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

There were some crumpled boxes shoved into one corner and she pushed one open with the tip of her torch. Inside were piles of old leather Bibles and psalm books. Whoever had lived here must have been a travelling Bible salesman. The thought made her smile. Either that or some kind of religious fanatic. She wondered what the previous owner would have made of a woman buying this house all on her own. She did the same with the next box, which had an old, wooden cigar box inside it. She pulled it out to take a closer look.

Oliver was studying the holes in the roof and had dragged a wooden trunk over that he could stand on to get a better look. Kate opened the cigar box and smiled to see a thick, navy blue book with gold edges on the pages and the word ‘Diary’ stamped in gold on the front. She picked it up, wondering who it had belonged to and if whoever it was had loved this house the way that she did.

Across the room, Oliver was making lots of ‘ah’ noises. She stood up and walked towards him. Halfway across the huge, open space she heard the sharp sound of scratching coming from one of the darkened corners and paused. Her heart began to race. Oh God. Mice she didn’t mind, but that sounded loud. Too loud to be a mouse. She’d die if the house came with resident rats.

She waited and listened to see if it happened again. Relieved that it didn’t she put it down to a bird or maybe one of those nuisance grey squirrels that everyone kept saying were vermin, but that she found cute. She could cope with mice, birds and even squirrels. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that bigger things with long tails and sharp teeth could be behind the noise. That way it wouldn’t be true, would it? She reached Oliver and shone her torch at the gaping hole, not really understanding what he was finding so fascinating about it.

‘So here’s the big question: what do I need to have fixed first and would you be willing to come and work for me full-time?’

He stepped down off the trunk. ‘The roof. You need to make the building waterproof before you even think about doing anything else in here. As keen as you are to get started, if we don’t seal these holes you might as well take your money and throw it on a bonfire.’

‘Can you do it for me, or if not do you know someone who could?’

‘I can do it. I’ve got a few jobs on for Martin, but they’re only small so I can make a start. I know a couple of lads who’ll labour for cash, but this isn’t going to be cheap, Kate.’

‘I know, don’t worry. I have the money. I’ll pay you a lump sum up front and the rest on completion. Can you draw me up some plans or do I need an architect?’

‘It’s up to you. I know a very good architect if you’d like me to give him a ring and get him to come out for a site visit. I can’t really give you a proper price until it’s all been taken into consideration.’

They made their way back downstairs and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn’t like the attic as much as the rest of the house. Even though it was open in places it felt as if the air was much heavier up there. She was sure once the roof had been fixed and there was working electricity it wouldn’t feel so dark and oppressive. Back on the ground floor she went back to the large room, which was off the huge room she assumed had been the lounge. It was in pretty good condition. The windows in here weren’t broken and the floor had no holes in it.

‘Please can you take these boards off for me now? I want to see what this room looks like in the daytime. I might have to set up camp in here until there’s a room upstairs ready.’

‘Kate, are you being serious? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you really can’t live here, in this house, with it in this condition.’

‘Yes I am – and why can’t I? As far as I can see it only needs a couple of new windows, doors, electrics and the roof fixed. It looks structurally sound. You said so yourself. The rest is all cosmetic work.’

‘I did, but it’s a wreck. It hasn’t been lived in for how long? There’s no heating or hot water. How will you manage?’

‘I have a bed, sofa, camping stove and a cool box. I’ll be fine; I might look like a complete wuss, but I can assure you that I’m not. I’m not saying I’ll like it, but I’m desperate to get started and I can’t stop in that flat another day. If I check into some hotel while I’m waiting for a room to be ready I’m wasting money, far too much money. I can be clearing up whilst I’m here and getting on with jobs that aren’t too difficult.’

‘Well you’re braver than I am. I like my home comforts too much.’

‘Yes, well so did I, but since Martin decided to take away everything I had I’ve sort of got used to doing without. Except for the wine – I can’t do without that. My life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t have a glass or two to numb the pain.’

She started to laugh and he joined in, only they both knew that she meant it. Although she would never admit it to anyone, Kate knew she was an alcoholic. It had all stemmed from her teenage years of drinking every weekend down the park with her friends, then when she was old enough nights out in the pub. It got even worse after her miserable marriage to Martin, when he would tell her he was working late and she knew he was out wining and dining his latest conquest.

Then the shock of Amy’s terminal cancer diagnosis had been the thing to tip her over the edge and turn her into a full-blown, can’t get through the day without a drink alcoholic. Maybe one day when this place was finished and her life looked as if it might get back on track, she would get some help to tackle it. For now she would try her best not to drink too much, even cut it down to one bottle a night instead of the usual two.

‘That’s emotional blackmail, making me feel sorry for you – you know that, don’t you? Right then, I’ll take these boards off and we’ll see what we can do. Where’s your stuff?’

‘Back at the flat. I’ll have to find someone to help me bring my bed and clothes here. I don’t think they’ll fit on the back of my pushbike.’

‘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.