The Nameless Thing

A group of nuns and orphans turn to a dark path.

The Nameless Thing

 

I. Odd Winter

 

            It had never snowed that hard at the orphanage before; ice cold winds swirled large chunks of hail against the multi colored windows of the chapel. The rough breeze blowing through the old trees made a hellish howl that began to give an unsettling feeling to the residing nuns; a storm this heavy was certainly abnormal enough but the sounds were almost unbearable and surly unholy. One of the concerned nuns who resided in that section of the tall and ancient church converted mansion began simmering soup for the girl’s supper in the kitchen in an effort to gather the girls for an exchange of comfort.

            Most of the other worried girls were already in the supper hall sitting and waiting to be fed.  By the time the supper was prepared, all ten and the last two staff members not including the high priestess were sat and ready.

            Supper was poured into each of the girl’s bowls; globs of thick yellowish hot sludge falling into each as the cook nun went around serving each girl systematically. Heavy steam roared from each bowl. Some of the girls tried to place their tiny tongues onto the mush but would quickly coil them back into their mouths as soon as it got too hot.

            Silence then filled the room as all the women of the orphanage waited for the winter air in the room to cool down their meals.

            The high priestess sat at the head of the table; her silver hair was her only visible feature besides her hands. Her face always remained hidden in the back of the hood to her black cloak. Though you could never truly see her, she was always watching.

            This time, she was watching the front door and suddenly there was a hard knock. She smiled.

            All the girls turned their heads to the door; the back of all their long haired heads pointing towards the high priestess who remained still.

The mother superior turned and waited for a second knock in disbelief of the first one. Then, two more even harder knocks followed and the mother superior stood to answer the door.

The front door creaked as it opened and on the other side stood a group of military men. The one who stood closest to the door was very composed as if unbothered by the harsh cold. He was close enough that the mother superior could see into his eyes. He had a hardened war stare; lifeless cold blue eyes, a void where not even the devil could reside.

            They were lost.,low on supplies and were looking for shelter for the night to get away from the storm. The blue eyed soldier shifted his stair into a gentle one and began to move in closer towards the mother superior until he was only one step away from the inside of the orphanage.

            He was charming and the mother superior also being an obvious holy woman instructed him to wait a moment while she consulted the other nuns on the idea.

            The high priestess’ voice was heard for the first time that evening when she instructed the mother superior not to let the men in for fear of their unknown origin or intentions however the mother superior argued back that that would not be the holy thing to do and that they surely wont make it another night in the storm.

            The mother superior with both her palms on the dining room table leaned into the high priestess. Looking into the darkness inside her hood she said “ That’s sacrilegious…is that the example you want to set for the girls?”

            “So be it then………Let them in” said the high priestess relaxing back into her wooden chair. The front door opened and the tall shadows stepped into the candle lit home from the frigid darkness outside.

 

II. Meat

 

            There were six men in total. They each had a set of cold blue eyes of their own however none were as cold as the first soldier who stepped in and had originally spoken to the mother superior. He was the tallest of the group and was obviously the leader; the other five men’s eyes constantly followed him in anticipation as he explored the crowded dining room slowly, his men seemingly waiting for a command or instruction.

            The blue eyed soldier walked around slowly stopping at each orphan, taking a long look at each of their faces, studying them, moving his eyes up and down from their thighs to their necks and then finally to their dark eyes and hair. His eyes would stop and settle at their soft pink lips for a while before he would move to the next girl.

            He had finally reached the cook nun who had originally prepared the hot soup. He bent down and kept his lips an inch away from her ear and whispered, “Got any meat?”

            The intimidated nun responded with a slightly shaken voice “No, we don’t eat meat here…I’m-“

            But before the cook nun could apologize, the blue-eyed soldier had struck her in the face with his thick, leathered gloved hand. He then said out loud, directly at all the women present “I’m not used to hearing the word “no” ladies…. now give me meat before I feed one of your orphans to my men” growling out his last few words like an animal.

            The blue eyed solider then took the cook nun’s soup and launched the scolding liquid onto her face. A sizzling sound followed by the cook nun’s scream had awaken the nervous silence in the room.  Some of the orphans rushed over to comfort the injured nun whose face ended up being severely burned.

            The high priestess said “take the lamb from the barn… let them be your food soldier”

            A red headed soldier from the group walked out into the storm and towards the barn. He brought back a small lamb and placed it on the dining room table making a large thumping sound as it landed shaking all the silverware and plates out of place. The blue eyed soldier then took the injured cook nun and dragged her to the lamb; her feet staggering trying to resist any step toward the kitchen for she had only one obvious idea of what was about to happen.

            The blue-eyed soldier sternly commanded, “…prepare”

            The cook nun looked around the room at the worried faces, all crying except for the high priestess whose expression was a complete mystery. The red headed soldier put a chef’s knife in the cook nun’s hand and began to guide the tip of the blade into the belly of the living lamb. The soldier’s hung onto it’s small body firmly while it squirmed and screeched violently. The young lamb had died quickly and the cook nun, now in full shock and desensitized from any resisting emotion began to butcher the lamb into pieces. She sliced away, her arms and face covered in blood, tears and sticky yellow mush, her face pulsating from the burn.

            She found herself removing pieces of an animal she once loved and nurtured and also felt as if her soul was being sliced away along with it.

            By the time the meal was cooked and prepared, all six soldiers had their heavy coats off and were sat in the living room area; all those scarred and tarnished faces all staring at the cook nun as she brought in the trey with cooked lamb pieces.         They all rushed to feast on the meat as soon as the trey made contact with the wooden coffee table. Hours later they were over indulged and remained in the living room whispering to each other by the crackling fire as the rest of the women stayed in the cold dining room.   

            Later into the night, the women had closed and locked the door from the dining room to the living room, separating themselves from the men however the men had smashed through the door and reached the women effortlessly. They were still hungry only for an indulgence that was beyond food. The red headed soldier stomped quickly towards the cluster of the shaking terrified women and pulled out the cook nun by her hair.

             He dragged her into the living room, slamming the door shut behind him; her body slid on the cold wooden floor as she dangled and twisted her body, leaving a long zigzagged smudge of lambs blood behind her. Silence took the dining room as the women waited quietly for a sound of any type and yet the heard nothing.

            For weeks, all the women of the house, both staff and orphans, lived in the kitchen and eventually the cook nun was returned to the group. She was bruised by forceful hands and had small circular burn marks on her skin caused by lit cigarettes. Every other day the soldiers would drag a girl from the dining room into the living room and it would be days before they returned and when they did they were different; silent and broken, de-humanized beyond their imaginations.

            The mother superior stood up and marched towards the high priestess who sat silently still in her chair.

            She exclaimed “my God, aren’t you going to do something?!”

            The old priestess held her response and if you listened closely, you could almost hear a soft laughter dressed in mockery that was meant to be unheard.

            She replied “  you let them in….can you not tell a wolf in sheep’s clothing….holy woman?”

            The mother superior squinted her eyes in anger and reached to grab the high priestess but before she could, a soldier had come in the room and dragged her away into the newly born hell that then resided beyond the dry trail of lamb’s blood on the other side of the slammed shut door.

            By that day, all the meat had been eaten including all the lambs and some of the girls began to return with chunks of there flesh seemingly bitten off, mostly from their thighs and chest.

            Hours later, the storm had passed and the mother superior had been returned to the dining room with the rest of the group. It was strangely warm outside and the sun was no longer hidden behind the mysterious black clouds.

            The men had finally made plans to leave the next morning for fear that the storm would return.

            The night before they left, while most of the men were sleeping, one had awakened to the calling of his name from the outside.  It was the red haired soldier whose name was on the lips of a mysterious temptress beyond the walls of the orphanage. The red haired soldier gazed out the window at the calm air and through the small bits of snow flakes falling from the surrounding trees and could see her clearly, spotlighted by the moonlight, disrobed and calling his name over and over.

            He stepped outside and walked closer to finally notice that the mysterious woman was the cook nun from inside; her face somehow clean of the burn scar and her body free of bruises. Once the red haired soldier approached her closely enough, she turned her back and walked into the woods; leaping lightly and almost playfully like a doe would, her bare feet unbothered by the ice cold ground. She seemed comfortable and belonging as her glowing white body disappeared from the night darkness into the true darkness beyond the front trees and into the woods. The red haired soldier followed her fading girlish laughter into the deep forest and never returned.

            The soldiers explored the woods the next morning but found nothing of his remains. Desperate to leave before the storm returned, they finally left and the women were once more alone.

 

III. Ritual Abuse

 

            The door opened into the living room and the women after weeks of being trapped had finally stepped out to greet the destruction left behind. Decorations were smashed and broken to bits on the ground. All the dolls and board games were used to stoke the fire the night before and were reduced to mere ashes. Sharp rays of sunlight pierced through the rips on the wool curtains as they dangled in the empty breeze; outwards and in with long periodic pauses in between each sway as if the house was on its dyeing breath.

            There was a silence that overtook the women as they stepped through what was left of their home. It was a certain kind of silence much quieter than normal silence; the kind of silence that would be music to the reapers ears. 

                It was the sound of death; the sound of cold nothingness; the sound of nothing left.

            The women managed to make it up the stairs to their shared bedroom. Each of them climbed into their own beds, covering themselves with whatever scrap of cloth they can find to keep warm.

            The high priestess was the last to enter the bedroom. She somehow managed to start a fire in the room’s old and barley used fireplace.  She then set up a caldron and began to boil some kind of tea; cutting different vegetables and herbs with a small knife and then letting them fall into the odd liquid, each item making a tiny plopping sound as they hit the hot water one by one.

            The mother superior approached the high priestess and insisted that they do something about the girl’s morale and the high priestess suggested that she already had the answer. 

            Besides that, she also mentioned that they have a much more important crisis on their hands. She looked around the room at the girls lying in their beds and focused specifically on five of them.

            She then looked at the mother superior and whispered “there are far more eyes in here than you think”

            The mother superior remained silent attempting to decode the high priestess’ statement.

            “They shall drink this tea and so shall you nun…this is the first step towards your new life” added the priested.

            The high priestess passed around the tea to all the women in the room and they all followed her instructions to drink it immediately while it was hot.

            As the hours passed in the room, the fire beneath the cauldron began to soften until it was reduced to ember colored dust. The room became very dark and the high priestess had risen into action.

            The women had all awaken hours passed midnight in a trance; they all sat up and looked directly at the high priestess who stood in front of the cauldron and stepped forward slowly; moving through the darkness and heading towards one of the five girls who she was focusing and commenting on earlier.

            She had made it to her bedside, looked at the orphan’s belly and put her palm over it. She leaned closer and the orphan could almost hear a heavy wheezing from the blackness in her hood while she laid on her back, nervously looking up at the high priestess, clearly hiding a secret.

            “ …Does your heart yearn for vengeance my child? …Yes.. I can see it…Give your heart to my lord and let this child be with father forever…. or bare this b*****d child conceived in the name of desecration…the choice is yours my child.”

            The orphan placed both her palms on her belly and contemplated for a few seconds. She then looked up at the high priestess and said, “My heart is his as he pleases priestess”

            “Very well then…you shall all have your chance to please your lord..” said the high priestess.

            The mother superior suddenly approached the high priestess and once again was face to darkness with her.

            “You know OUR lord does not permit such things…I mean…do you think revenge is the answer priestess??….” Asked the mother superior.

            “OUR lord? YOUR lord is out of order nun. You say vengeance… I say justice” said the high priestess with her voice changing, growing more inhuman by the word.

            She stepped towards the mother superior and stopped so close to her that the mother superior could smell the high priestess’ hot breath.

            With an unusual and almost cacophonous tone of voice the high priestess remarked to the mother superior “don’t you not grow tired of suffering you fool? Or have you more cheeks to turn and be slapped….”

            The mother superior stepped backwards into the corner of the room and hid in obscurity for the rest of the night. Fearful of the high priestess for the first time in her life, she hadn’t dared come out.

            The high priestess approached one of the orphans with child and instructed her to close her eyes. Then from out of the high priestess’ sleeve slithered out a black snake; inky in color and texture leaving a trail of thick hot goo behind it as it slithered from the high priestess arm towards the pregnant orphan, looping around her leg, squeezing and racing up quickly from her ankle to her upper thigh.

            The pregnant orphan gripped the bed sheets tightly with all five of her fingers making a fist and arched her back jerking upwards then coming down slowly. She then relaxed into her bed and bit into her bottom lip gently; suddenly letting go of the sheets and relaxing her body. The odd snake creature then squirmed from out of the girl and back into the high priestess’ heavy cloak.

            The weather outside was quickly becoming fierce and a siren-like howl could be heard in the distance; winds rushed through the ice that hung and shimmered on the many old trees in the ancient woods outside so perfectly that a hellishly dissonant sound could be heard dominating the violent air that night.

            The high priestess with her sludge covered arms and hands walked around the room and introduced the snake to the other pregnant orphans in ceremony; the dark serpent entering each one, sliding in and out while the other orphans watched motionlessly including the shocked mother superior.

            By the time the dimming cinder beneath the cauldron had ended, so had the high priestess’ ritual. She then looked around the room at all the bruises and scrapes that dominated the young faces of all the girls; the cuts and scars that occupied their exhausted bodies and announced “don’t worry sisters…He’s smiling at you…Soon he says...”

 

 

            The next morning the high priestess led all the women into the forest.  Owls could be heard hooting in the distance along with ravens as the orphans and staff walked through the snow. They stopped suddenly as soon as they heard the high priestess say “here!”

            She turned around and looked at the cook nun who was the most injured of all the girls and reached her hand out to her, signaling her to come closer.

“Behold…” whispered the high priestess to the cook nun.         

            The high priestess then stepped a few feet towards a tree.  Then mysteriously from behind it she picked up a chain that led to a collar that was locked onto the neck of a what seemed to be a man. He was shirtless and his pants were ripped as he crawled about on all fours like an animal.

            She pulled on the chain and the odd human attached to the other end followed like a dog-like pet. The high priestess walked towards the cook nun and her thing pet followed loyally; stepping closer and revealing more of his seemingly familiar features. The high priestess then grabbed the man’s hair and pulled back with a tight fist as to reveal his face to the cook nun.

            The cook nun was confused and said “ I don’t understand”

            The high priestess then took some snow in her hands and began washing the dirt off of the man’s hair revealing a red color and suddenly cook nun’s eyes began to fill with water.

            The high priestess pulled out a large dagger from her cloak and placed it in the hands of the cook nun.

            The mother superior rushed from the watching crowd of girls to the cook nun.

            “Don’t do it…” exclaimed the mother superior.

            The high priestess then took the red haired soldier’s hand so that his palm faced the sky and quickly, she snatched the dagger from the cook nun and sliced into the red haired soldier’s hand causing him to whimper and begin licking his wound.      Then from out of her pocket she pulled out a tree seed and demonstrated it to all the girls.  She took the red haired soldier’s hand who by now was crying and jerking his body in the opposite direction in fear. She squeezed his wrist with his palm directly over the tree seed so that his blood fell right onto it.

            A tiny stream of blood fell onto the seed and then the high priestess turned to the women to show them the result.

            The seed began to sprout in the high priestess’ hand and all the girls gathered around to watch in awe.

            One of the interested orphans said “ she germinated it”

            And another captivated orphan wondered out loud and added “ but with…blood.”

            By this time, all the women were in full attention.

            And the high priestess finally added “Human blood..”

            She tugged onto the chain leash as to call her pet. She then yelled to it “ Dig! Get this snow out of the way”

            The high priestess then dropped the germinated seed into the hole and made the red haired soldier bury it. She then turned to the cook nun, returned the dagger to her and said “ Its time you meet your new god…your almost there child…. understand?”

            The cook nun nodded and stabbed the red haired soldier several times in the chest; grunting and screaming in between stabs. The red haired man howled like a beast but oddly hadn’t dared attack back. 

            After his body had hit the snow and was minutes away from death, all the women joined and began ripping him apart with their bare nails and teeth, soaking more than enough blood over the dirt as to feed the tree seed. All were in an unusual ferocious trance but the mother superior, who stood a few feet back shocked in excruciating terror. She turned around and ran back to the orphanage.

            The high priestess looked around at all the bloody black robes and said “he is here sisters ..I can feel him and he is pleased..…but tomorrow night comes the real sacrifice. Until then, I want you all to each fetch me a raven.”

            The women from the forest had returned and found a note from the mother superior saying that she could no longer reside there and that she ran away to stay with her family in a near by village and so the women were now twelve.

            The next night the soldiers had returned to search for their missing member. When they arrived at the orphanage they were greeted by carefully arranged lit candles that glowed mysteriously beneath the light snowflakes that cold evening.   The trail of candles led them from the front steps to the back of the large house and then deep into the woods to where there was only darkness.        

            The soldiers arrived at a spot where there was a random large and ugly stump that stood about five feet tall,. All around it there was blood and small bits and pieces of clothing; clumps of red hair could also be seen clearly highlighted in frozen white ground beneath it. The unusual stump of wood had no branches and wasn’t even brown but black and covered in a hot gooey organic sap. Some of the soldiers began to investigate the shreds of clothes and hair on the ground more closely recognizing that it belonged to their missing friend.

            In full alert, they stopped and looked around in the freezing quiet until the silence was interrupted by the ghostly footsteps of the sisterhood stepping out of an icy curtain of fog. The soldiers stood with their backs to odd and bloody stump, looking out at all the angry faces they had damaged and the pale skin they had ripped and turned red and purple; outnumbered and confronted by lives they had destroyed beyond repair. There was no hope for closure until that very moment.

            The women had enchanted the men as they approached them barefoot in the snow, able to withstand the coldness even partially clothed; dressed only in black robes that barley hung onto their thin bodies; their pale warm flesh irresistibly glowing in the cold night; still beautiful even covered in black stitched scars and tender purple bruises.

            They stepped dangerously close until they softly collided with the men. Their beaten yet soft young lips pressed against the ice-hardened mouths of the soldiers; sweet breath took over their bitter drooling tongues.  

            Their guard hit the frost on the ground as quickly as their weapons. Just when the men had fallen in love, all of their throats were rapidly sliced open by a raven’s beak that was fashioned into a blade; one cleverly tucked in between the fingers of each of the women to strategically cut the men with. Their blood sprayed violently about electrifying the sleepy white snow with an loud red color.

            The evil stump of wood was sprayed with blood and began to excrete a clear sap from its pulsating pours. The high priestess stepped over the ripped apart bodies and took some of the sap onto her hands. She then rubbed it onto the cook nuns face softly and suddenly her scars began to disappear instantaneously. The cook nun placed her hand over her own face to feel and cried joyfully when she felt and recognized her soft skin once more.

            They all became ecstatic when they noticed that all of their wounds began to heal rather quickly the more they covered themselves with the stump’s sap; their skin looking young and beautiful again.

            The bodies of the bleeding soldiers were then finally pulled beneath the snow and through the dead dirt to be absorbed by the tree’s roots. Their flesh and bones remained in an underground graveyard beneath the nameless thing’s meandering feet; their souls, condemned to wander the deathly cold forest forever.

            The women cheerfully twirled about, glistening majestically in the star-lit night; in the winter breeze like happy miniature statues residing in little toy globes filled with water and white confetti that suddenly come to life when shaken. Their bodies twisted, drenched in hot sweat; sparkling beneath the cold light rays that shined through the gliding flurries while covered in red splatter stains and clear sap; steam emitting from their new skin resembling silver ghost flames in the dark.

            The high priestess looked at the cook nun and placed her hand over her belly; slightly overgrown black sharp nails at the end of each bony wrinkled finger and with puffs of breath coming from out of her hood as she spoke each word.

            “She will make a fine huntress,” said the high priestess.

            She then called out the other four pregnant orphans one by one and said out loud to them collectively“ They all will..in time….”

            Those were her last words and right after she spoke she turned around and walked into the much deeper part of the forest where the women wouldn’t dare follow. She was never seen or heard from again. Her body was never found.

 

IIII. Little Nameless Things

 

6 years later

 

           

            The skies had cleared and snowfall hadn’t visited the old house in over half a decade. Children’s toys had covered the backyard of the orphanage and mainly consisted of dolls and tea sets that were spread out and swallowed by the tall blades of grass; they waved slowly beneath a warm blanket of sunshine; surrounded and guided by the rich spring air. The chapel was turned into a play room for the little girls; doodles and scribbles could be seen all over the turquois painted walls. There was a small table and seven tiny chairs that matched. Also on the wall hung a shrine of drawings; all different shades, colors and shapes, all somehow resembling a tall tree creature. There was a calendar with a note attached and a height chart with seven different measurements below. The note read: 

 

             I.         TWINS (April 30)

                                 II.         All Hallows Eve (October 31),

     III.         Winter (February 2)

           IV.         Spring (June 23)

         V.         Summer (August 1)

       VI.         Fall (December 21)

 

            In the distance and still within the orphanage’s broad yard facing the forest stood a small tree with a homemade wooden swing attached. Three little girls played; one pushing the other on the swing as the third sat and gazed deeply into the forest at the trail of candles leading to the tall and ugly nameless thing that stood beyond. She had never truly known the nameless thing but knew about it in her darkest dreams as did her sisters.

            She pulled a dandelion from the ground and blew the seeds into the sunset while wondering about nameless thing and how it would call her name in her many dreams; locked in a moment, she watched the tiny round fluffs float up towards the hot crimson clouds that lightly masked the livid red sunlight, fizzling one by one as if they were getting to close the setting sun.

            Behind them near the stable were four more little girls tending to a few lambs and some pigs, all wearing tiny hand made green dresses that went well past their knees as they fed them while petting their rough and dirty fur.  One of the girls placed a collar around the lamb and began walking towards the back entrance of the house. The girls that were playing on the swing turned, noticed and began to follow. All seven girls entered the orphanage, one of them still holding the lamb on the opposite end of a short leather dog leash.

            All the girls were in the kitchen and the cook nun was preparing supper with her back to the children. She turned around and was startled to find them there before she even rung the dinner triangle however she wasn’t surprised.

            One of the children’s mothers entered the kitchen and noticed the girl’s early arrival and commented, “ They know…how do they always know??

            Both women stared at each other for a moment and then began to set the table.

            Lamb stew was served for dinner that night. All the women and children, mothers and daughters sat at the large oak table and ate; all the children with their thick and heavy black hair and matching cinder colored eyes, so black that their pupils were nearly invisible. They all had pale white skin in contrast to their hair and had a striking resemblance to one another. The mothers while nervous decided to actually resist naming the children. After a while, the children refused to respond to any name given or be called anything, Sometimes they even resisted violently by screaming and covering their ears is if the name burned as they heard it. The children never spoke, not even to one another and so it wasn’t hard to get their attention regardless of not being able to call them anything and so for six years the children remained nameless and the mothers lived secretly in fear.

            Small snow flakes began to fall outside; some sticking to the window and others joining swirls of others in random whirlwinds. The mothers began to talk and minutes into their conversation it began to snow heavily once more. The cook nun stopped and stared from her seat at the window and the building storm outside; her fingers began to retract into a fist as she gripped the white tablecloth and closed her eyes. She could hear the hellish siren resonating outside. How badly she wanted to cover her face and cry but her body remained in a locked state of shock; buried in the sudden trauma triggered by the violent symphony of ice and wind outside.

            All the little girls suddenly and all at the same exact moment turned their heads to the front door and seconds after their was loud and abrupt knock.

            The cook nun stared at the old door and the moment she heard two more knocks, she began to tighten her eyes. More knocks followed and then tears began to roll down her face.         

            All the mothers stood and rushed the children to a trap door in the kitchen that led to a basement where dry goods were stored. The seven little girls hid inside peaking upwards through cracks of wood; their tiny black eyes in between the boards concerned and anticipating.

            The cook nun had answered the door and without invitation walked in several military men once more only this time they were slightly different; dressed in black uniforms with medals and other strange silver merits attached to their coats. Their hats were a different shape and although they were armed, they didn’t look like they have seen much battle. They all still had a cold stare and blue eyes that matched the soldier’s eyes from before.

            They asked questions about a women that they were after but the women claimed ignorance to any information about her whereabouts

            A few other men separated from the group and began throwing gasoline in all the rooms; splashing the furniture and walls. Before any of the mothers could react, one of the soldiers flicked his lighter and through the open flame into the ground.

            The house rapidly caught into flames; fire quickly creped up the walls swallowing photos and paintings; blazing any beauty in its path. Plastic dolls melted into pink puddles and board games into glops of black plastic and bits of paper.

            They pointed towards the back door with their rifles and walked behind the women forcing them to lead the men into the backyard.           

            A familiar soldier who seemed to be the leader of the group as his chest bared the most medals, approached the cook nun and stared into her eyes as her home was being consumed by a hellish deluge behind her.

            The captain then took off his hat revealing his red hair and from the inside of his pocket he pulled out a photo and showed the cook nun; it was an old black and white photograph of a women with very familiar white hair. The red haired Captain kept asking about the person in the photos whereabouts, getting angrier and angrier each time.

            The cook nun sobbed and fell to her knees into the questioning ultimately revealing her guilt.

            The captain then nodded to his men and they all eight of them open fired on the mothers.

            The little girls lifted the trap door slightly just enough for the majority of them to watch the happening outside through the open back door; large flames from the firing rifles and all their mother’s bodies falling onto the ground one after the other; swallowed by the cold snow. As they watched, rubble began to fall and they could hear the loud roaring of fire coming from above and the heat weighing in on their tiny faces.

            The girls waited a few minutes until the soldiers left and then made their way out into the storm. As they walked into the backyard approaching the mass grave of their mothers, the snowstorm began to calm until it winded down to an occasional speck of tiny flakes.

            They stood before the endless bloody pit of bodies. They didn’t move, flinch or even cry but merely stood and stared not so much attentive to the bodies but instead the forest, specifically on the trail of candles that led to the nameless thing; the quiet visitor from their darkest dreams.

            Before the trail appeared a figure in a black cloak with long silver dreads that hung from out of her hood almost to her knees. She wore a mask fashioned from the skull of a goat that was painted red; its long sharp horns meandered upward and outward, pointing towards the star-less sky.

            There she stood before her little nameless things. Their true mother, the high priestess, the witch, the black crone in the flesh.

            The children stood in admiration and even the mother superior who had seen the smoke from afar and hiked over to investigate remained in awe upon her late arrival.

            With one palm in the black sky facing the children and her knuckles facing the direction of their dark path the high priestess said “ How you’ve all grown…Don’t worry my children … come…He waits.”

            Then the high priestess looked around at all the corpses; all the tiny red holes covering their bodies; dots and smudges of blood over their young pretty faces that died locked in a scream. There was the mother superior in the midst, locked in hatred for the soldiers, gazing out at the unrecognizable faces in the pit who were all once her smiling friends and now were mere pulps of ragged flesh and dirt.

            Then she said to the mother superior “ And you…He waits eagerly to meet you….”

            She then turned around and walked the trail of candles towards the nameless thing and disappeared into the dark shadows beyond the path. The the children followed instantaneously; marching across the field of ripped apart flesh emotionlessly, their tiny feet leaving miniature red foot prints in the snow, each of them vanishing one by one into the forest as if stepping into a sudden black void.

            The mother superior followed, dropping her crucifix in the snow behind her on her way down the candle lit path, following the familiar siren noise along with the playful laughter and singing of the children ahead which suddenly began to feel like music to her ears. She began to laugh quietly as the soft wind breezed through her black curls and miniature flakes of snow danced all around her, disappearing into her thick hair and brushing up against her smiling lips and closed eyes; she wondered about the nameless thing, going over her most recent memories of the tall ugly tree visiting her in her dreams, guiding her to that very moment.

                 She lifted her arms into the air as if she were unleashing herself from years of being shackled, her black cloak more alive than ever in the frigid twisted wind as she moved forward. The cold black nothingness at the point of no return embraced her body gently as she stepped through a shadowy gate making her vanish from out of this world, never to be heard of again. 

The End

Author's Note

This is my first story. Its a bit long but its a topic I really like writing about. The pace is slow but filled with a lot of imagery.

Reviews

[Douglas Marsh]

I like it. I would like to ask you though, what questions you have for me? I can tell you what I would change, but it's your story, not mine. I know I have specific questions on my own writing.

[Ellis Hastings]

Very well written imagery. It seems like something you could definitely make a book out of. There are a few minor grammatical errors that I noticed. However, none of them were very obvious and would be easy to miss if you weren't looking for them. I was having to judge my contest closely because I had many stories, this one included, that I really enjoyed reading. I'd suggest just one more quick edit. You could download "Grammarly" for free and that would probably correct most if not all of the small errors. All in all, though, it was a very good and fully thought-out story.