Page 291 of Sinister

Sister Mary meets me outside. “I heard⁠—”

“We need to wait for Father Benedict. No one is to go inside until he comes here.”

“But—”

“No one, Sister Mary. Not even her parents.”

“All right.”

I go into the main hallway, pacing around restlessly as I replay her words in my head.

Every morning, I wake up thinking of Plum and Elroy. And every day, I fight against the urge to end it all and join them.

Now, though? I feel as if my chest is being split open, and someone is squeezing my heart in their fist.

Good God . . . Elroy in hell? No, I cannot let her words get to my head. This is what demons do, they lie and cheat, trying to get under your skin until they can manipulate you with your fears.

And yet . . .

A sob escapes me as I bury my face in my hands, the tears flowing freely.

My dear Elroy, how I miss you. If only you hadn’t left me. If only you had not died . . . Perhaps Plum would have survived, too.

We’d be together and . . .

The door to the convent opens, and Father Benedict steps inside. He has a worn leather bag slung over one shoulder.

“I got your message,” he states matter-of-factly. But as he notices my red nose and tear-stained eyes, his expression turns to one of concern. “What happened?”

“The girl . . . she speaks in tongues, and she . . . knows things.”

He purses his lips. “Show me the way.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for another encounter with her—with that demon.

As we get to the chamber, Father Benedict enters first. I follow, as is the custom.

Claire takes one look at him and guffaws.

“Fools! All of you! You are fools if you think you can win against me.”

More rattling of chains as she pulls forward, straining to reach Father Benedict.

He doesn’t pay her any mind. Instead, he opens his bag and starts lining up his items: a wooden crucifix, the Rituale Romanum, Saint Benedict medal, a bottle of holy water, chrism oil, and lastly, his purple stole.

He places the purple stole around his shoulders, and as he gets ready to begin the ritual, a strange sound erupts in the room.

It’s a low screech that becomes louder and louder with each passing second. The whites of Claire’s eyes become black, and as she opens her mouth, she reveals a bloody tongue as she spits out a handful of teeth.

“We shall begin,” Father Benedict speaks. I nod, though a shudder wracks through my body.

We both kneel around the bed and make the sign of the cross before chanting the Litany of the Saints.

Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis

Sancte Michael Archangele, ora pro nobis

Omnes sancti et sanctae Dei, orate pro nobis