At two a.m. I posted the edited video and scrolled through the messages as they came in.
Lupo: Is the monastery haunted like you said in your story?
Cath: There’s a local superstition about the monastery but I don’t personally believe in ghosts. It’s true that nuns were murdered here and that gives the location a heavy emotional weight.
Lupo: Who killed the nuns?
Cath: I don’t know.
Lupo: Don’t you want to find out?
Cath: I’m not sure how I’d find out. A local man told me the story and he didn’t say who killed them.
Lupo: Online it said their throats were slashed.
The user dropped a link into the chat box that took me to a blog post about the murders.
Sfântul Mihail Monastery and the Deaths of Thirteen Sisters
It was a cold night on the mountainside near Butnari when the sisters opened their doors to a stranger. Several hours later, the women would be found dead, all of their throats slit. Only the mother superior survived.
Part way through reading the article, I heard a soft knock on the door of the snug. The interruption of silence caught me off guard, sending adrenaline surging through my body. But it was such a soft sound, not terrifying, not thumping, so quiet it was barely there. I stood, shook my head, trying to shake away that adrenaline spike, and headed towards the door. Perhaps one of the others wanted to speak to me but feared I’d fallen asleep and didn’t want to wake me. I waited for a second to see if they came into the snug, but they didn’t. My fingers reached for the handle and then hesitated, my breath caught in my throat. I waited another beat and then wrapped my fingers around the cold metal and twisted it to open the door.
The cloister was empty and dark. I leaned half of my body out, and, seeing nothing, quickly retracted into the snug, my heart beating loudly. It was natural, I told myself, to feel spooked in a place this steeped in bloody history. But I had to remain rational. I shook my head and went back to the sofa. While I was composing myself, a message popped up on the screen.
Lupo: What did you hear?
It served as a creepy reminder that I was being watched. I was on camera, of course, so the viewers had seen my fear played to them directly.
Cath: I thought someone knocked on the door. Must be my imagination though!
Lupo: There was someone on the other side of the door. I saw a shape on the camera.
I wanted to close the laptop and get out of that room, but I didn’t. Instead I composed a message with cold fingers.
Cath: It was probably one of the others on their way to get a glass of water. I took a while to answer the door, so they must have walked away.
Lupo: Yes, I saw them walk away. Didn’t see their face though. Didn’t see any part of them, just a black shape.
I hated it then. I hated talking to this person who could be lying to frighten me, for all I knew. But the description of a “black shape” was so like the way I’d thought of the image of the wolf that I’d seen—the “white shape”. Two opposing forces. It sounded like a theme I’d write into an Arkathis story, about love and hate, or good and evil. But this wasn’t a story, it was real.
AliceAkarthis: Cath, that video! The wolf.
My heart calmed. I went on to talk about the wolf, telling the people in the chat all about the rescue mission. As I typed, the donations went up, and I was shocked by how much people were giving. They were willing to pay me as I talked to them. Yes, I’d published books, but I wasn’t used to this kind of appreciation.
Eviee: Thank you for sharing this with us!
1378stu: [heartemoji]
Twix: I’ve gone from an Irene stan to a Cath stan.
Pigeon: OMG!! I’m donating. Gimme more content like this pls!
Georgie: Just bought your books. Hello from Australia.
Serra: [heartemoji]
Lupo: What killed the wolf?
Chapter Eight
There was a soft knock. My eyelashes fluttered. My hands balled into fists. I saw the outline of a man standing outside a door, waiting to be allowed in. They had to wait for the invitation, you see. Sister Agatha could never enter without one, and the tall man stood behind her.
“Cath?”
The whisper made my eyes open and I sat up, the laptop dropping from my knees. Someone caught it and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“I was just coming in to let you know it’s my shift.” Jules smiled and lifted the laptop.
“Crap, I fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Four a.m.,” she said. “These shifts are going to be a nightmare, aren’t they?”
I grunted my agreement as I untangled myself from the blanket. October nights were freezing cold in the monastery.
“Sorry, there are probably a few hundred unanswered messages now.”
“No worries.” She took my place on the sofa as I stood to leave. “Go have a rest, okay?”
I paused in the doorway, wondering whether to tell her about the strange knock on the door and the even stranger insistence by the viewers that they had seen a person out there. But then I shook my head and decided to go. At this point I hardly knew Jules and she hardly knew me. What kind of impression would I make if I told her such a crazy story?
That night, or rather that morning, I struggled to sleep. Even with the growing aches in my muscles from the hike, and the complete exhaustion from the late night, my mind refused to release the grip it had over me. I shivered down into the bedspread, twisted in the sheets, my mind racing with thoughts of wolves and ghosts and vampires. Outside, around six a.m., I heard a howl in the distance, and wondered whether it was the pup I’d rescued, or the white wolf. None of the comments on my video had mentioned its presence between the distant birches and I was beginning to wonder whether I’d been mistaken.
At seven, I dragged myself out of bed, put on leggings and a tunic top, and went to the kitchen to meet Dan and Irene. Jules was busy chatting to subscribers in the snug, Nathan was in bed. I was tired, but Dan needed people for his sunrise yoga and I’d volunteered.
Irene sipped coffee and mumbled a hello when I walked in. She sat hunched over her mug, with one foot resting on the seat of her stool, and tendrils of blonde curls falling over her frame.
Dan, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth, ready to go. He tapped the side of his water bottle with a finger. “Come on, girls. I need to get the best light. I found the perfect spot on the mountain yesterday.”
We were about to leave when Nathan walked in clutching his phone. “What the fuck, Cath? Are you actively going after our fans now?”
His raised voice brought out a bloom of warmth on my cheeks. Despite his skinny frame, he was a looming presence in the room. I took a step away, shoulders slumping, my voice caught in my throat.
Irene slammed down her coffee cup to gesture wildly at Nathan. “Why are you yelling at her now?”
“Have you checked the live-stream message board this morning?” Nathan asked, holding his phone aloft. “She uploaded a video last night of her rescuing a fucking wolf. A wolf! What are you, Doctor Dolittle? Fucking Snow White? I mean… come on! How are we supposed to compete with this?”