Merry Sister Mary and the One and Only Killer

15: Sister Mary Gets Attacked by a Tree

I admit, it has been eighteen years since last I drove a vehicle unless you count that horse drawn carriage I borrowed from an Amish farmer. It took a moment of sudden jerking backwards and forwards and a damaged shrub before I remembered the controls. You got this, I repeated to myself. You got this. Poor Pearl gritted her teeth and held the leather interior for dear life as I took off. With rocks flinging behind me and and plume of dust following my bumper, I felt on top of the world. Anyone watching from a distance would see a most bizarre sight. A red convertible with a nun screaming behind the wheel, her garbs twirling in the wind and lips flapping in all directions.

"Thisssss...iiiisssss..." I yelled through the many bumps in the road, "bloodddddy awwwweessssooommme!"

"Wrong side!" yelled Pearl reaching over to turn the wheel as a car appeared a top the hill. "Wrong side of the road! This is America. Not England." The car swerved to the side and into a dirt road narrowly missing the oncoming car. I pressed on the brakes just in time before we found ourselves in the ditch.

"Thank you, Pearl, for watching out," I said.

"Someone has to."

I looked for a place to turn around. I saw a clearing further down the dirt road. A sign covered in vines stood in front of a collapsed burned building.

"What place is this," I said intrigued as we approached.

"This was Azalea Grove Psychiatric Hospital. It burned down many years ago. Its patients were moved to the hospital in Jackson, or so I heard. Guess you could say it's the town's dirty secret."

"How did it start?"

"The fire started in the laundry room and rushed up into the rooms above. In minutes the place was covered in flames. All but one boy made it out. He was fifteen and not popular amongst the other patients for his violent outbursts. He was in solitary confinement and was left locked inside. He died or so people believe. Some people think his spirit haunts here. Kids from my school came once to hunt ghosts. They said they heard a kid crying and fled. There is a popular rhyme around here we used to say while playing hopscotch. 'Sinclair, Sinclair, why do you cry? Do you have something in your eye. Fire, fire, open the door. Sinclair, Sinclair, never ever more.'"

"Sinclair, hmm. That's quite wicked, indeed." A recalled the phone call to Denise yesterday and the chilling female voice say the name, Sinclair Martin. I wondered, 'Could it be possible that the fire at this hospital, the tragedy of this boy, the local children's disappearances, and the sudden death of her husband, all be connected to Mrs. Stanton's murder? I sighed. It was still impossible to say. I looked at Pearl and smiled. "So you have a passion for ghost stories, huh? Does that mean you believe in ghosts?"

"No," said Pearl puffing up her chest trying to appear macho. "Ghosts aren't real. I mean really, a sheet with eye holes and chains. Totally not cool. What about you, Sister Mary? Do you believe in ghosts?"

"They are in the bible. Visions mostly. But, yes, I do believe in them." I punched Pearl in the arm. "And don't you worry, child. I'll protect you from any ghost."

A childlike cry twisted through the trees rattling our bones. An ominous dark cloud snuffed out the sunlight followed by a strange gust of wind. Falling leaves hovered above the ashy ruin before cascading like cinders of a forgotten horror onto the black decay.

"Um. Sister Mary. I'm getting creepy feelings from this place. We should go."

I screamed loudly frightening both Pearl and a murder of crows.

"What the hell, Sister!" cried Pearl clutching her chest. "You spaz! You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm practicing my scream, just in case."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Ah uh!" I placed a finger over Pearl's mouth. "Don't take the lord's name in vain. Next time say, 'HOLY SHIT!'"

A huge tree limb fell by the car startling both of us.

"Drive, Sister Mary!" Screamed Pearl.

In mere moments I was pressing on the gas, swerving down the narrow road, nearly missing the ravine, and taking an impressive high flying leap over a muddy pothole whilst screaming for my precious life. Yet, I almost missed a very vital clue. The part of the limb that had broken was not natural at all. It had been cut part of the way across by a sharp blade. Someone had sent us a message, a warning, a threat to stay away, but in my silly, ignorant mind, I saw a challenge.