Corpus
by Everette Bell

The scruffy looking figure wrapped in a heavy wool coat leaned over the lunch tray, greedily stuffing forkfuls of mashed potatoes and green beans into her mouth. Dark strands of hair that hadn't seen water since the last rain hung into her face like pieces of straw. Beneath the face paint of grime were young features, no more than thirty-five. The woman took a break from the repetitive scooping of her fork, and her hand covered in its fingerless glove reached for the glass of milk. She drank until the glass was empty and traced her tongue around the lip to make sure she didn't miss a drop.

At the table behind her, she heard other homeless people trading information on places to panhandle and dry places to sleep when the weather went to hell. For those reasons, she ate alone. The harsh world of the street was not going to be hers forever. Her mind needed to be away from their feelings of hopelessness, their resignation to failure. She didn't
know how she was going to find this new life, but she was.

"Excuse me, Debbie," a soft voice came from over the woman's shoulder. Pulling the glass from her lips, Debbie craned her head to see who was there.

Sister Abigail, in her black horn-rimmed glasses and her black habit, smiled pleasantly. Her face was pale and untouched by age. Pink lips framed her mouthful of white teeth crooked and spaced rather far apart.

There was an unusually long pause before the sister continued. "The other sisters and I need to speak with you in the library, please."

Debbie sat the empty glass on the table. "Sister, I haven't broken the rules. . .I don't bring drugs or booze into the shelter." She fought to keep her emotion in check, because losing her spot in the shelter would be a fatal blow to her dream of escaping poverty. "I've saved every penny from the job you all got me, so I can buy new clothes."

The nun placed a reassuring hand on the other woman's shoulder. "We know, Debbie. That's why we want to talk to you."

Debbie got up from the table, apprehension in her eyes despite Sister Abigail's reassurance.

"It's ok," Sister Abigail said as she took the woman by the hand, "you've done nothing wrong." Together they walked into a small room off the dining hall and closed the door behind them.

A single tacky chandelier filled with what looked like bulbs from a Christmas tree lighted the windowless, white-walled room. Shelves on all the walls were lined with old paperbacks and the occasional hardcover book from some out-dated Time Life series. In the center of the room, two tables were pushed together, and around it sat eleven silent nuns. In the poor lighting, Debbie could only make out expressionless faces, seemingly identical in their black and white habits.

The one at the head of the table, however, was obviously older than the others by at least twenty years. Her face was lined, and her cheeks sagged.

Abigail stepped forward. "This is Debbie."

The old nun at the head of the table nodded. "Make sure the others are taken care of Abigail. We won't be but a moment."

Abigail nodded and left the room, pulling the door behind her.

"Hello, Debbie," the old nun smiled, briefly flashing yellow teeth. "I'd say you have done very well here at Mercy House. We appreciate the extra chores you've taken on to help keep up with the day to day affairs, and Sister Abigail tells us you have saved every single cent from your part time job. Not once in the three months that you've been here have you broken any of the rules."

There was a long pause. Debbie felt strange because she knew she was being complimented, but the nun's sterile demeanor had a distant quality to it.

"Debbie you have taken initiative to help yourself, and we, the Sisters of St. Laurence, want to reward your diligence."

Again there was a pause as if the old nun was waiting for a response. The silence made the visitor uneasy, so she spoke up to break the tension. "Thank you," Debbie said sincerely, "but you've done so much for me already."

"Nonsense, child. That is what we do, and in this month of our Savior's resurrection it is particularly important for us to honor his teachings." Debbie nodded. In her short time with the sisters of St. Laurence she had come to know them as very caring women who lived by the idea of "love thy neighbor". Giving up their own pleasures for the sake of others was a daily event for the generous souls that ran the Mercy House shelter.

Another one of the sisters spoke up in a deep clear voice. "With Sunday being Easter we would like the opportunity to give you your own personal resurrection, a new life in Christ, Debbie."

"Forgive me sisters. I'm not sure I understand," she said hesitantly, "but I don't think I'm cut out to be a nun."

"What sister Angela was trying to say," the old nun interrupted, "is that we would like you to be our guest, give you shelter at St. Laurence and a small stipend while you are getting on your feet."

The wonderful words hit Debbie like a freight train. It took everything she had to keep from bursting into tears. All her work, her prayers had been noticed. The darkness was about to give way to a shining future. Her hands shot up and covered her mouth. "Oh thank you," she gasped excitedly, "I would be so grateful for whatever you can do!"

She let her hands fall and a smile shone brightly on her face. "Thank you. . .I don't know what to say."

"It is our pleasure, Debbie, to prepare you for a new life. You're a good woman."

Tears washed the grime from Debbie's face. It had been so long since anyone had spoken kindly to her. "Thank you sisters. I don't know how I can repay you."

"God will repay us." Sister Angela said in her clear deep voice.

The van left Mercy House around three. Debbie sat amidst the twelve sisters thankful for the incredible luck she'd had. With the basic needs of food and shelter taken care of, she would be able to devote more time to trying to find work.

For twenty minutes the van stopped and started in city traffic. All the while no one said a word. Debbie was shocked when the van reached the freeway. It had never occurred to her that St. Laurence might be upstate. Then she wandered how she'd get back into the city for work. She was relieved when she remembered some of the nuns would have to come to Mercy House every day. She'd just ride with them.

Four hours later the van pulled up to a cast iron gate. The headlights revealed a massive stonewall surrounding a collection of buildings. Debbie could see a few lights shining in the night. All around was countryside, thick with trees.

Debbie looked up to see what she could see out the windshield as the gate slid open. Staring at her strangely in the rearview mirror from the driver's seat was Sister Abigail. The woman's eyes, framed by her horned-rimmed glasses, quickly darted away when she realized Debbie had noticed. Slowly, the van pulled forward and drove into the dark convent.

***********************

Sister Abigail and the older nun Debbie had heard called Sister Marie led the young woman up the dark wooden stairwell. The candles the nuns carried lighted their path, and their footfalls caused the steps to creak loudly. They climbed past two dark hallways to the top floor of the building. At the mouth of a black corridor, the candles flickered in the wake of a draft, casting the nun's pale faces in yellow light.

The hall echoed with the sound of hard-soled shoes hitting against the plank floor as Debbie followed them. Stopping before a heavy wooden door, Sister Marie pushed it open and stepped aside waving for Debbie to enter. "Please, come in, child."

Debbie thought the place was a little primitive, but for all she knew all convents were all a little old-fashioned. Sister Abigail walked over to a dark corner of the room, and light suddenly appeared. She had used her candle to light an oil lamp on a small nightstand. Walking to the other side of the room, she lit another lamp on a writing desk next to a wooden bookshelf.

The room was actually quite comfortable once the darkness had been dispelled. A twin bed was pushed against a wall with a cedar chest at the foot, and the walls were painted a light brown. Across from the door was a large eight-pained window.

"I hope you don't mind," Sister Marie said, "the other dormitory is full."

Debbie laughed. "I'll be honest. I was worried at first. This place is kinda creepy in the dark, but with a little light, it'll be fine."

"I'm sorry your out here alone, but I assure you the worst thing you have to fear is the shadows and silence playing tricks on your imagination." She smiled. "Breakfast is at seven. There will be someone to meet you downstairs to escort you to the dining hall. Clothes are in the cedar chest, and there is a bathroom down the hall, with hot water."

Abigail interrupted quietly. "You'll also find candles and matches in the cedar chest. There is no electricity in the building."

"Thank you, sister," Marie smiled by the glow of the candle she still clutched, "I wouldn't want to forget that."

"Well I guess I'll turn in, so I'll be refreshed tomorrow."

Both of the sisters wished their guest good night and walked out into the hall. To be polite, Debbie walked to the door to watch them leave. The nun's black robes blended perfectly into the dark hall, so all that the woman could see was the yellow light of the candles.

She heard Sister Marie's voice call back to her. "You've got the run of the place Debbie, but I'd avoid the basement. We just keep it full of junk."

Closing the door, she chuckled to herself, "They won't have to worry about keeping me out of the basement." The long ride had exhausted Debbie, and she was ready for bed. Blowing out the lamp on the writing table she decided she would get up early and bath before breakfast. Undressing down to her bra and panties, the woman sat on the edge of the bed. There was a slip of paper on the floor barely sticking out from under the bed. As she picked it up and unfolded it, Debbie remembered Sister Abigail had stood there when she had lit the light.

The single sentence chilled the woman to the core. Debbie, be gone by Easter.

An eerie feeling trickled down Debbie making her suddenly afraid to be alone in the large empty building. She blew out the light and lied down on the bed. An unexpected sound drifted upward from a lower floor of the dormitory. It was loud and fast like a door slamming. Debbie bolted upright in the bed, her eyes searching the darkness, heart pounding in her chest.

The air in her lungs was thin like it wasn't enough to sustain her; she had to force herself to breathe. Chastising herself she thought she was overreacting to the note, but how could she be? The threat was as plain as day. Then she recalled catching Abigail looking at her in the rearview mirror when the van pulled up. Sitting down on the bed calmed her tight muscles so she could attempt to think rationally. The first thing tomorrow morning she was going to straighten this out, let Abigail know she was no threat to her.

A sound cleaved the silence in the room causing Debbie to shudder uncomfortably. There was no doubt in her mind she had just heard the sound of one of the nun's hard-soled shoes on a step. The empty dormitory hid no sounds from its solitary resident, and as she hurried to the door in the darkness to lock it, the floor creaked beneath her feet.

Her heart began to race again, and visions of Sister Abigail carrying an ax up the dark stairwell, insane grin on her face and black horn-rimmed glasses, plagued her thoughts. Feeling for the knob, Debbie realized there was no lock, and she began to tremble in fear.

The deafening silence that surrounded her made it worse. If she could just hear it again, she'd know if it were closer, if Sister Abigail were closer. Her muscles tightened, and she fumbled in the night for anything she could use as a weapon. But there was nothing. She couldn't sit, and she definitely couldn't sleep. Instead, Debbie leaned into the door, perfectly still. Her breath was the only sound in the room, and she listened, caught in the twisted paradox of anxiety. She dreaded that sound would come again, and prayed that she would hear it in time to run.

When Debbie opened her eyes, she was on the floor. It was morning.

*************************

She stepped out of her bedroom into the dark hall-last night she hadn't noticed the squeaky hinges. The corridor was silent and gray. She had assumed the stairs she came up were the only ones, but looking up and down the long hall, Debbie saw a set at each end. Square windows with dust-smeared pains of glass above each stairwell let in the blue morning light.

Debbie decided to take the other flight of stairs to the first floor, a little exploration in the safety of daylight and wait for her escort to breakfast. She passed the doorless opening to the bathroom where she had bathed earlier. Quickly, she shook off a cold feeling that settled on her, recalling stepping into the eerily quiet tile shower. She had thought the
fears of the night were gone, but when the sound of the running water had obscured her hearing, she was immediately on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder expecting to see Sister Abigail with a murderous smile on her face.

Freshly bathed, the grime and filth were gone from her hair and skin. The simple dress and shoes Debbie had found in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed were the nicest clothes she had owned in years. Her hair, still dark from moisture, was pulled into a tight braid that hung down the center of her back, and her presence in the lonely hall was announced by the thuds of her hard soles. Each time she passed a door to one of the dormitory rooms, Debbie's eyes sharpened as she sought anything out of the ordinary.

All the while she tortured herself with thoughts of Easter, tomorrow. An unwelcome feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. She decided that as soon as she saw Sister Marie she would bring up the events of last night. There was no way she could tolerate another night like she had gone through.

Debbie wound her way down the steps until she reached the ground floor, cobwebs and dust everywhere. The place definitely didn't get used much. At the exact moment Debbie was looking around the wall into the hallway, she heard a metallic clang. Fear froze her dead in her tracks; it was the exact sound she had heard last night. To her immediate right was a door. She thought about bolting for freedom, screaming for help with the hope that one of the sisters would come to her rescue, but instead she stepped backward, slowly climbing the steps in the direction she'd come.

Hurrying around the edge of the second floor steps, Debbie watched the door below her intently. Hard footfalls knocked quickly as the woman's heart pounded with fearful anticipation.

Sister Abigail rushed to the door, yanking it open. Debbie inhaled out of pure fright. The homicidal nun had hidden in the abandoned dormitory waiting for the perfect moment to catch her prey. Since the opportunity had not presented itself, she was fleeing before Debbie's escort came to take her to breakfast.

The sound from Debbie's quivering lips caused Abigail to look up the stairwell. Her face was blank, and her mouth was slack-jawed, speechless that she was looking Debbie square in the face. Her arms were close to her, holding something under the front of the black habit.

Terror reeled in Debbie's mind as she tried to back up the stairs. Her mouth assumed the twisted position to scream but nothing came out. Fright stifled her scream, dead in her throat, and she fell against the wall.

Abigail raised one of her hands and started to speak, but the sound of the door opening at the other end of the hall startled her. She looked over her shoulder briefly, and then charged out the door before her.

The front of her robe swished aside revealing that she was holding a severed arm. Its skin was gray and badly decomposed, withered muscles hung like old dry rags from the shoulder.

Debbie's horror broke free from her chest with an incredible scream. Shock grabbed hold of her and she was swallowed by darkness.

*********************

She opened her eyes to the faces of six nuns looking down at her. Coming onto her elbows, Debbie's fear picked up right where it left off before she fainted. The image of the gnarled dead arm caused her skin to crawl, and she gasped.

"It's all right, Debbie." Sister Marie grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "Your fine. What happened?"

She let herself sink back into the bed and relax. Sister Abigail was gone. "Oh, Marie," Debbie's eyes welled up with tears as she spoke, "I'm afraid of Sister of Abigail."

The room was deathly silent. "What do you mean, Debbie?" Marie asked slowly.

A strange expression came over the faces of the nuns. Debbie couldn't read it, but she knew they had some idea of what was going on. "I think Sister Abigail is trying to kill me?"

"What?" Marie was shocked.

Trying to control her tears, Debbie told the whole story, about the look on the bus, the footsteps in the night, and the arm. Unable to control her emotions, Debbie broke down into sobs. With her head buried in her pillow, she wept, thankful to be alive.

"I was afraid of this," Debbie heard Marie say, "she was the very same way with the last woman who came to St. Laurence."

Debbie was relieved to hear it wasn't something she had done. After all she was so grateful to have the opportunity the sisters gave her. Her tears stopped as anger boiled inside. Abigail was supposed to be a servant of God not some deranged creature that crept in the basement.

Marie continued. "The two of you stay here and make sure Debbie is safe." There was a short pause then Marie's words came with a hard edge. "Abigail must be stopped, and when you find her bring her to me."

"Debbie," Marie's voice was kind again, "I'm sorry this happened."

The young woman sat up and wiped her eyes. "Oh, Marie, it's not your fault."

"I'm afraid it is, child. Abigail should have been stopped long ago. Our goal is to help the less fortunate hear at St Laurence, give them a new start. I don't understand her."

Marie smiled and brushed a loose hair from Debbie's eyes. "Rest now and regain your strength. I will come to fetch you for Easter service and meal in the great hall.

Debbie nodded. She was glad to have this behind her.

*****************

Nuns came in and out the room throughout the day bringing Debbie her meals. They didn't speak more than a few words to her, and Debbie could see concern on their faces. She knew they must be worried about their disturbed
sister. She would've been herself if the woman hadn't threatened her and stalked her through the night.

Debbie knew she was safe in her room under the watchful eye of the good sisters of St. Laurence, but she remained nervous. Abigail new the convent as well as they did, and she could hide out and wait for a chance to strike. All day Debbie pondered one question. Whose arm had Sister Abigail been carrying and why?

When a nun was serving her dinner, and she watched the sun set through the window in her room, the door swung open. A young nun in round glasses hurried over to the one who had brought Debbie's meal and whispered something
in her ear.

Immediately, the one with the tray nodded and a smile came to her face. She signaled for the other to leave and turned back to Debbie. Much more relaxed than Debbie had seen any of the sisters throughout the day; the woman slid the desk chair out and took a seat.

"Sister Denise tells me that Abigail has been found and she will answer for her behavior."

Relief liberated Debbie's mind and she smiled. "Thank God," she said, "what's going to happen to Abigail?'

"She will have to answer to God for trying to interfere with his will."

Debbie nodded. It sounded as though the nun were going to be excommunicated or something and that saddened her heart. She had seen Abigail do so much good at the Mercy House. Then the image of the arm returned to her, and she shook it out of her mind. She wandered if the nuns would turn Sister Abigail over to the police but didn't ask.

Instead, "Sister, who's arm was that?"

"When sisters of St Laurence die we place their bodies in a vault below this building. She must have defiled one of our dead."

"Sister Marie told me it was full of Junk. I'm surprised she didn't mention the vault."

The sister in the chair fell strangely silent, face expressionless. "Of course," she said as she got up and left the room.

The sound of a key in the door outside the room sent a chill down Debbie's back. Jumping to her feet, she ran over to the door and tugged on the handle. It was locked.

Something wasn't right, vault, junk. Their stories didn't add up. Debbie began to pound frantically. Her screams for help went unanswered. Panic seized her tightly by the throat. What was going on?

"Someone let me out! What's going on?"

The sound of the key turning in the lock brought Debbie straight up in bed. By the darkness in the room, she could tell it was night or early morning without even turning to look out the window. Her muscles tightened as the door began to open. The glow of a single candle poured into the room, and her breathing sputtered, quickened. Ten nuns filled the room, faces grim in the shadow and flicker of the tiny flame.

"It is time Debbie," one of them said, "Sister Marie awaits you in the meeting hall."

"What's going on!" Debbie's voice had the quality of a child who suddenly realized there wasn't a puppy in the stranger's van like he had said. "Why did you lock me in here!"

"It was for your own good, Debbie." The sister said as she nodded to two of the nuns in her company. They walked over to Debbie, and despite her efforts to back away; they held her firmly by the arms. "Today is the celebration of the return of our Lord and Savior. You will be given life in the way only Christ can give, eternal life."

The nun turned and walked out the door, and the crowd of remaining sisters parted so Debbie and her escorts could leave the room. Nine sisters of St Laurence walked closely to the trembling frame of Debbie, two held her tightly.

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, "why are you doing this to me."

"Hush, child," one of the nun's said, "you are with Jesus like we can only hope to be, be proud."

Amidst the knocks of shoes on the floorboards of the hall, Debbie heard a voice rise up in song. She couldn't understand the words, guessing they were in Latin. The song was a slow repetitive haunting melody like a lamentation.
One at a time the sisters around her took up the song. Debbie was suddenly terrified beyond any experience she had ever had. Fighting was useless; she felt other hands, cold seemingly dead to the touch, lock onto her.

They led her across a dark courtyard surround by trees thick with foliage. Her screams climbed into the pleasant spring night sky, a hideous blend with the sisters song.

Walking up the steps to the meeting hall, Debbie saw two nuns waiting in the shadows on either side of the double doors. They scurried to pull doors wide. The singing stopped, and the world returned to silence.

Looking into the mouth of the building, she saw five tables covered with white cloths, four of them full. At the fifth one Sister Abigail was sitting alone, and Sister Marie stood before it staring straight into Debbie's eyes. The stare was so hard it frightened the woman, and she felt the nun's flinty eyes were trying to pierce her. It was much more of a wanton look than even the businessmen who had slipped into alleys after her asking for blowjobs had had. Then came the yellow-toothed smile, coming like tearing flesh as if a knife-edge were being dragged across her wrinkled face. Debbie had to turn away, and she began to quiver.

"Welcome sisters and Debbie, our most beloved guest. Please join us in remembering the sacrifice of flesh and blood our Lord gave for our sins." Sister Marie's voice touched Debbie like an unexpected hand at a funeral. There was no resisting the nuns of St. Laurence that moved her into the hall, and the great doors closed behind them.

Sister Marie addressed the entire assembly. "Like the wicked and loathsome Judas one among us is a traitor!" Her accusation was venomous. "That traitor, out of fear of man's law not God's laws, endangered the security of our most holy celebration! Sister Abigail tried to take the remains of one our guests to the police! She betrayed us, blasphemed the gifts of God! Sisters, pray that God has mercy on her soul and does not damn her to hell for all eternity the way she deserves."

When Sister Marie paused, the room thundered with the silence of a morgue. So heavy, it was almost tangible.

The old nun turned to face, Sister Abigail. "Do you have anything to say before you meet the wrath of the Father?"

Sister Abigail was pale, and her face was splotched with sweat. Her mouth opened to speak, but only a dry croak passed her lips. Nearly falling from her chair, she staggered to her feet. Extending her hands, Debbie could see blood from wrist to elbow on Sister Abigail's arms. Her midsection was torn opened from sternum to pubis, glistening blood and entrails oozing forward. She forced herself to take three shaky steps then wavered but managed to stay on her feet.

Struggling with incredible effort, the woman managed to speak. "You can not hide this depravity from the eyes of the Lord, and one day it will be seen by the eyes of man."

She collapsed.

Debbie felt her sanity crumbling. What was happening to her?

From the now empty table, Sister Marie lifted a silver dagger from a platter. "Bring forth the lamb." The old woman held Debbie's gaze with a cruel glint in her eyes. "The salvation of man is dependent on the flesh and blood of life, innocence. Your sacrifice for the souls of the world will be rewarded by the gift of salvation."

Sister Marie held the knife high. "Put her on the table," she screamed in a wild voice.

"No!" Debbie cried uselessly. There was no hope to resist the combined strength of the ten nuns. Her struggling was mocked by their sick smiles.

They slammed her against the table, and the hard blow knocked the wind our of her. She wasn't able to put forth any resistance as they shackled her to the table with leather straps.

"Take, eat, this is my body that was shed for you and for many. Do this in remembrance of me." Marie's voice was somber and respectful.

Her face was expressionless as she dug the point of the knife into Debbie's shoulder causing the woman to spill forth a shriek of agony. The sawing motion intensified the bound woman's pain.

Sister Marie brought the bite-sized piece of flesh to her mouth and ate it with reverence in her eyes. As she chewed blood ran down the corner of her mouth.

Debbie could no longer reason. The pain, the horror, was devouring her. Screaming was no longer possible in her exhausted condition. Uncontrollable sobs and gasping blubbered from her as she shook her head like a child in a
tantrum. "Please! Marie, you said you were going to give me a new life."

The nun picked up a silver goblet from the table. "I am giving you a new life in heaven child, and with you, goes the thanks of the world."

Holding the goblet high, the sister spoke, "Take, drink, this is my blood which is shed for you and for many. Do this in remembrance of me." She pressed the cup to the open wound in the struggling girl's arm.

A sudden hope that maybe she could escape came over Debbie, and she thrashed wildly. She had a future to live, a life away from the streets of the city. She had dreams.

The leather straps would not relent.

Sister Marie drank from the cup. Then she threw it to the wood floor. Her smile was cold and bloody. "My sisters salvation awaits you!"

The gathering of nuns in their black and white habits stood up and approached the table upon which Debbie was held. They formed a circle around the long cloth covered table, and one at a time they stepped forward, kneeling by the helpless form of Debbie.

Their teeth sank into the woman's soft flesh, and they bit wildly to break off a piece of salvation. Then each sucked briefly on the wound to withdraw the blood of life.

Standing once again with blood-smeared faces, each sister spoke, "Thank you Debbie."

Her body soon went limp and her gaping mouth and open eyes stared skyward. Crimson continued to stain the tablecloth as the elixir of life dripped to the floor.

© 2001 Everette Bell