Slutty Little Nun
THE shadows stretched long and thin across the cobblestones behind St. Jude’s, painting the ancient brickwork in shades of bruised purple and deepest indigo. A crisp autumn wind, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke, rustled through the dying ivy that clung to the church’s rear wall. Sister Susan, her wimple a stark white against the encroaching gloom, clutched her rosary beads, their cool, smooth surfaces offering little comfort. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, and she was filled with anticipation and terror. She shouldn't be here. Not like this.
A low whistle, barely audible above the sound of the high winds sliced reached her ears and Susan’s head snapped up. A figure detached itself from the deeper shadows near the old cemeter
