Curse of the Nun Read online

  THIS IS A DELIVERY MINDS, LLC BOOK

  PUBLISHED BY DELIVERY MINDS, LLC

  Cover design and edited by: Charles Peterson and Delivery Minds, LLC

  Text design by: Delivery Minds, LLC

  Designated by: Delivery Minds, LLC

  FIRST EDITION

  Copyright 2019 Delivery Minds, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the authors.

  Printed in the United States

  This edition published 2019 by Delivery Minds, LLC Press, Scottsdale, AZ

  ISBN: 978-1-7340568-0-8 (eBook Edition)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Bonus Materials

  Deleted Scenes

  Behind the Scenes' Images

  Prologue:

  KK rolled his shoulders a little to ease the tension in them. He pulled up the bulky headphones from their position around his neck before turning on the recorder. His ears immediately filled with the soft hiss of static from the recorder’s audio. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in jeans and gray flannel over a dark t-shirt, headphones mashing his unruly hair back to his head where it escaped from under his baseball cap. The room around him looked simple, ordinary; a bedroom like any other. Nothing there that should inspire the sense of nervous anticipation running up his spine.

  KK knew better.

  There was a history to the land here, older and darker than the visual of the plain bedroom around him could ever hope to convey. His attention was split between the ouija board spread out on the comforter in front of him and the EMF reader lying next to it. He knew better than to believe the facade of normality around him; but knowing and proof were very different things.

  This time he was going to leave with that proof.

  “Sister Catherine, I come on behalf of the devil,” KK said, adjusting the volume higher on his headphones.

  He’d done enough homework, to know that provocation was dangerous, but a sense of desperation had driven him to recklessness. He needed something to happen. He would make something happen.

  “We will take and burn this holy land,” KK taunted. “You are an enemy of Satan and will face hellfire if you do not cooperate.”

  Only the static of silence greeted him from his headphones.

  “I know you’re here!” He shouted.

  Nothing. Not even the faintest feeling of being watched.

  KK turned his head, scanning the room for any sign that his words had caught the attention of something. He waited, hoping patience might pay off where provocation had failed. He took soft, shallow breaths, straining to hear any voice that might come through the recorder. His gaze flicked from the room to the board, the EMF reader, and back again. The device registered a baseline of 0.0 mG. The bedroom remained ordinary. Empty.

  Disappointment curled in his gut as long moments passed. He had been so sure that it would work this time. KK’s shoulders sagged as he sighed dejectedly. He reached out and stopped recording, pulling his headphones off and dropping them back around his neck. Time to pack up and go. It seemed that Sister Catherine had no interest in playing his game tonight. KK leaned forward to begin packing away his equipment. He pulled off his headphones completely and laid them on the bed to avoid tangling himself in the cord. He moved to fold up the ouija board first.

  His fingers had just curled around the edge of the board when the planchet flew across the surface to the word “No.” The EMF reader lying next to it suddenly jumped from 0 to 2 mG.

  “Sister Catherine? Can you hear me?” KK asked, torn between hesitation and hope.

  The EMF meter fluctuated wildly, lighting up and beeping erratically every time it spiked past 5 mG. KK felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, the atmosphere around him suddenly heavy and oppressive. The persistent normality of the bedroom now seemed almost uncanny, as if it was too normal to be trusted. KK flinched a little at a prolonged tonal beep from the EMF meter before it flatlined back to 0 mG.

  KK reached out for it, unsettled by its sudden silence.

  “Sister Catherine, are you—”

  The EMF reader was ripped violently away from his fingers as an unseen force sent it and the ouija board flying across the room. The sound of heavy, rattling breaths filled the silence in the wake of the resulting clatter. Fear spidered up the back of KK’s neck as he raised his eyes to the figure standing in front of the bed. Sister Catherine wore a nun’s habit that seemed to be made of draping shadows as much as cloth. Her face was obscured by darkness, but KK could feel her rage bleeding into the air around him.

  “Shit,” he muttered softly. “Too far.”

  She wasn’t moving, a frozen image at the foot of the bed, just watching him. Waiting to see what he would do next. He knew that he needed to get out of there, his animal hindbrain screaming at him to leave everything behind and just run.

  He couldn’t run though. Not if he wanted proof.

  “I was just trying to get your attention,” KK said in the most placating tone he could manage around the lump of fear in his throat.

  A faint noise hissed out of his discarded headphones and KK scrambled to put them back on. A gruff, dark voice rasped over the static background: “Out…out..out.”

  KK moved slowly, leaning over the edge of the bed towards where his backpack sat, trying not to take his eyes off the sinister figure in front of him if he could possibly help it. A lamp on the bedside table crashed to the floor, narrowly missing him as he jerked upright, bag in hand.

  “Just getting my things,” KK said nervously.

  The chanting grew louder through the headphones. “Out…Out…OUT!”

  He fumbled discreetly for his phone and felt a hot surge of triumph as his fingers closed around it. He kept his face still. He was going to get his proof. He thumbed over to the camera function with a furtive glance then swiftly brought the phone up to snap a picture.

  Sister Catherine’s face was illuminated, inhuman eyes set in a pallid face covered by a tracery of ink-like veins. Her shadow-bruised mouth dropped open impossibly wide as she let out a screech that KK felt down to his bones before she abruptly vanished. He looked down hastily to check the picture and muttered a few choice words under his breath. The room was there, but Sister Catherine was not. He grimaced as he picked up the audio recorder and realized he hadn’t been recording. He turned it back on with a huff of frustration.

  “Sister Catherine?” He called out again.

  The sound of his own racing heartbeat was all he heard in response.

  “Give me something,” he demanded. “Anything!”

  The feeling of unreality still permeated the room, but no further sign of Sister Catherine’s spirit manifested. KK switched off the recorder and packed up. He mentally berated himself for the missed opportunity and the perversity of spirits only showing up when his equipment was off. He opened the bedroom door to the hallway and with a last, unhappy look over his shoulder stepped through.

  KK walked out of the closet on the opposite side of the bedroom and stopped dead in disbelief.

  He looked betwee
n the closet and the door he had left through in confusion, trying to make sense of what happened. He’d gone out through the door in front of him. He knew he had.

  “What the hell?” KK whispered, alarm sinking in.

  He bolted for the bedroom door again only to be spat back out through the closet. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. He panted frantically, his mouth gone dry from the fear that had hooked itself deep into his chest, and headed for the window. KK opened it to feel the chill, night air rushing in from the neighborhood beyond. He looked between the nearby houses for signs of their occupants.

  “Hello? Somebody?” He yelled desperately. “HELP!”

  All the surrounding houses were dark. No one could hear him. The clawing need to get out by any means possible had supplanted any previous desire for his proof. The door wasn’t an option anymore but the window might work. He was on the second story of the house and the darkened yard was several feet more below him than he was really comfortable thinking about. KK swung his legs over the windowsill in preparation to jump. The fall would probably hurt, he knew, but anything was better than staying where he was. He tossed his backpack out ahead of him and felt his heart stutter in his chest as he heard it tumble through the closet door again behind him.

  “Oh no.”

  KK sat there for the briefest moment, half in and half out of the window, as it began to dawn on him just how much trouble he was really in. The ice-cold impact of Sister Catherine’s hands propelled him forward.

  KK stumbled through the closet door, arms flailing wildly as his brain tried to orient itself to the sudden shift in reality. He didn’t get a chance to regain his balance before Sister Catherine’s hand closed hard around the back of his neck. She slammed his head sharply against the wooden frame of the closet and KK dropped to the ground, ears ringing from the blow and spots flickering in front of his eyes.

  He blinked at the ceiling, dazed and prone on the floor. Sister Catherine’s shadow-draped form walked away from him towards the bedroom door as a force latched onto his feet and flung him across the floor back into the closet. The room spat him back out the bedroom door directly into the ghostly nun’s path. Her foot crashed down hard on his chest, an impossible, immeasurable weight pinning him down. KK wheezed desperately against the pressure, fumbling in his pocket for something to defend himself. Sister Catherine loomed over him, a glint of silver in her right hand catching his attention. It was a crucifix, its base sharpened into a point like a sacrificial dagger. She held it raised over her head and swung her hand downwards, intent to end his life. KK managed to free the pentacle from his pocket and held it up in front of his face as a meager shield, eyes screwed shut as he braced himself for the impending pain.

  Nothing.

  Cautiously, KK opened one eye, then the other.

  His own hands, trembling as they held up the large pendant, were the only things in his immediate line of view. He struggled into a seated position and looked around the empty room. His ears were still ringing from the blow to the head and it took him a moment to really register the sound of his discarded EMF meter. It lay on the floor where it had been flung out of his hands, emitting a shrill, electronic tone each time it registered a fluctuation above 5 mg. The beeping was regular and measured, like a heartbeat.

  KK swallowed heavily and clutched the pentacle a little tighter, drawing it closer to his chest.

  Cold fingers wrapped around his face and KK screamed, scrambling away from the hand as terror consumed him. An unseen force gripped his ankles, dragging him across the floor and towards the bed. KK’s frantic pleas were downed out by the constant screech of the EMF meter. His fingers dug into the carpet. He could feel his nails ripping as he tried futilely to drag himself away from whatever was pulling at him.

  KK vanished beneath the bed. His world became a blinding wash of pain, every nerve on fire from the inside out. The only noise was a desperate, high keen of an animal being devoured. He couldn’t even recognize it as his own voice.

  As swiftly as it started, KK was flung back out the far side of the bed and slammed hard against the wall. He stayed sprawled there for a moment, his breathing labored as he failed to pull enough oxygen into his burning lungs. He coughed hard, a metallic taste falling thick across his tongue. A dark red smear of blood stained his palm and dripped down his chin as he pulled his hand away. KK stared at it in something close to bemusement, shock setting in swiftly as his vision started to close in around him.

  “Definitely too far,” he choked out as blackness rose up to claim him.

  Chapter 1:

  Anna Winter dashed down the driveway, rain dampening her dark hair and soaking through her black clothes. Mike and Claire were loading a few more boxes into the moving van as she hurried to retrieve their lunch. Thunder rumbled in the distance, ominous and oppressive. Joke’s on the universe, she thought. One more night and they were gone from this place. A brighter, better future than she could have ever imagined for herself was just another sundown away. She tried to ignore the intrusive feeling that it wasn’t something she deserved. The ugliness was behind her now; it was time to move forward. For Claire’s sake if nothing else.

  She splashed to a halt next to the car at the bottom of the long driveway. The magnetic sign affixed to the top garishly declared its purpose to any who cared to notice.

  “That’ll be twenty-nine-oh-nine,” the pizza man drawled, handing over the box with a look that Anna couldn’t quite decipher.

  Anna hunched over it slightly to protect the cardboard from the rain as best as she could. Trying not to feel like she was being judged, she handed over two bills and a handful of change from the pockets of her dark clothes.

  “Thanks,” she called over her shoulder as she turned to make the dash back up the driveway to the moving van.

  She was halfway there when the voice of the delivery driver stopped her.

  “Wait!”

  She turned around, still trying her best to keep the majority of the rain off of the pizza box, and gave the driver an impatient look. The chill of damp fabric clung to her skin, setting off goosebumps. Anna fought against the desire to shiver.

  “This is twenty-one-oh-six. I said twenty-one-oh-nine,” the driver said.

  Really? He was going to give her a hard time over that?

  “It’s three cents,” she said incredulously.

  The driver just shrugged and continued to look at her expectantly.

  “I don’t have three cents,” Anna declared.

  What Anna did have was a hungry family and rapidly declining patience. She was wet, tired, and beyond ready for this day to be over. The driver didn’t appear to have any sympathy and merely shrugged again, dismissive. She’d been on the receiving end of looks like that often enough in her youth and her temper flared hotly.

  Anna reached into her pocket, scowling, and pulled her hand back out with her middle finger raised. She gave him her best sarcastic smile as she flipped him off. Anna turned and sprinted the rest of the way up the driveway, ignoring his annoyed shouts behind her. Asshole, she thought scathingly.

  Mike and Claire were sitting in the back of the truck as she approached, voices overlapping as they cheered her on.

  “Hurry, Mommy!”

  “C’mon, honey, don’t let the pizza get wet.”

  Anna triumphantly climbed into the back of the van, handing the pizza over to Mike, who took it from her with an amused smile.

  “Your makeup, Mommy,” Claire giggled, pointing at Anna’s face.

  Anna didn’t need a mirror to know that the rain had finally gotten to the heavy mascara around her eyes, which was now smudged down her cheeks in places. If the delivery driver hadn’t insisted on being so fucking pedantic about three cents she might have avoided looking like someone had tried to drown her. Still, she smiled indulgently at her daughter, swiping a finger through the smudges and motioning in her direction.

  “What’s so funny? You wa
nt some?” Anna teased, mock-threatening with her makeup-smeared finger as the ten-year-old shrieked delightedly and tried to scramble away.

  She caught Claire with her other arm and dragged her close, pressing a noisy kiss to the girl’s cheek instead. Claire would never have to deal with a world that was indifferent to her pain and problems. Not like Anna had growing up.

  Mike chuckled to himself, watching them with obvious affection as he opened the pizza box to retrieve the first of the hard-earned slices. Outside the rain drove down harder, showing no signs of letting up. Anna hoped they wouldn’t have to move the last of the boxes in the rain tomorrow. Never mind dealing with the extra clean up that wet shoes would require. She did her best to shake off the black mood she felt creeping up on her and reached for a slice of her own.

  They made short work of the large pizza, ravenous after the day of packing and loading boxes. Anna held Claire close against her, running her fingers through the lighter hair that was nothing like hers. In many ways, she was thankful that Claire seemed to be nothing like her; Anna wanted so much better for her daughter than what her own life had been.

  “Packing all done?” Anna asked Mike as he finished off the last slice.

  “Think so,” Mike replied, surveying the already loaded boxes with a satisfied look. “All except for what we’ll be using tonight.”

  “Thank God,” Anna decreed fervently. “I can’t believe your aunt let us stay here this long.”

  Mike was a wonderful, charming person and one of the sweetest people Anna had ever met. His aunt on the other hand was, in Anna’s firm opinion, a bitch.

  The first time they met, Donna had openly accused her of being a gold digger and using Mike as her “golden ticket out of the slums for her and her daughter.” Mike had been furious and it had strained his relationship with his aunt for a good while.

  It’s not like Anna hadn’t understood where Donna was coming from. Anna had never made much of a secret of her past, and it certainly wasn’t pretty. Messed up childhood; bounced from foster home to foster home with her sister, and a previous marriage that could only politely be called disastrous. Then, of course, there was the other thing. So yes, Anna could understand Donna’s concerns about her nephew’s choice of wife. The thing that really pissed Anna off was Donna’s refusal to get to know her and let Anna prove that she was more than the sum of her past mistakes.