A scream jolted me awake. I shot up in bed, still dazed from sleep. Darkness surrounded me, not even a peep of light coming through the curtains. I glanced to see what time it was, but couldn’t find my neon clock. Muffled sounds came from the other side of the wall, drawing my attention to it. I slipped out of bed and placed my ear to the wall. It felt cold and rough, nothing like my smooth wallpaper. Confused, I ran a hand over the surface, touching stone, not the floral print I knew should be there.
Talking started up. I couldn’t hear what was being said, other than it didn’t sound like my parents, which made no sense, considering I had no other siblings.
I headed for the door, wondering whether my parents had brought some visitors home. I opened the door quietly and peeked around the corner, what I saw freezing me. At the other end of the passage was a massive stained-glass image of the Virgin Mary standing on a crystal-blue sea. She was clutching a blue rosary in one hand and cradling a star in the other, the moonlight from outside illuminating her. My stunned gaze moved to the Virgin’s face, transfixed by what appeared to be tears running down her glassy cheeks.
The sound of sobbing pulled my attention away from the glass Madonna. I remained still for a few heartbeats, still stunned by my surroundings. The sobbing picked up, some no’s thrown in. Although confused and scared, I ventured forward, following the sobs to the next room. I stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, so different from what should be there. I placed a hand on the doorknob, wondering whether I was dreaming, though the cold metal in my hand felt real.
Almost scared to make a sound, I turned the knob and pushed the door open a fraction, peering through the gap, what I saw shocking me. Lying on top of a woman was a priest, his hitched-up robes revealing far too much. He was holding the woman’s hands down, forcing himself onto her.
I flung the door open fully and screamed, “Get off her!” horrified by what I was seeing.
The priest’s head whipped around to me, making me gasp. It was Christopher’s grandfather, but younger. Yet that wasn’t what shocked me.
He had bright red eyes.
He pushed off the woman, his red eyes narrowing at me. Something within them flickered, like a flame ready to ignite a fire. Then he lunged at me. I screamed and took off, running down the hallway, which seemed to have grown significantly. It was much longer than the one in my home, with no soft carpet beneath my feet or floral paper decorating the walls. Just cold and barren, the stone floor freezing.
I glanced back, spotting the red-eyed priest standing outside the room, his flowing black cassock now sweeping his ankles. It was different from the robes that the priests wore at my church, much older in style, only the white collar the same.
Reprebus raised his hand and started chanting over a red rosary in his other hand. Without warning, I was yanked back a few feet and spun around to face him, an unseen force compelling me against my will. I tried to move away, but all my limbs locked into place. It was as though I’d looked into Medusa’s eyes, the supernatural force turning me to stone.
He lifted his hand higher. A red mark was at its centre, reminding me of Christ’s bloodied hands after he’d been nailed to the cross. The mark grew in size, flickering into a flame. Words similar to Italian started falling from his lips. As he said the last word, a fireball erupted from his hand, shooting straight at me.
I screamed and frantically tried to rip myself free, my body still locked in place. The fireball grew closer, the heat only seconds away from searing my flesh. Unable to escape, or even lift my hands to shield my face, I screamed again, knowing I was dead.
But nothing happened.
No burning pain, only warmth.
The fireball had stopped a few inches away from my face, frozen in space, not even a flicker of movement. My stunned gaze swept past it, landing on the woman from the bedroom. Now dressed in a nun’s habit, she was standing in the doorway, glaring at Reprebus. She looked a bit like me, or more accurately my mum, the resemblance uncanny. Just a younger version, with sharper cheekbones. I hadn’t noticed the resemblance when she’d been under Reprebus, his freaky eyes having demanded my attention, but now... Whoever she was, she was clearly related to me.
The nun continued chanting in the language that Reprebus had spoken. Like me, he appeared frozen to the spot. But unlike me, he slowly started moving, almost as though he was thawing out. Then his left hand lit up in flame, a fireball forming in the palm of his hand. I let out a high-pitched scream as he threw it at the nun. She flung up her arms to protect herself, but the flames engulfed her, taking hold of her clothes and hair, ripping into her flesh. My scream turned into hers, the sound piercing.
Without warning, the stained-glass behind them exploded, almost as if her scream had shattered it. But instead of just glass spraying over them, a great wave of water came bursting through the window. It swept Reprebus and the burning nun up in a massive wave of glass and water, hurtling them towards me.
Instinctively, I turned to run, the ghostly hold finally freeing me. I screamed as the wave ploughed into me, knocking me onto my front. I curled up into a ball and covered my face as the broken shards of glass bit into my flesh.
Then it ceased as quickly as it had started.
I stopped screaming and opened my eyes, finding myself lying on my bed. Confused and disorientated, I turned to my curtains. The early morning sunlight was breaking through the slit, its warm rays dancing across my legs. Unable to process the abrupt change, I glanced around my room, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. The wallpaper was as it should be—smooth and floral. And while I was drenched, it was with sweat, not water. Yet my ears still echoed my screams. I looked at my vanity mirror, seeing my terrified gaze reflected back at me. It was smooth and undamaged, with not one cut on my face.
My door flew open, Mum bursting into my room. She was dressed in her nightie and dressing gown, with a serious case of bed hair.
“What’s wrong, Catherine?” she asked, heading for me, her expression worried. “I heard screaming.”
“I had a nightmare.” I breathed out. “Just a nightmare.”