Page 290 of Sinister

“N-No. She barely knows how to read English,” her mother answers.

“I see.”

“Malelī ‘emi,” Claire growls and pushes against her chains to reach me.

I pull back. “I do not suppose she speaks Aramaic either.”

“N-no . . .”

“I see. Please step outside.” Turning to Sister Mary, I ask her to accompany them to another room and serve them supper.

The door closes behind them, and I am left alone with Claire . . . or the entity possessing her. I am still not certain it is a possession case. We once had a boy pretend to speak Latin, too. He’d found an old Bible and had memorized lines.

His parents had been sure he was possessed, but after a closer examination, it was clear he was just trying to gain their attention.

“We are alone now. I will talk to you, Claire.”

Father Benedict lives at the outskirts of the town. It shouldn’t take him more than twenty minutes to reach the convent via horseback. Until then, I can proceed with my assessment to give him the information he needs on how to proceed.

Claire stares at me for a moment before she starts laughing. It starts off as a chuckle that turns into a full-bodied mocking laugh.

“Is everything all right at home? How are your parents treating you?” I ask as I continue to clean her up. I avoid looking into her eyes. Even though this might prove not to be a possession case, there is something quite unsettling about her.

“I don’t want to talk about them,” she answers in a fluid, self-assured English. “I would much rather talk about you.” Her accent is odd.

Based on the appearance of her parents, I would think them low to middle class, and as such, I would expect the language to match that. From the brief interaction I had with them, I could tell they were not exactly learned people.

But the way Claire speaks? Completely different. Something you would expect to hear from a noble, not a teenage girl from the colonies.

“And why do you want to talk about me?” I smile.

“Plum misses you,” she says with a huge grin on her face.

My hand falters. My heart stops in my chest as I stare at her in shock. “W-What?”

“He says hello.”

I back away, bumping into the bowl of water. It crashes onto the floor with a thud. “How do you know that?”

No one knows that. No one.

Plum was the nickname I’d given to my stillborn child. He’d been born dead, his face purple like a plum. He’d looked so beautiful, so peaceful. And although I’d already been at the convent, I had not been allowed to get him baptized.

Some of the sisters who helped me give birth know about him, but they do not know the nickname I gave him.

“I know a lot more.” She laughs. “Just as I know your beloved Elroy is in hell.”

“W-what?” I whisper.

“They’re both in hell. Waiting for you. And I will be the one to personally drag you there.”

I keep backing away. Her chains jiggle as Claire strains against them. Her face becomes mottled with anger as she screams at me.

When she sees how spooked I am, she bursts out in laughter again.

I reach for the door, scrambling to open it and get out.

“Run! Run! RUN!” she yells at me as I hurry into the hall.