“But her death signalled a change. The sisters grew complacent. They forgot to hang the garlic, and though they still prayed fervently, the presence of the strigoi was far from their minds. Until one day, their delivery from the village never showed. Sister Agatha decided to find out what had happened to Pavel, the young lad who usually brought them milk and cheese. She walked down the mountain path, calling his name, but heard nothing in return. She was about to go back, when she caught sight of a white wolf prowling through the trees. Sister Agatha began to run, but she wasn’t quick enough. When she ran from the path in a panic, she tripped over Pavel’s body and fell into the dirt. Her screams carried up the mountain to the monastery. When her sisters found her, she, and Pavel, were gristly versions of themselves, torn to shreds by lupine fangs.”
“Fuck,” Nathan whispered.
I resisted the urge to smile. “The sisters buried Agatha near their beloved mother superior. It was a lesson not to eschew the old ways, to be respectful of tradition. Yet they didn’t see it that way, they forgot the garlic again. And when young Sister Maria was blowing out the candles for the night, she saw Sister Agatha walking back and forth outside the entry way to the building.
“‘Sister! Sister’ she cried. ‘You’re alive, I can’t believe it.’ Sister Maria flung open the door, a huge smile on her face. ‘Will you invite me in?’ Agatha asked. ‘Of course I will. Come in, Agatha. Let me see you. How did you survive? Did you… did you have to crawl out of the grave? The… oh, my. I’m so sorry, sister.’ But Agatha ignored Maria’s questions as she floated over the threshold into the monastery. Agatha then paused by the door and faced the night. ‘Come in, Master.’ Maria’s eyes widened as the tall man entered the monastery. His inhuman face would be the last she ever saw.
“One by one, the sisters awoke in joy at the face of their beloved Sister Agatha, and one by one their joy became terror as the tall man approached. One by one their blood painted the walls, the walls surrounding us now.” I paused, and allowed that to sink in. Nathan’s eyes roamed the room. He was so pale I thought he might be sick. “Alexandru, my taxi driver, told me that the monastery is cursed. The villagers nearby believe it is haunted by the nuns who once lived here. Others believe the dead walk, that this place is not haunted at all—it’s occupied.”
The story settled on the others like dust on furniture. Eventually, the sound of new messages brought Irene out of her stupor.
“You earned five hundred dollars with that story,” she said. “Congratulations, Cath. You won today.”
I glanced at the screen to see the messages about the story, as well as the donations still pouring in. But there was one that stood out to me immediately. I’m not sure the others noticed it, because the screen was moving so quickly, but a subscriber called Volk posted:
I’ll give you a real horror story. If one of you murders another, I’ll send you one million dollars.
Chapter Six
The sunrise woke me, as it had the morning before, with the light from the colourful glass bouncing around the room. It made me feel as if I was trapped in a kaleidoscope for a moment. I sat up, still tired, but with a desire to appreciate this opportunity, as well as a few fresh ideas for Akarthis on my mind. However, there was also an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and that sensation started to spread over my body, making my skin tingle, the back of my head itch. It seemed to me that a change had occurred overnight. A different smell, drop in temperature or an object out of place. I couldn’t put my finger on it at a glance. The gnawing discomfort could have simply been because I wasn’t in my bed at home. No, that wasn’t it. I was right the first time, because the packets of pills that I’d placed so carefully the night before on top of my cabinet were missing.
I swung my legs out of bed, hurried across the room, and began removing drawers, searching for my medication, pulling out all the carefully folded clothes. When I found nothing, I checked underneath. I checked my desk, under the bed, in the en suite. I checked the window ledge, behind the toilet, under the sink.
My pills were missing.
As that realisation hit, my heart began to pound. I couldn’t be without them for four weeks. Getting better had been a long, rocky road, and the thought of going back to how I was when I was ill made me want to be sick.
Still in pyjamas, I hurried along the cloister to the old chapter house we used as a snug. Irene and Jules’s voices travelled out of the room. I wrapped my arms around my body to protect myself from the morning chill, then I hesitated by the door.
“You made a mistake inviting Nathan,” Jules said. “What he said to Cath went over the line.”
“Look, he’ll bring in subscribers. I needed at least one participant with a big following,” Irene replied.
“Yeah but, him?”
“The others said no.”
When I walked into the room, they both stopped talking and faced me. Irene was folded up on the sofa, barefoot, with a mug of coffee in her hands. Even though she was in her sleepwear, she had on make-up, her hair had been straightened, and everything about her gave off an air of togetherness. On the other hand, Jules sat in the armchair opposite, her hair mussed, crusts of sleep visible in the corners of her eyes.
“My pills are missing,” I blurted out. “My anti-psychotic medication.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “For my schizophrenia. They’ve been stolen.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jules frowning at the word “schizophrenia”.
Irene’s eyes narrowed. “Stolen? That’s not possible. Why would anyone take your meds? Maybe you lost them. We’ll help you search if you like.”
“I’ve checked every part of my room,” I said. “The drawers, under the bed, the bathroom. They’re not there.”
“You can’t accuse people of theft without any proof,” Irene said. “I’ll order you more if you tell me what you need. We can have a delivery in a few days. Will that work?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think it might mess with things a bit.”
“But the new medication will kick in and all will be well?” she prompted.
“I guess,” I said.
Nathan nudged my elbow as he came through the door. He held a plate of toast and was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a screenshot of a tweet by another YouTuber saying The Yorkie is an edgelord. “What’s going on? It’s like a puppy’s funeral in here.”
“Cath lost her medication,” Irene said. “But it’s fine. We get regular deliveries. She’ll have new meds in a few days.”
When he looked at me, his pale eyes beneath two hooded lids, he appeared completely and utterly bored, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all an act.
“Oh,” he said simply. And then the conversation moved on. “Did you ban that weirdo that kept offering money for one of us to commit murder?”
“Yes,” Irene replied. “He’s gone.” She glanced at me again. “Don’t worry, I’ll order those pills for you.”
There wasn’t much else to say, so I left.
*