Salome: Episode 16
His name is Daniel Muldoon.
Welcome to Episode 14 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 wakes from the dream, but the reality is far worse.
16
I woke the following day to find Father John sitting beside my bed.
“She has risen. Alleluia,” he joked.
“Father,” I said weakly, “Good morning.”
“Afternoon, but you are forgiven.”
The small clock ticked on the wall of the dormitory. Light filtered in through the curtains, the first time I’d seen it in what felt like an eternity. A tray of bread buns and cold bacon graced the sideboard. Father John turned to it and removed a knitted tea cosy before pouring me some tea. “Not very hot,” he mused, studying the absence of steam. “Milk?”
“Please, Father.” My limbs felt dreadfully heavy, aching when as little as a joint flexed. I groaned and winced, trying to sit up.
“That was some ordeal you had,” he said, sitting with the tea cup and saucer on his lap. He held it out to me. “Would you like some breakfast?”
I smiled, but I could not raise my body. Exhaustion. “Ah,” he said, realising. “This will not do.” He put the tea down again and reached for a pillow from the bed beside mine, stuffing it behind my back as he lifted me, sitting me upright. “Enough?”
I nodded. He gently brought the cup to my lips. I drank. It was tepid, but I did not care. I was so thirsty, and unashamed of the loudness of my greedy intake. “Some more?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded and he brought me another cup, and another. I relaxed back into the pillows with a sigh.
“That was the first time, Father… that I felt pain.” I cleared my throat. “Pain in the dream. As though my body fought a storm.” I couldn’t explain it any other way.
“Try to remember what happened, and tell me everything,” he said, sitting back with his arms folded.
I stared at the wall for a moment, my mind unable to retrieve the details. I watched the small hand of the clock as it moved slowly with each minute that passed.
Father John slowly rose from his chair and patted my arm. “I need to give you time. I will send Sister Bridget, and return to you when you are more alert.”
“Father, wait,” I said. “The man I said was coming. He was in my dream.”
Father John smiled. “He is nothing to worry about, Sister.”
“No?”
“No.” Father John chuckled. “Of course, he’s rather arrogant. A law unto himself, but he’s useful.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Daniel Muldoon.”
My fatigue did not linger. Two days later, I was once again undertaking most of my duties, though Mother Hildegard did not push me so hard. I found myself with time on my hands every evening. Free of time, but not of will.
As Catherine started showing signs of recovery, Mother Hildegard began to limit the amount of visitors she could have. I waited until Mother Hildegard had retired to bed, and crept downstairs to pray with Catherine. She never said much, but I could sense that she appreciated my company. I wanted to ask what they were saying to her, what they didn’t want anyone to find out, but she was still very weak. I would wait.
Once, when she was asleep, I slid a small wooden crucifix under her pillow. I felt silly, and immediately wanted to retrieve it and pretend it hadn’t happened, but she began to stir and it was too late to change my mind.
I read some of the English Bible to her—her gently assisting me with occasional words—and we talked of mundane things. I think it was good for us both. I did not mention the ceremony in the library, and I felt sick with treachery as I talked of other things with her.
One night, when I went in there, she was sitting up, more alert than usual. Her eyes, bright and fixed on me with a decidedness I hadn’t seen before, cautioned me to stay by the door.
“What is it?” I whispered.
She said nothing. Her eyes, luminous in the dim light of her room, did not blink.
“Is everything all right, Sister?” I asked.
My stomach lurched. Her slack lips curled, revealing her teeth. Long, sharp teeth, the threads of saliva hanging from the canines as they caught the faint light of the candle. A deep laugh emitted from her mouth, but it was not hers. “She’s dead,” the voice said.
“What?”
“She died for the cause.”
I wanted to reach out and shake her, but fear held me where I was.
“Catherine?” I sounded pitiful.
Laughter again. “Go home, little one.” Little one. My legs buckled. I slumped against the door.
“Release her!”
My blood curdled at the sound of my mother’s voice singing from the open mouth of Sister Catherine. “Lucciola, lucciola…”
“Stop!”
The thing that had her body smiled, its head tilting to the side, eyeing me peculiarly with thick, red lips. It started again with gusto, singing over my pleas. Singing with her voice.
Lucciola lucciola, gialla gialla
metti la briglia alla cavalla
che la vuole il figlio del re
lucciola lucciola vieni con me.
My thoughts buzzed like a swarm of bees, flitting so fast I could catch none of them. I couldn’t breathe. Our eyes met again, hers as cruel as they were intrigued. If it was my mother in there, I could not let her suffer.
“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord—”
Slammed against the door by a force I couldn’t see, I fought to remain standing against the gale. It pinned me in place, its grip squeezing my wrists and ankles as it lifted me off the floor. The beams of the building groaned, the frame of her bed lifting and rattling, shaking the walls.
“Leave!” it said.
“And let perpetual light shine upon them!” I cried in defiance. My feet returned to the floor.
With speed and efficiency honed by my training, I leapt for the crucifix on the nearest wall, holding it up to the creature. It screamed, the same unnatural voice screeching at the back of Sister Catherine’s throat. It lunged from the bed, hands grasping for my neck.
“And let perpetual light shine upon them!” I shouted again, my voice steadier even as my legs began to shake from the adrenaline, and—
It stopped. It wailed from behind its hands, shielding its eyes from the light. A light of what origin I could not discern, but it was with me.
“May they rest in peace. Amen.”
Catherine collapsed. I ran to her and lifted her limp form back into the bed. Her eyes, darkened with fatigue, were closed, but I thanked God that she was breathing. I turned to look at the door, and that’s when I saw it.
A bright light blocked my reflection in the mirror. I moved closer to the washstand until I could see clearer.
My eyes. The light was within my eyes.
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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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Wow -great ending to this one.