Evil Lives Here

There was only one rule at the convent: don’t open the door. There were a lot of looked doors at the old decaying building, but this old bolted door with ivy’s growing on top of it made it even more alluring for the sisters wanting something more.

This was especially true for the young Sister Agatha, with all of her questions and ideas not aligning with the rest of the sisters. She loved the bolted door. When Mother Superior didn’t look, Sister Agatha lingered outside it when she weeded the garden and watered the roses. After prayers she sat and watched the sun go down until only the moon lit up the door, wondering what the inside held. Something was coming from within the depths of the door, she could feel it as well as hear it. First a gentle tapping sound, then if she listened closely, like a whisper. In her dreams she heard the angelic voice clearly begging her: Let me out.

“Sister Agatha, if you don’t have anything to do, the kitchen needs help.”

Mother Superior towered behind her, her old face stern, always with her watchful eyes. She hated her, Sister Agatha was certain. She had been given raps many times by the leader when she let her eyes linger out the windows and trying too peek over the tall walls enclosing them. Too curious, too prideful, too much of anything in the old abbess eyes.

Once she asked what was on the other side of the door and had been given a lecture about the Serpent in the garden and how her search for the answers was out of line. They were servants of the word, not soldiers against it.

Sister Agatha stood up to escape from another lecture. Mother Superior put a hand on Sister Agatha shoulder in passing. Her voice was low, her eyes watchful. It was impossible to hear if it was a threat or a warning.

“Remember your place, Sister. Evil always sound sweet.”

That night, tossing and turning, palms sweaty and her mind restless. She got out of her bed and out in the rose garden. They spent so much time out here, plucking the thorns off the stems.

Full of a fever burning away at her core, she could feel herself escaping. The mortal shell she was always told to cover up and hide. Her hair falling out from her headdress. Her hand felt hot against the door, almost as if it was pulsing with life. Let me out.

She had to open the door tonight because if she didn't, she felt sure she would die. With a heavy and rusted key swiped from Mother Superior fitted perfectly into the dark keyhole and the door creaked when she opened.

A gush of wind came from the inside as a faint light started to kindle. The air smelled of death and decay and the voice of the angel had the face of the serpent. She welcomed it with a smile.