Terror At St. Anne's

Chapter 1

Father Paul Price set down his pen and looked up, the view through the window pleasing him greatly. He sat back and settled comfortably into the old, worn, black leather chair, which was situated behind a large, scuffed up antique oak desk, donated by a thankful parishioner. In fact, all the appointments in the small office were donated items. All but the heavy, large, silver cross, mounted on the wall behind where he sat. He had, well, splurged really, on this item, and it satisfied him to no end that he could do so.

The Academy was located in a small mid-western town called Sanctuary. It was set far back from the road in a picturesque setting, surrounded by green lawns and thick woods. If one imagined hard enough, it might even be mistaken for the grounds of an old English castle, with the long, winding drive splitting into a circle around the huge statue of St. Anne, meeting in the middle at the front entrance of the main building. The steeple was offset to the right, as if the church was added as an afterthought, though, indeed it was the whole premise, the anchor, of this all-girl catholic academy.

The campus was made up of several buildings, all varying in size. The main, administrative building which housed the chapel was a total of five stories, including one below ground. One half of the basement level was the gym, and the other half, the storm shelter. This was the only building visible from the entrance, and it was massive. It hid the other structures, which were located here and there throughout the compound behind it. Elongated, rectangular, stained glass windows were expertly set into the thick brick, and strategically placed within the block construction. Large, ornately carved angels framed the over-sized, heavy, wooden door, the expanse of their wings enormous. Yet, this particular entrance was rarely used and mostly for show.

The drive veered around to the left side of the building and snaked around the compound, leading directly into a parking lot in the rear. From there, the compound was visible with a footpath leading to each of the different buildings which housed the classrooms for the students. There were five buildings in all, three portables, the little white two-roomed structure called The Music Room, and The Little Red Schoolhouse, where the second and third grade classrooms were located.

As he scanned the grounds, the Priest ruminated about what he had achieved thus far in his life. Though, fairly young yet, he had done well. He had acquired a dual Bachelor’s degree in both Philosophy and Business, with a minor in Theology, graduating college at twenty-two. Three years in the Seminary working closely with Bishop Howard, gaining his trust and he was now the Director of his own Academy. True, it was small, but it was his, and he had complete autonomy to run it as he so wished. Paul Price had decided at an early age what direction he wanted his life to go. An abusive, alcoholic stepfather had made that decision easy for him.

He remembered his mother, Marjorie, who was beautiful and kind. A gentle soul who continually found herself at the mercy of the wrong man. Marjorie Price met Herb Jansen, a mechanic, right after her husband left she and little Paul. One day they found themselves broken down by the side of the road, with Herb stopping to help, valiantly coming to their rescue. Marjorie was a good woman, caring for her son as best she could, but she could not seem to make it on her own, so she was quick to accept a date from Herb, and subsequently, a proposal of marriage.

Herb’s wife had died a few years earlier, and so, along with Herb came a little boy, Bryan, two years younger than her Paul. Marjorie cared for him as if he was her own, and Paul seemed to enjoy having a younger brother. But she soon discovered she had made a mistake by marrying Herb. A terrible mistake. He would beat the three of them regularly, usually after returning home from the bar at night.

In an effort to escape the abuse, Marjorie Price-Jansen took her boys to church, and St. Michael’s came to be a place of refuge, not only for their mother, but also for her young sons. Both Paul and Bryan seem to enjoy mass and their catechism classes as well. They soon became altar boys, vying for the attention of Father Eric McCarthy. And the Priest was very good to both boys, charging them with many different responsibilities. Paul, being the oldest and proving himself the most dependable, was allowed to act as lead for the other boys, thus, reaping the benefits financially, receiving special remuneration from wedding planners and funeral directors. Yes, his lead position had served him well. He was also allowed to partake in special services with Father McCarthy, accompanying him to hospitals and nursing homes to visit the elderly, the sick, and those less fortunate. Paul admired him, considering him much more of a role model than his stepfather, or even his biological father, could ever have been. Paul was smart, and he watched closely as the Priest ministered to those in need, but noticed even more the special attention Father McCarthy paid to the women of the parish, women such as his mother, who were neglected, abused, weak and in despair; women needing special attention, but mostly, women needing affection.

Paul watched and learned, and Father McCarthy was indeed an excellent teacher. He took Paul into his confidence, treating him as though he were the son he would never have. And young Paul was a quick learner. At the tender age of fourteen, he too, learned how to woo the opposite sex. He had had no idea how much power a clerical man could wield. He was good looking, and admired, and as his mentor had told him, forbidden fruit, which was the juiciest and most desired.

But Bryan, on the other hand, was not as astute as Paul, nor was he quite as handsome, but then, Bryan was a Jansen, not a Price. Unfortunately, he had his father’s traits, which became more and more apparent the older he became. He soon lost interest in the church and began running the streets.

And then, finally, one day Herb Jansen went too far. When driving home from his favorite pub he hit a pedestrian, killing her. He tried to flee, but the police soon caught up and he received the most severe penalty allowed by law. But the time he was to have spent behind bars would have been easy compared to how he died, beaten to death by a prison gang.

Marjorie prayed for forgiveness, for she could not help the feeling of relief which came over her. Yes, she was glad her husband was dead so the bastard could no longer harm her, or her boys. But the damage was done, and while Paul had escaped relatively unscathed, Bryan had not. He, too, would soon find himself on the wrong side of the law, eventually spending years in prison for drugs, domestic disputes, and weapons charges. He had grown to be much like his father.

But Paul never stopped trying to look after his step-brother because, in reality, deep down, he knew they were both alike, coming from the same background, and he never lost sight of the fact that they were a team. He was just smarter than Bryan, that was all, and Bryan needed guidance, especially after their mother had been killed. Paul always thought his half brother to be responsible for her death, always knew Bryan resented Marjorie and the fact that she could not protect them from the horror they lived, the man she had married, his father. And the manner in which she died, well, a home invasion never made sense to him. They had lived in a small, dilapidated mobile home with obviously nothing of value for any intruder to find. Marjorie was well loved in the community, volunteering for those less fortunate, sharing what little they had with whomever was in need. Who would want to kill her? It never made sense to Paul. But Bryan’s resentment did, and Paul always suspected he had something to do with it.

Bryan had spent most of his life incarcerated anyway, living a hard life and it was clear he was capable of violence. But finally, now, Paul was able to provide for his little brother, to protect him and to offer a life he had never known. Paul expected little in return, only loyalty, and a few small favors.

Yes, Father Paul Price was very proud of what he had accomplished, despite his meager beginnings and his bastard of a step-father. He shook himself out of his thoughts, sat forward and picked up his pen. He signed the document he had been preparing and addressed the envelope:

Ms. Traci Carlisle

2325 West Mesquite Road

Phoenix, Arizona 85028

He folded the letter and placed it inside the envelope, pouring a dollop of hot wax on the edge of the flap. Then, he carefully pressed his ring straight down into the soft, warm goo. He blew on it, waited a few minutes, and then smiled at the finished product. Sealed with a cross. Perfect.

Chapter 2

Father Timothy Corrigan was born and raised in an affluent community on the west coast of Southern California. His father, a world renowned plastic surgeon, provided a happy, stable upbringing for Tim, his siblings, and their mother. The Corrigan children were bright, good looking, well-adjusted youngsters whom all the neighborhood parents wished their own kids would emulate. They were always polite, earned good grades in school and excelled at sports, music, and just about any endeavor they would undertake. It was safe to say Dr. and Mrs. Corrigan were extremely proud of their children, and when young Tim announced he wanted to join the Priesthood, though surprised, they were fully supportive. But Tim had seemed to enjoy dating and family life, so the news came as quite a shock to the Corrigan household, but then they realized, Tim had been through a devastating time, to which they attributed this decision.

His senior year in high school Tim lost his long-time sweetheart in a boating accident. Tim, Kelly, and several friends were out on the lake one weekend. They had all made a camp at a secluded beach area in a little cove on the far side of the lake. Tim asked Kelly if she wanted to go for a boat ride, just the two of them. Witnesses said they could attest to the fact that the boat was not going more than about 35 MPH, not an excessive speed for the large lake. Tim had swerved to miss a sand bar, throwing Kelly violently about the boat. He told the authorities she hit her head and fell sideways, out of the boat and into the water. Tim tried frantically to find her but she had disappeared under the murky water. By the time the rescue crew had found her, it was too late. Police verified that indeed there was a sandbar in the area, finding the story plausible, especially since Tim seemed totally distraught and inconsolable. And so, the death of Kelly Schoenfeld was ruled an accident.

After high school Tim went on to college on an academic scholarship, majoring in Philosophy and Theology. He enjoyed his share of coeds, but always kept his eye on his goal, never getting seriously involved with any one girl, rather, keeping his extracurricular activities simple and private. Tim fully intended on taking his vows to the church seriously, once it came time. So when he was appointed to St. Anne's Academy's clerical staff, he did just that.

Chapter 3

Father Timothy Corrigan shared the cottage with Father Paul Price at St. Anne’s. He did not possess the business acumen that Father Paul did, nor did he have the same interest in the financial health of the school, rather, he was placed at the Academy to bolster the attendance. Father Timothy’s strength was his ability to relate to the parishioners. His sermons were tremendously popular within the community and attendance had increased two-fold since his arrival fourteen years ago. Father Paul had seen Brother Corrigan at a Christian retreat in Ohio and was impressed with his charismatic delivery, his leadership skills, and his ability to grab and hold an audience.

Father Paul had discussed the lack of attendance at mass that St. Anne’s held on Sunday for the residents of Sanctuary, with Bishop Howard. He, himself, was so involved in the day to day administrative work that he was unable to develop the following he would like to see, a following that could generate a tremendous increase in revenues for the Academy; revenues which would ultimately benefit the community greatly. Subsequently, the Bishop agreed Father Timothy would be a great asset to St. Anne’s and so they set about creating a position for him and bringing him on board. Indeed, he had made a difference.

The church also had two Deacon’s serving the congregation; Deacon Herman Johnson, and Deacon Greg Crider, neither of whom lived on the campus of course, though they had access to all the facilities.

Deacon Johnson and his wife, Evelyn, were long-time members of the Sanctuary community, volunteers at the hospital and grandparents to four, very active, grandchildren.

Greg Crider was handpicked and recruited by Father Paul. As the owner of Crider Mortuary, they had worked together on several occasions, the school sending their nuns to Crider’s upon death. Thus, there were plenty of occasions to work together.

Indeed, it was safe to say Paul Price was very proud of his accomplishments in his sixteen years at St. Anne’s. Student attendance was at capacity, services were full, and he was highly revered in the community. And then there were his extracurricular activities, those in which he would partake in and of, outside of the parish, those activities of which no one was the wiser.

Chapter 4

(Sixteen Years Earlier)

Patty and Joe Carlisle had been high school sweethearts, growing up in a small town about thirty miles east of Sanctuary. After graduation, Joe had entered the Service, assigned to a military base two states away. Patty worked as a nurse’s aide at a nearby hospital, taking classes at the local community college, waiting for Joe’s return. Two long years and too many letters back and forth to count, Joe finally returned, proposing to Patty the very day he arrived home.

Joe went to the State University on the GI Bill, and Patty quit college to raise the family they were soon to start. Todd, the oldest, came along a year after they were married, with Traci, their first daughter, two years later, then Kayla, their third child, three years after that.

The Carlisle’s had high hopes for all their children, sending both Todd and Traci to private schools, with little Kayla enrolled in a nursery school close to their house. Tuition for all three was steep, but Joe’s position as a Professor at the university allowed for their enrollment.

Traci attended St. Anne’s Catholic Academy for Girls. She loved her teacher, Sister Michelle, and she loved going to school there. Her third grade classroom was in the building they called the Little Red Schoolhouse, which was made up of four classrooms, two of which were for the second grade, and two for the third. There was one entrance from the outside, which led into an L shaped hall where the children stowed their coats and other personal items. Each of the rooms had its own door leading out to the hallway, with all four rooms conjoined by one, center anteroom in the middle, by which each room could be accessed.

Next to the Little Red Schoolhouse was a building that looked like something out of the Wizard of Oz. It was an old, white, clap board structure that looked just like a small house with a little footpath leading up to the rickety wooden door. Candles flickered in the windows at all times, accenting the warm glow emanating from the dwelling. It had a little white picket fence around it with large, looming pines in the small yard. This was the Music Room.

The main, administrative building had always held a bit of mystery for Traci. Many times, walking through the compound she would steal a glance upward, looking hard at the windows on the top floors, most always her imagination getting the best of her. She would sometimes think she could see one of the old nuns peering down at her through the sheer curtains. She was fascinated by the old women, ever wondering what life was like for them up on the tops floors of the old building. Did they ever come outside? Could they even walk? What did they look like? Indeed, Traci was a curious sort, and she just had to know the answers.

The upper floors of the main building were where the elderly nuns lived out their days and ultimately, where they died. Traci knew this because the older girls, eighth graders, had told her and a few of her classmates one recess, out by the merry-go-round. Jeannette was an eighth-grader and she and some of her friends had rallied the younger ones to tell them stories, mainly to scare them. Traci did not really like Jeannette because she could be mean sometimes and made fun of Traci and her friends. But, to Traci, she was grown-up because she had gone to the Academy since she was little, so she was in awe of the girl. She was not sure, though, that she really believed Jeannette when she told the story of the old nuns because the older girl had told them stories before. Stories she just knew could not be true. Stories that even a seven-year-old might question.

Traci recalled just such a story they had been told one day. She, Lynnie, Lucy and Karen were playing out back, behind their schoolhouse on recess when Jeannette and her friends had approached them. It was not often the older girls were over by their play area, but they’d had a special secret to share that day. Jeannette held court, telling the girls she had seen one of the Priests kissing Sister Bridgette in the gym. But when Lucy had asked her which Priest it was, she hesitated, then explained that she could not really tell which one it was because he was turned the other way. They each wore the flowing pale-yellow robes and their hair was the same color so it was hard to know. And it was true that Father Paul and Father Timothy did look much the same from a distance.

But the girls had all gasped in horror when they had heard this, and Traci thought the story just couldn’t be right. Men and women only kissed when they were married, and she remembered asking her mother once why Priests cannot be married. Her mother had simply told her it was a sin because he must promise himself to the church and he had to be freer to serve God. He could not concentrate on that if he had a wife. A concept a bit hard to grasp for a child Traci’s age, but she heard the word sin and that was all she needed to know.

But despite her skepticism, Traci had hung on every word and always kept the secret Jeannette had shared in the back of her mind, thinking that if it was true and she had seen one of the Priests, it must have been Father Paul because she had never really liked him anyway; rather, he scared her, maybe because he was such a large and imposing man. No, Traci did not care much for Father Paul, and it was her own secret because she thought it must be a sin not to like a Priest.

But little Traci could never stop thinking about the nuns on the top floors of the big, old building, picturing them all old and shriveled, lying around moaning and groaning. Sometime she would even imagine their thin, bony fingers reaching out to grab her as she walked by. Traci did have a vivid imagination, but more than likely the picture in her mind stemmed from a visit to a nursing home she had once taken. She had gone with her mother to visit her Great Uncle Virgil, and the sights and the smells would forever be embedded in her mind. She had heard moaning from every