Salome: Episode 18

Catherine leaves in the dead of night.

Welcome to Episode 18 of Salome. This is a Gothic Horror novel set in the 1880s and introduces Sister Salome, a young Italian nun who will appear in the 3rd Muldoon book. I started this serial to help you get to know her before the events of the next novel.

Salome suspects her friend is working against The Order.

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18

I woke up in my dormitory, distinctively hearing her cry. I looked about the dimly lit room, and I could make out the shapes of my sleeping sisters. Only my bed was empty. Instinct, or my embarrassment of bumping into Mr Muldoon in my nightgown once, compelled me to put my habit on before investigating further. Slipping my shoes on, I took the candle out to the corridor.

“Sister?” I whispered. No response.

I slowly approached the landing of the second floor, the small shrine standing against the wall in darkness. Why was it so dark? Even the moon offered no illumination through the barely-drawn curtains.

I looked around, checking the corridor behind me. Nothing. The candle had no more than an inch of use left, and I could see no others nearby. Frustrated, I turned to descend the staircase and look for her in my old room.

The door was open, the bed unmade. I looked for her on the first-floor landing where there was a clock. Three o’clock in the morning. I went to the window that overlooked the courtyard. No signs of life apart from Jethro sitting on the back wall.

The wax of the candle caught my thumb, almost causing me to drop it with the shock of the pain. I implored to remain focused, and went downstairs.

The front door was open.

“Follow her.”

Mother Hildegard stood behind me on the staircase, fully dressed in her habit. The shadows obscured her face until she reached out her hand and made me give her the candle.

I looked at her helplessly, but she was unmoved. It was an order, not a request.

I went out into the street, Mother Hildegard peering out of the open doorway. She pointed to the top of Norfolk Street. “That way,” she said quietly. She must have seen her leave from the vantage point of her office window. It was a still night, with thick clouds shrouding the moon, but I was grateful for the streetlamps.

I rushed on, reaching Jamaica Street quickly. The night was not cold, but I shivered uncontrollably as I walked. I saw her waifish frame wandering past the church until she reached the end of the road, turning right. I stalked, ready to hide behind the nearest wall or post if she should turn, but she never did. We kept walking.

She led me up the hill to the cemetery, the gate open just enough for her to pass through. I stopped for a moment, heart thumping in my chest. Should I have gone back to Mother Hildegard? Or should I have continued to follow Catherine? My breath shortened, my face sweating as I listened to my own raspy inhales and exhales. The panic grew, preventing me from opening my lungs as far as I needed. I forced myself to suppress it, steadying my shaking hand on the railing. I did not want to go any further, and yet duty compelled me to see this through.

The silence of this resting place struck me with a melancholy, the ivy clinging to the stone angels and marble headstones. No wind passed through the trees, but I felt the need to hold myself as I crept behind her. Occasionally ducking behind great headstones, I could study her more closely. She was wearing only a nightgown, but she did not appear to feel the cool air of the night. Her bare feet snapped twigs as she walked. She passed a tall sandstone monument in the centre of the graveyard. It was exposed, and although well over ten feet high, I could not get to it without stepping out from the headstones and trees. I scurried behind it, not letting the heels of my shoes touch the stone slabs on the floor. Fortunately, she showed no sign of suspecting my presence. I held my breath, worried that the illusion of her isolation would break with one clumsy noise. I steadied myself, letting the air leave silently before trying to inhale. I shook my head. My heart beat furiously in my chest as I looked around the side of the stone monument again. She was still walking toward the back of the cemetery. I looked up at the black walls surrounding us. We were so deep in the ground, the townhouses on the streets above seeming so high. Too far away to call for help. I squinted in the dark as I brought my eyes back to where she was.

Catacombs. She was opening the gate to one of them. The high creak of its hinges echoed, bouncing off every high wall of this place.

No, I thought, the icy tingle of fear brushing its fingers along the back of my neck. I crouched down behind another headstone, thinking of what to do next.

Fear struck my heart when I heard the wail, echoing from the tombs beneath. The unmistakable wail of a child. There was a child in there. My shock, my fear, my curiosity, and my concern for the child mingled, bringing me back to my senses.

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.

I gripped the edge of the mossy stone with a trembling hand, and I forced myself to stand. She had gone in there, and I would follow.

My heart stopped when a hand covered my mouth, another pulling me away.

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If you’re enjoying Salome, you really would enjoy The Muldoon Mysteries series. There are currently two books (standalones) in this series. Click the image below to find out more about them, and find them on Tiny Worlds.

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