The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Cathedral of Stolen Recollection
by Naching T. Kassa 

Nalin Kratides stood on the cusp of a dream, a realm of twilight surrounding her.

The memory of entering the cathedral eluded her. She seemed to materialize within its walls, her gaze focused on a corridor of gothic arches. A window at the end admitted the only light.

Moonlight.

“There’s a ghost in here,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

She glanced down the corridor and a sudden sliver of fear pierced her mind. Something waited there among the shadows.

Nalin? A voice called. It filled her head, not the air about her. Nalin? Are you alright?

John! Detective John Warren’s voice. Her husband’s voice.

The memories rolled in like a flood. The skull buried in the forest floor. John and the other investigators at the scene. The forensic team finishing their work. They had all gone, leaving her and John alone. She had used her psychic talent then, opening a tunnel of light to reach the spirit which had once occupied the skull. Only…something had gone wrong.

“I’m alright, John,” she said.

Did you find Moira Benjamin? Can you see her?

The memory of a smiling brunette slipped in. The skull in the forest belonged to her. She had been on her way to Moira, when someone—something—commandeered her tunnel.

“No, I can’t see her. I don’t think she’s here. I’m not in the forest. Or her apartment. I’m in some sort of cathedral.”

Cathedral? Like the tattoo? Nalin—

His voice faded away.

“John? John, where are you?”

Silence reigned.

Nalin glanced up at the window and realized it had changed. It was a tunnel now, one which led back to the forest. Relief flowed through her. She took one step forward and stopped.

The corridor and the arches, she had seen them before.

The image of an arm suddenly leaped to Nalin’s mind as though placed there by an outside force. It had been the only part of Moira Benjamin’s arm which retained flesh. The rest had been denuded bone. The shape of the corridor had been tattooed—no, branded—into the arm.

The killer had used the brand to show his possession of Moira, body and soul, even after death.

Nalin shivered. This was his place.

A sudden wave of psychic energy overwhelmed her. The emotion was strong, malevolent and gleeful. It radiated from the right side of the corridor.

Nalin glanced toward the right. Nothing stared at her from behind the stone arches. Nothing peered at her from the far end near the window. She glanced down, her breath catching in her throat.

The ghost, no more than a head, a torso and two arms, stood just a few feet from her. It grinned as it slid back into the shadows.

A new image forced its way into her head. This was no memory, but an alien shred of fantasy. In it, she watched as the creature devoured the flesh of her leg stripping it to the bone.

Nalin gasped as though drowning and emerged from the illusion, her heart pounding in her chest. The tunnel stood open before her and she rushed toward it.

Before she could take three steps, the ghost materialized before her, blocking her way. It swiped a clawed hand at her and she swerved, losing her balance. She flailed and fell backward onto the cold floor.

Hands slapped stone as the thing rushed forward. Just as it reached her, Nalin screamed.

The creature vanished.

A soft and sinister laugh echoed throughout the room.

Nalin scrambled to her feet, cursing her stupidity. It had been an illusion, nothing more.

A soft rustling, like a serpent’s slither, sounded in the dark nearby. Spurred on by the sound, she rushed at the tunnel once more.

The ghost broke out of the shadows and once again blocked her way. She bore down on it.

A terrible mistake.

The ghost slashed out at her with one hand, shredding her jeans just above the left knee. Pain seared and blood flowed as she fell into a nearby archway.

Once again, the thing disappeared. Laughter echoed, a maniacal sound.

Nalin bit back a whimper as she rose to her feet.

The creature was toying with her. Keeping her off balance and afraid. How long would it keep this game going? Until she fell exhausted? Or died of fright?

She glanced toward the tunnel, the only avenue of escape.

Was that real? Was the cathedral even real?

“Think,” she whispered.

What if it wasn’t real? Nalin bit her lip. What was she missing?

The slithering began again.

The killer had hidden memories from her. Disoriented her.

The slithering continued, moving behind her. She turned, backing down the corridor as the ghost approached.

It came to her then. The only way she might survive.

She took one step forward, then another.

The thing seemed startled by her move. Nalin rushed it before it could act, and laid her hands upon its shoulders.

Images rushed into Nalin’s mind, just as she knew they would. The connection the thing had established with her was a strong one, and it worked both ways. She saw a beautiful and familiar girl, the woods, a man’s face, a knife slicing… And then a memory belonging to Nalin alone. The image of a woman’s skeleton, sans pelvis and legs.

This time the creature gasped as it broke contact. It fled Nalin’s mind, struggling from her grip and back into the gloom.

“Moira!” Nalin cried. “Moira Benjamin!”

A sob greeted the name.

Nalin strode into the darkness, following the sound. She found the shadow, fell to her knees and threw her arms around it. It shuddered at her touch.

“I’ve come to take you home, Moira,” she said.

“I can’t…go home.” She pulled away and shielded her face with one hand. “I’m a monster.”

“No. You’re not.”

“I’ve hurt people. Killed them.”

“Those are illusions. The one who killed you—he disoriented you. Trapped you here like he trapped me. He’s the monster. And he no longer has a hold on you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I saw him in your memories. I know who he is. Leave this prison. So we can put him in his.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Take my hand.”

Moira grasped hold and Nalin led her toward the light.

.

Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pexels.com

More from Naching T. Kassa:

Sherlock Holmes and The Arcana of Madness: A Horror Mystery

Discover the untold mysteries of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson in Sherlock Holmes and the Arcana of Madness, a trilogy that unveils three captivating cases intertwined with the mystical allure of tarot cards, designed by the renowned, yet infamous artist, Richard Dadd.

A collection of manuscripts, meticulously penned by John H. Watson M.D., is unearthed in 2019 amidst the restoration of Broadmoor Hospital, found inexplicably in the grave of Richard Dadd. The manuscripts’ concealed journey and their remaining unpublished raise a myriad of questions, enveloping them in a veil of mystery.

Available on Amazon!