The house had always had a reputation. The suicide in '52, the missing children in '63 and the strange way animals were terrified of even approaching it. Many years had passed since it's last occupation, and time had not been kind to the fabric of the building. Now known as the 'haunted house' by all the residents in the neighbourhood, some bragged about their bravery and how they had explored the dilapidated building. None ever had in recent memory, not until Father Doyle. Rumours had started to circulate of movement at the windows and lights deep inside the old building each night, sparking the idea that the property was once again occupied. Father Doyle hearing these tales suspected one of the many travelling vagrants who were often seen in town at this time of year had taken up residence as a means of escaping the chill of these late autumn nights. He felt it was his duty, if not to take the word of God to these often-lawless folk, to at least ensure they were safe and had food to fill their often empty bellies. Informing Sister Agnes of his intentions, he made haste late one October evening to purchase supplies and continue onward to spread the towns goodwill to these unfortunate souls. Two days had passed before Sister Agnes felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Father Doyle was known for charging off 'missionary like’ to save peoples immortal souls and often not returning for days on end; but there were always the calls. Without fail Father Doyle would ring to brag about his progress with 'saving the heathens' and the countless good deeds he had undertaken that day; a constant source of irritation to Sister Agnes, who's path was much simpler. The evening of the third day arrived with no news from Father Doyle, and the increasing unease in Sister Agnes' stomach crystallised her resolve; she would have to go and see if the old fool was alright. But where to start? The old house on Belvoir Drive was the most logical place; this is where Father Doyle had been heading. Gathering a few simple supplies, she headed out of her spartan room towards the quarters of the other nuns in the convent. "Sister Josephine, Sister Josephine, can I have your help for an hour or two?" Sister Agnes' call echoed down the stone corridor towards Sister Josephine's room. "Of course." echoed the almost immediate reply. "Can you drive me to Belvoir Drive in that infernal contraption of yours?" "It's not infernal, it’s very helpful, especially when you want me to collect your medication." The younger Sister Josephine though very bright and a breath of fresh air to the order, was often seen as very impertinent by the older 'wiser' nuns. "That’s as maybe, but can you take me there..... now?" The door of Sister Josephine's room opened, and she peered out into the corridor. "Now?" Sister Josephine's voice hinted at the irritation she felt in being asked such a thing at this time of night and at such short notice. "Yes!" Sister Agnes' impatience matching Sister Josephine's irritation. "Father Doyle said he was heading there to the old Parton house, as he heard it might be occupied by one of the local travellers, and I have not heard from him in a couple of days." "Oh.... you mean the 'haunted house'?" asked Sister Josephine not quite believing what she was hearing. "Silly rumours and gossip. Hurry up girl, I would like to get back for evening prayer if possible. The old fool has probably just lost his cell phone, and this is all just a wild goose chase". Storming off to get her coat, Sister Agnes turned back towards Sister Josephine just before reaching the end of the corridor. "Bring a lantern with you......... and a crucifix". Sister Agnes was not sure why she had asked for the last item; it just felt 'right'. The car journey across town was uneventful. The usual evening revellers were out enjoying the few bars and restaurants this sleepy town offered. A stark contrast to the evenings of prayer and quiet contemplation Sister Agnes had been used to for the last 40 years. At this time of night Belvior Drive was quiet. Most families were safely tucked away behind their front doors, watching the latest reality TV programme being pedalled across the airways. Sister Agnes struggled to understand the appeal of television, when a book could afford much greater entertainment through the inventiveness of the imagination. Her musings immediately stopped as the car jerked to a noisy halt outside the Parton house. "Sorry Sister Agnes, I thought I saw movement from the top floor window as we approached, and I braked a bit sharply." Sister Josephine fussed with the car keys to silence the car’s engine. "I would hope I have quite a few years’ service to our Lord left in me yet, but your driving has a tendency to make me question that". Sister Agnes' withering stare elicited a small whimper from the younger nun. "Come on then girl, let’s get this over with." The queasy feeling in Sister Agnes' stomach had reached the point where it felt like a ball of ice floating in her gut, and it took all her effort to bite back the taste of bile in her mouth. "Pass me the lantern, and the cross, and follow me". Sister Agnes' voice had hardened, not betraying the turmoil she felt inside. Slowly they walked towards the empty unlit house. The streetlights played dancing shadows of the gently swaying tree branches across the front yard. The temperature had dropped, and the wind had begun to stir since leaving the convent. The front door had long since gone and afforded them easy entry into the property. Two things became immediately apparent as they stepped over the threshold. The utter silence and the intense cold. Like walking into a vacuum, not a single sound could be heard except the blood pulsing through their own ears and their own deep nervous breathing. The lantern held by Sister Agnes revealed the state of decay of this once fine hallway. Luxurious wallpaper, now torn and faded. Floorboards once polished and covered with expensive rugs, now bare and weathered where exposed to the elements from the broken windows. A scratching noise made both the nuns stop in their tracks. A rat? A bird trapped in one of the rooms? The scratching noise increased in its intensity and the unmistakable smell of death suddenly overpowered them, causing them to cough and gag. Sister Agnes raised her arm, sweeping the lantern further around the hallway revealing a crumpled form slumped against the far wall, and a pair of bright red burning eyes staring back at her with intent. I had this story floating in my head as I was creating the image. I hope you enjoy both as much as I have enjoyed creating them. Graf. If you have not seen my last image, you can take a look at it here: