The stone arches of Exham Priory loomed over you, so high into the sky from your own perspective that the bell tower stood like an eye of God looking down on you. You and all of your mistakes. The dampness that had overtaken your clothes— from the rain or blood, you weren’t quite sure— soaked into your skin, chilling you straight to the bone. The giant brass knocking-rings on the doors mocked you, dared you to use them, to rouse the inhabitants within to help you in your time of need. Never having been a religious person, you had never intended to end up here. Never could have possibly imagined you would be groveling at the steps of such a holy place, and yet here you were.
The events that lead to your being bloody and rain-soaked on the step’s of Exham had passed in such a frantic blur that you had hardly been able to process any of it. A few weeks of hardships came to a head in a single night of mistakes, a drunken haze which the fallout of had changed the course of your life entirely. You didn’t want to get pregnant. You were falling behind on rent, struggling to juggle the weight of student loans, rent, and sick parents, and you simply buckled under the pressure. All you wanted was a night of peace, to forget all of it for just one night. By the time you were in bed with whoever it was you were pregnant by, you were so inebriated that now, on these holy steps, you couldn’t recall his name. You could barely recall his face. Being in the position you were in, there was no possibly way for you to raise that child. Hell, you couldn’t even pay for the doctor’s visits and hospital trip to have the child.
You made the only real decision available to you. And, due to the circumstances, it had to be done by yourself. After you had done it, rendered yourself wounded and bleeding, you did the only thing you figured you could do… Another bill on top of the endlessly piling list of monetary struggles was out of the question. Your only hope was that there was something, anything they could do to help you here, even at this time of night. Exhaustion was quickly threatening to overtake you, shivers racking you so intensely that, as you reached up to lift a brass knocker, you could barely take hold of it.
As you used what little you could muster of your strength to knock, one, two, three times, a dread settled deep in your stomach, so intense it almost rendered you dizzy. You pressed on anyway, you didn’t have a choice. The iron was cold and wet in your grip, the weight of it causing your arm to ache as you knocked. The sound reverberated dramatically, so loud you could hear it echoing inside from the other side of the door. As you released the knocker, you stumbled forward onto your hands, the sharp, stinging pain in your abdomen radiating throughout your whole body. You stared up at the door, wondering if you could be lucky enough to have your prayers— albeit to a god you don’t believe in— answered.
Answered they were as the heavy door was slowly pulled open, the silhouette of an old woman appearing in the dim light resonating from inside. The heat from inside gently fanned over you, a stark contrast to the cold rain pouring down. The woman’s face was drawn into a confused scowl, her eyes scanning from eye level all the way down to the steps where you kneel, a hand on your abdomen and blood dripping down your legs. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked upon you, immediately reaching a hand down to you to usher you in. “What in the world has happened to you?!” She demands as she pulls you in, one of her hands coming to support your back as you try to stand.
“I need… Help…” You sputter, shaking on your feet.
The room is lit only by candles, of which there are seemingly hundreds. They cast not only light upon the room, but also a heat, one that you revel in after being soaked down to the bone. “I can see that.” The woman huffs, leading you as best as she can in her feebleness to what you can only imagine, or at least hope, will be an infirmary. The lack of other signs of life outside of this woman dampens your faith that you will find any sort of medical help here, though. Your eyes dart around the chapel, a flash of lightning illuminating a rather graphic carving of Jesus on a crucifix. The images burns itself into your mind, and just as the old woman pulls you out of the chapel, the silhouette of a man in all black catches your eye, a heavy wooden door slamming shut before you can really make anything of it.
The woman leads you, essentially dragging you, onto a spiral staircase. You painstakingly make your way up, unable to imagine where she could possibly be taking you. Ultimately, it appears to be the boarding area of the priory, a long hallway of doors. Thankfully she spared you the entire length of the hall, leading you to the third door down on the left. She pulled out a small matchbook from her pocket, striking a match to light a candle in a holder on the wall. In the dim light, you could just barely make out the room. It was a regular boarding room, though rather barren, hosting only a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. Without the heat of the candles, a cold, dampness seeped through the stones that made up the wall, making your skin erupt in goosebumps once again. She leads you to the bed, helping you lay back.
“There won’t be much I can do for you, child.” She murmurs, her voice, though quiet, fraught with worry. She leaves the room, leaving you to wonder if that was it, if giving you a bed to potentially bleed out on was the most she could do for you. As you sit in the dimly lit room, pained and exhausted, shadows dance in the corner of your vision. When you try to catch them straight on, you see nothing but stagnant dark corners and a dark hallway through the small grate in the door. A shiver runs down your spine, all of your hair standing on edge as the feeling of being watched overwhelms you. The only other living soul you’d seen since you’d arrived here was the old woman. Maybe she simply hadn’t gone far, and it was her presence you were sensing…
The sound of the door opening brought you back to, bringing to your attention that you must have dosed off. The sharp pain in your abdomen had morphed into a deep, dull ache, though you figured that was likely from finally getting to rest a little bit. The woman approached your bed, holding out a cup of water and some pills. “Took me a little while to find them.” She says as you take the pills for her. “All I had were some anti-inflammatories I’m afraid. Hopefully it will help the bleeding.” She places a hand on your forehead as you take the medicine.
“Now… What has happened to you, child? What has brought you bleeding on my doorstep?” She asks, the concern still ever present in her tone.
“I… I’ve miscarried…” You lie. You figured it would put you on better footing to put the story that way. This woman isn’t a doctor, she won’t know the difference. So you would think, at least. Her face seems to tell a different story as she glances at you sidelong, seeming to sense there was more to it than that.
“I’m not sure a convent is the best place for you in such circumstances, my dear. Especially my own… I find myself woefully unprepared to help a young lady in distress such as yours.” She says gently. You glance away, picking at some loose strings on the bedsheet.
“I know.” You say quietly. “I couldn’t afford the medical bills.”
The old lady sighs, taking the cup back from you and setting it on the nightstand. “Well, I suppose you may stay and try to get your strength back. Better to have someone to keep an eye on you in this state than to go it alone.” You nod and thank her, watching as she walks towards the door. She stops just short of it, hesitating a moment before turning to look at you. “My quarters are at the end of the hall.” She hesitates again, glancing out the door. “Should you need anything… But be… Mindful, dear. It gets rather… Dark at night.” With that, she exits the room, leaving you in the dim candlelight.
Eventually, the medicine the woman gave you starts to kick in. It doesn’t completely kill the pain, but given the circumstances, you don’t imagine anything you’ll have access to will. You doze off to the capacity that you can, waking up rather frequently throughout the night. Strange dreams plague you, blurring the lines between wakefulness and sleep. At one point you believe yourself to be sitting on the windowsill, watching an angry storm roll in and obscure the moonlight, casting your room into darkness. The next moment, you hear a rat loudly screeching in the corner, the only thing in your field of vision being the ceiling, illuminated by bright moonlight. You move to cover your ears, but before your hands can rest, the noise is gone, and you see the silhouette of a man above you. His features are made only vaguely visible by the moon, and all you can make out is neat, dark hair and a pale face. A small spot of white highlights his neck, and before you have time to consider the implications he’s gone. He doesn’t move, there’s no commotion, he’s just… Gone.
And once again you are alone in the dark dead of night.
