looked outside the window at the snow-covered garden and shivered. It was cold enough inside the convent and they had roaring fires burning in the lounge, kitchen and upstairs bedrooms. To be outside in this weather didn’t bear thinking about. She hated the cold. It made her swollen, arthritic bones ache.

Sisters Mary and Edith had spent most of the morning filling up the wood baskets so they wouldn’t have to go out into the garden when it got dark. Now that only the three of them lived here, the convent was far too big. Poor sister Emily had died of pneumonia in the hospital three weeks ago, and Agnes couldn’t shake the sadness that filled her entire being, every minute of every day. Emily had been far too young to die. In turn it had made Sisters Bernice and Joanna realise life was far too short to waste on God, and they had decided to leave the next week. Leaving just the three of them to it.

Agnes wouldn’t be surprised if the church shut this place down and moved them somewhere else; it was far too big of a house for three women to run. Since that strange woman had turned up at their door that night, hammering on it as if the devil himself was chasing her, things hadn’t been quite right. The woman, who finally told them her name was Lilith Ardat some hours after she had been inside their home, had been crying and begging for their help. All three of them had been loath to turn her away, despite Agnes’s nagging feeling inside the pit of her stomach that she was bringing trouble to their door.

Edith had silently pleaded with Agnes, imploring her with those huge, blue, innocent eyes until she’d relented. Agnes had nodded her permission at Mary, who had then ushered the woman inside and down to the kitchen, wrapping her in a thick woollen blanket. She had sat her down by the crackling fire. Edith had fetched the woman a small glass of sherry and then they’d all sat down and asked her what was wrong and how they could help her.

The story the woman confided in them was one of horrific abuse, which had sent shivers down Agnes’s spine, but despite the horror she was hearing and the fact that she was a nun, there was a part of Agnes that didn’t like Lilith Ardat. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the sly smile that would spread across her face after she finished each sentence had something to do with it. Agnes got the impression the woman was enjoying sharing her tale of violence and woe with the three of them.

If Lilith was telling the truth, then the poor woman had been severely mistreated, but Agnes wasn’t convinced that she was. Although Agnes had no idea why Lilith would turn up at the convent so late on such a cold night if it wasn’t true, she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling from the back of her mind that Lilith wasn’t entirely what she seemed, or that she wasn’t the person she was trying to portray.

Mary loved a good tale of woe and despair, however. She had been sucked in wholeheartedly, gasping and making loud noises of objection throughout the woman’s tale of horror at the hands of her husband. Edith had only just said she was bored of not having anything more exciting to talk about than what Father Patrick might preach about in his Sunday sermon. She sat transfixed by the small, raven-haired woman in front of them.

Agnes had kept her distance. She didn’t know whether it was her intuition or her basic mistrust of most human beings that had stepped in, but she hadn’t gone too close. The woman had skin that was whiter than the driven snow, and lips that were red – blood red. There was a blue and yellow bruise beginning to form across her left eye and forehead.

She told them it was where he’d hit her, but Agnes thought it looked more like the kind of injury you got when you were in one of those motor cars and it stopped suddenly. As if the woman’s head had hit the steering wheel with force; although why this woman would be out driving a motor car at this time of night in this weather God alone knew the answer. This was not the sort of weather to be out gallivanting around in. It was far too cold and dangerous with the ice that covered the roads and paths.

‘She can stay in Sister Emily’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed myself.’

‘No. I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mary.’

‘Why not? It’s not like Emily is going to need it any time soon is it?’

Agnes stared at Mary in horror; the girl was so insensitive at times. It didn’t seem right to put her into Emily’s room so soon after she had passed away.

‘She can stay in Sister Bernice’s room, Mary, and I’ll have none of your petulant arguing. Have some thought about you.’

‘Yes, Mother Superior. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll go and make the bed up.’

Edith glanced across at Agnes. She too seemed glad that they weren’t about to move a complete stranger into Emily’s room so soon. It wasn’t right and she would tell Mary this when they were alone, but she wouldn’t say anything in front of their guest. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘Whilst Mary makes up your bed, would you like something to eat? A sandwich perhaps, or some toast?’

‘No, thank you, I’m not hungry. I don’t eat an awful lot. I have a very small appetite.’

As the woman said this she glanced across at Edith, who was the complete opposite and had a very big appetite with a fuller figure to complement it. Agnes noted the faint redness that crept along Edith’s cheeks. The girl had major issues with her weight and her even larger appetite. Not that it mattered to Agnes: everyone was different. The world would be a very strange place if everyone looked the same. Lilith stood up, shrugging the blanket from her shoulders.

‘Would you mind if I used your bathroom? I need to clean myself up a little. I must look a complete mess. I’m so embarrassed because I never leave the house looking like this. What on earth must you think of me?’

Edith smiled and stood up, leading the woman from the kitchen to the first floor bathroom. Agnes couldn’t help but shudder when Lilith passed close by her. The woman didn’t seem to notice and she was grateful to God for that small mercy. Agnes had no idea what was wrong with her, but every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop the clock and make the woman leave, only she couldn’t do it. How could she send such a small, slight thing out into the sub-zero, freezing temperatures? She would more than likely freeze to death before she reached the village; in fact it was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t frozen to death before she’d reached the convent, because it was so far off the beaten track that most people who were actually looking for the place in broad daylight couldn’t find it.

Agnes could hear the muted whisperings of the strange woman and Edith’s voice as she led her along the first floor corridor to the bedroom that had once belonged to Sister Bernice. After what felt like for ever, Mary came downstairs, followed by Edith.

‘I trust you’ve made our guest comfortable for the night?’

Both women nodded in unison.

‘Good, I’m tired so I’ll be off to bed now. Make sure that you double check all the locks on the windows and doors. I don’t want any more unwelcome visitors tonight. Do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t care who is knocking on that door – we don’t let anyone else in. Especially in case it’s Lilith’s angry husband. I’m too old and too ugly to be fighting drunken bullies at this time of night. Goodnight, sisters. Let’s hope we all get some sleep.’

Agnes caught the look of fear that passed between the two much younger women in front of her and was glad. They were no match for a violent bully of a man and she would rather scare them into making sure they were safe than have them opening the door for every man, woman and child. She slowly shuffled up to bed; there would be no kneeling on the cold, hard, wooden floor tonight for her to say her prayers. She’d never be able to get back up again; instead she would climb between the heavy cotton sheets and pray. Surely God wouldn’t mind an old cripple seeking a bit of comfort on this cold, bitter night?

When she finished in the bathroom, Agnes went into her bedroom and for the first time in for ever she locked her door. Unable to shake the feeling that Lilith wasn’t quite what she seemed, it had made her unsettled and at a loss for what to do. Maybe a trip into the village – if the roads were clear – to speak with Father Patrick or Constable Crosby would help her decide what to do. If not first thing in the morning, she would telephone them both and ask them to pay her a visit.

Chapter Two

Five weeks of non-stop hard work and the house was much cleaner, lighter and smelt better. Oliver and his two labourers had been in every day, working until six or sometimes later. As they opened up each room the house felt a lot better. Kate spent every hour working alongside them. By the time they went home she would make herself something to eat then sometimes carry on until ten or eleven.

When she was on her own she would open a bottle of wine, drinking it as she cleaned, sanded or painted – whatever needed doing first. She hadn’t been drinking as much because she was so tired, but unless she had a drink sleep wouldn’t come until the early hours.

Last night she had managed to not have a drink at all, even though her hands had begun to shake like some old drunk’s and she’d felt like crap. She’d wanted to see how bad it would feel to go without. By nine o’clock she’d had to go to bed because the craving was so bad. Her mouth had been so dry that she kept whispering ‘just one sip’, but she knew if she could make it through until the morning she might just be ready to go to the doctor’s and get some help.

She’d lain there on her bed, waiting for the usual tiredness to kick in. It hadn’t. She’d never been so awake as she listened to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away. Each tick sounded louder than the last and as she’d lain on her side staring at the wall, she heard a door bang from somewhere up on the second or third floor.

Her heart had been in her mouth and then she realised that Ollie – she’d shortened Oliver to Ollie because it was much easier to yell – had probably left a window open to get rid of some paint or plaster fumes. It was just a draught, nothing else. Looking at her phone because it was too dark to see the clock face, she saw it was three a.m. She turned on her side, closing her eyes when she heard the scratching again.

Her mouth felt even drier as she lay still, trying to figure out where it was coming from. It didn’t sound like the scrabbling sound she imagined a rat would make. Did she know what a rat actually sounded like? No, she couldn’t say that she did. What she did think it reminded her of was sharp fingernails. Scared to move, she waited for it to happen again.

It sounded as if it was coming from inside the wall opposite her bed, which was ridiculous as outside her room was the hallway. She sat up, leaning over to turn her bedside lamp on, and felt better as the warm glow filled the room. She got out of her bed and crossed to the wall by the door. Her heart racing, she pressed her ear against the wall and waited for it to happen again. Five minutes passed. She couldn’t hear anything.

Her imagination was running wild and she imagined someone on the other side of the wall in the same position as she was, ear pressed against it listening for sounds of movement from inside her room. Her neck started to feel stiff and she stood straight, telling herself she would have to get some mouse traps tomorrow. There was no more scratching, so she got back in the bed and knew that first thing tomorrow she would ask Ollie to check for rats or squirrels.

As she lay there thinking about how much she liked having the cowboy around, she felt a warm sensation spread over her, and then she reminded herself he was married and that it was an absolute no to even think about him as anything more than a friend. She knew how much it had hurt her deep inside to see Martin openly flirting with women who were half of her age. Every time he had done it had been like a kick in the stomach – a reminder from him that she was never quite good enough for him.

Her eyes finally getting heavy, she was drifting off when a loud thud on the floor above her made her eyes fly open. It had come from the room that was almost finished. She jumped and sat up, pulling the covers over her. She was probably extra jumpy because of the lack of alcohol flowing through her veins. She waited, holding her breath, but there was nothing more until she finally lay back down. Squeezing her eyes shut she willed her brain to shut down and let her sleep. From the same room came the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards – not heavy or loud, but light.

Kate reached out and turned on the small bedside lamp once more, her heart racing. Someone was upstairs. She listened, not daring to breathe out, and they came again. Definite footsteps they were – walking faster this time. Her hands shaking, she didn’t know what to do. She picked up the phone to dial the police, but her finger hovered over the button. This was her house. She should really go and take a look. It didn’t sound as if it was some six-foot rugby player stomping around, more like a ballet dancer moving gracefully.

She threw back her covers and stepped onto the cold, tiled floor. Shit, it’s freezing. She didn’t dare to put her too big slippers on because of the noise they made, so she picked up the torch from under her pillow and then crossed the room and grabbed the small, wooden baseball bat that she’d got on a holiday years ago. She wasn’t a violent person, but if someone had broken into her house they would get a quick whack on the head for their troubles.

Creeping from her room, she left the door ajar because it creaked loudly as it closed. She made her way to the staircase. She stood at the bottom, listening for any sign of where her intruder could be. Her mobile phone felt heavy yet comforting in her pocket. There was no sound from upstairs so she made her way up, taking each stair one at a time then pausing when she reached the top.

The room above hers was seven doorways down the wide corridor. She shone the torch around and every one – except for that one – was shut. She was tempted to run outside and phone the police, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She’d feel like an idiot when the nice young officer they sent did a check of the gardens and stumbled across her recycling bin. They would think she was running some kind of private drinking club with the amount of empties inside it, then they would ask who lived here and she would have to say ‘just me’. She could feel the look of pity they would give her, burning her soul to the core.

No, it was better for her to have a look around. If she still wasn’t happy she could phone Ollie. No doubt he would come and make sure she was okay. Although she had no idea what his wife would think about her disturbing him at such a late hour. She waited, but couldn’t hear anything. Her heart pounding, she began to walk towards the open door.

Had she shut all the other doors today or had he? They had agreed to keep them all shut to cut down on the draught until the entire house had heating in. She would ask him tomorrow when he came. Tomorrow seemed so far away at this moment in time. The torch felt heavy in her hands and the beam was moving everywhere because she was shaking so much.

Before she knew it she was standing right in front of the door she thought the footsteps had come from. The darkness inside was all-consuming. Come on, Kate, you know the score. There could be some mad axe man waiting in there for you. How many times have you watched the film and screamed at the television for the stupid woman to phone the police or to run? But she couldn’t. She had to check inside that room and prove to herself she wasn’t hallucinating. After all she’d been living here for five weeks now and had never heard anything up until tonight, and then the voice inside her head whispered: You’ve never been sober before tonight. You’re normally comatose by now, oblivious to the world in your wine- or vodka-induced sleep.

Lifting the torch, she shone it directly through the door as if to prove herself wrong. She wasn’t imagining this. Her heart was pumping the blood around her body so loud she could hear the fast thump, thump of it in her ears. The beam shone into the darkness. Her mouth was dry as she moved the torch around and couldn’t see anything. A little braver now, she stepped forward and reached her hand around the door frame, feeling along the wall for the light switch. As her fingers found it she pressed it in and held her breath.

Light flooded the room, the empty room in which a window was still open and the piece of net curtain across it fluttered with the breeze. She smiled to herself, relieved that it was nothing, and then she turned and saw the crosses. Her feet froze to the spot and she let out a shriek. On the wall above the light switch, there were three wooden crosses all hanging in a row. She had been in here earlier and there wasn’t anything on the freshly painted wall then.

How had they got up here? The very first thing she’d done the day she moved her sparse belongings here had been to go around with a cardboard box and take down every single cross and crucifix that had been dotted around the house, because they completely freaked her out. She had then taken the full box outside to the shed around the side of the house, not wanting to throw them away because it didn’t seem the right thing to do. She had quite happily pushed the sellotaped box into the side of the shed and left it there.

So who the fuck had put these up on her freshly painted walls? If they thought it was some kind of a joke they could think again. She crossed the room and slammed the sash window down a little too hard. Minute pieces of wood splintered off and fell to the floor with the impact. Bugger, she needed to be more careful. A whole houseful of new windows wasn’t on her list of priorities. Not until she had to anyway. The plan was to only replace the ones that wouldn’t open or were broken; then the rest would be taken care of when the money started to come in.

She walked over, about to pull the crosses from the wall, when she realised how dark it was outside, how late it was and how no matter how brave she felt she wasn’t walking around to the shed at this time of night. Instead she walked out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her with her trembling hands.

She needed a drink. Turning on the landing light now, she switched off the torch – not wanting to drain the batteries. The upstairs landing looked so much better bathed in light. She would need to have some wall lights fitted or at least a couple of side tables and lamps that were kept on all night so the guests wouldn’t get freaked out by the darkness.

Kate let out a sigh. She’d never even considered anything like this. It was a much bigger project than she’d realised. It wouldn’t be half as stressful if Amy was still here to help her. Hot, salty tears filled her eyes. She missed her friend so much since she’d died six months ago. She didn’t think she’d ever really laughed since. Well not like the pair of them used to – setting the world to rights over a couple of bottles of wine. Amy would say something funny and they would laugh until the tears rolled from their eyes.

Kate wondered if anyone would ever make her laugh like that again. She certainly hadn’t had anything to laugh about lately. She found herself downstairs in the huge kitchen that was an empty shell apart from the fridge, microwave and a battered old pine table with three chairs. She opened the fridge and pulled out the vodka. She didn’t want to sit around drinking a glass of wine. She needed an extra-large shot of something strong that would knock her out.

Grabbing a wine glass off the end of the table where what little cutlery and kitchen essentials she owned were stacked, she filled it to the top with vodka, emptying the bottle. Leaving the bottle on the table she went back to her room, sipping the vodka as she went – not wanting to spill any and waste a single drop.

She left the lamp on. It was staying on. The thought that she should be checking the house filled her mind. She wasn’t that brave. If someone wanted to break in and put up crosses on the wall, they could get on with it. There wasn’t anything apart from the builder’s tools worth stealing. She knew the scratching was probably mice or worse still rats. Ollie would deal with them for her. She might have even imagined the footsteps, because Ethan or Jack had probably put the crosses on the wall before they left for some kind of joke. They weren’t to know that they’d freak her out; in fact it made perfect sense and she convinced herself that was what had happened.

Ollie could deal with those two as well as her vermin problem, and sanity would be restored to her life once more. She looked at her lonely bed. God what she’d give to have someone lying in there waiting to wrap their arms around her. She was so bloody sick of being on her own. As she sat down on the bed, she lifted the glass to her lips, closed her eyes and then drank it down. She began to cough and splutter as the neat vodka burnt its way down her throat, filling her with warmth. Her head began to feel muzzy.

Putting the glass on the bedside table she climbed back in, feeling sick as the room began to spin. She muttered to herself: Too much, Kate. One of these days you’re going to kill yourself – and a part of her wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The last few days she’d get fleeting moments of despair at how much work needed to be done before they could open the house for business, followed by mild anxiety attacks. She’d never been one to suffer with her nerves, but she’d go into certain rooms or parts of the house and her stomach would start to fill with butterflies for no particular reason, which was unsettling her. She’d think about the huge project that she’d taken on and brush the feelings away as anxiety.

She had no one who wanted her. Maybe dying would be the best thing for her – even though the thought of leaving her girls terrified her – and then her eyes closed as she finally fell asleep.

Upstairs the footsteps that had paused continued from room to room, looking for something that had been lost a very long time ago, but Kate was oblivious to it all.

***

Ollie let himself in with the spare key that Kate had given to him. He was much earlier than usual, but he wanted to get the next room finished. He had told himself that if he managed to get two bedrooms up and running, with the bathrooms plumbed in, then maybe Kate could have her daughters over to stay with her.

Martin couldn’t really say no to her now she wasn’t living in those grotty council flats and it might cheer her up, because although she’d never said as much he could tell she was feeling down. If she had her kids to stop it also might mean she would drink a little less. He felt bad for checking up on her, but he counted the empty bottles every morning in the recycling.

It was none of his business what she did and he knew this, but he liked her. If he was honest with himself, there was something about her that he found very attractive and he didn’t want to see her throwing her life away. She had so much to live for – plus he kind of felt responsible for her now he was seeing her every day. The poor woman was even lonelier than him and he’d thought he had it bad.

He’d been surprised to see the same number of bottles as yesterday and was secretly pleased, until he got to the kitchen and saw the empty vodka bottle on the table. Bollocks. He walked down to her room. It wasn’t like her not to already be up and pottering around. Then again he was early and it looked like she’d hit the hard stuff last night.

Lifting his hand to knock on her door, he stopped mid-air. What, are you her father? This is none of your business, Ollie, so keep out of it. Instead he listened at the door for any sign of life. He heard a gentle snore and the bed creak as she moved. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was sleeping in and then he stepped back and walked away.

This was well and truly overstepping the mark. It was beyond their working relationship and he felt like a dirty old man for even thinking about her like that. Instead he went back to the kitchen where he began to make some toast and a pot of tea, banging around loudly and hoping she’d wake up.

As he finished setting the teapot on the table, he turned and jumped to see her standing there yawning. She was wearing a pair of mismatched pyjamas. Her hair was tousled and sticking up and she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on. She looked so sexy. Mortified, he had to turn away before she noticed what a funny shade of red his face had turned.

‘What time is it?’

‘I’m early. It’s only eight o’clock. I thought I’d get started on that second bedroom. I wanted to make a big difference today.’

‘Thanks, Ollie, that’s really kind of you.’ Kate sat down, putting her head in her hands.

Ollie poured her a mug of tea out and passed her some toast. As he reached over he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was the same one his wife had worn. Funny how he’d never noticed that before. Then again he’d never been in such close proximity to Kate in her pyjamas either. Normally they were both covered in plaster dust and muck. She sipped the tea and picked up a slice of toast, nibbling on the corner. She held her head up with one hand. He kept telling himself not to say it, but it came out before he could help himself.

‘Heavy night?’

She looked at him and he saw the faint redness beginning to creep up her neck. He could have kicked himself. It was none of his bloody business what she did so why was he so bothered?

‘Not really, I couldn’t sleep. I tried my best to drift off but then I heard scratching on the wall and I thought I heard noises coming from the bedroom above mine. I had to go and investigate, but there was nothing there.’

‘It’s an old house, Kate. It would make lots of noises anyway as the floorboards settled once the air cooled. With the amount of work we’re doing it’s bound to increase – especially at night when there’s no one banging around up there and you’re here on your own. I never thought to mention it to you.’

She nodded her head. ‘Oh that reminds me: did you leave that bedroom window and door open?’

‘No, I was the last one in. I’m sure of it and I could swear that I shut them both. Why?’

‘They were both wide open when I went up there and it was freezing cold. Oh and I didn’t think the crosses were very funny either.’

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. His first instinct was that she’d been drunk and didn’t know either, but then it bothered him that the window was open. He distinctly remembered closing it because he’d wondered whether or not he should leave it open an inch to air the room out.

‘How wide open was the window?’

She put the mug down and lifted her hands apart quite some distance.

‘I didn’t leave it like that. I’m positive.’

‘Well someone did. It doesn’t matter now. It just gave me a bit of a fright being on my own and sober for the first time in, well, in a long time.’

‘What happened, Kate?’

‘Not much really, well apart from me deciding that I’d not drink and then I couldn’t sleep because of the scratching and noises.’

She leant forward onto her elbows, managing to knock her mug and spill tea all over the table. He jumped up to get some kitchen roll and mop it up.

‘No I mean exactly what happened that caused you to come back down and finish off almost half a bottle of vodka?’

He could have kicked himself. Now she was going to think he was some weirdo who was keeping tabs on her. This was her house and her life. What right did he have to know how much vodka she had left in the bottle or how much she’d drunk? But she never said anything, because he knew that once more he’d put his size eleven foot in it and embarrassed her.

‘I was lying in bed and heard noises from upstairs – well footsteps to be exact – so feeling brave I went up there to see what or who it was. All the other doors were shut except for that one; it was wide open. So I forced my shaking legs to walk down and have a look inside. That’s when I saw the window open and figured the breeze had opened the door, but it doesn’t explain who put those fucking awful crosses on the wall. To tell the truth I was really pissed off about that last night. I spent ages that first afternoon going round collecting them all. Now I don’t want them in my house and if it was some kind of joke, then that’s enough and we can forget about it; but it was all just a bit too freaky at three o’clock in the morning. So can you tell Ethan and Jack no more, please?’

‘First of all I don’t know anything about any crosses. I’ll ask the lads if they do when they get here, but they left before I did. However, most importantly, why didn’t you phone the police? It could have been a burglar or a tramp.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not a complete wimp, and I’m used to all sorts of people – I had no choice living in that flat – and let’s be honest there’s not much to steal, is there?’