Helen Phifer - The Good Sisters - The perfect scary read to curl up with this winter

‘He is. Why don’t you come inside? Can I ask you, though, how on earth you got here?’

Kate felt her cheeks begin to burn. Answer that without sounding like a complete weirdo, you idiot.

‘I erm, I followed a path from my house through the woods and it led to the gate at the very back of the garden.’

‘Is there a gate out there? I never even knew that. The day I moved in I took one look at that garden and walked straight back inside the house. Gardening has never been my thing. I much prefer playing Call of Duty when I get a minute. Terrible, I know, and not very healthy, but we all have our vices.’

He started laughing and Kate joined in.

‘Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself. I was so shocked to hear someone banging on the back door I thought I was hearing things. Tell me, did you fight your way through all those brambles? That must have taken some doing.’

‘I did and I’m sorry. I bet you think I’m a right weirdo but honestly I’m not. I’m Kate Parker and I live in the big old house on the other side of the woods.’

She held out her hand, which he took and shook firmly.

‘I’m Father Joseph, but you can call me Joe. I don’t really do all the formalities unless I have to. It’s nice to meet you, Kate from the other side of the woods. Now what can I do for you, because there must be some reason you decided to break and enter into the jungle of my back garden?’

Mortified to realise the man was a vicar, Kate was about to splutter an apology when he laughed again.

‘Gotcha, I don’t care. If you’re brave enough to enter the back of beyond there must be a good reason.’

‘I just wanted to know if anyone knew the history of that house I’ve bought? It looks very similar to this one only bigger. I’m in the process of renovating it. I’m turning it into a bed and breakfast, but there have been a couple of strange incidents and it just made me wonder who lived there before. Well I know it was empty for at least twenty years and I know it was a convent in the 1930s, but I don’t know anything else.’

‘Ah I think I know the place you’re talking about, although I’ve never seen it myself. I’ve only been living in the vicarage three months and I’m still getting my bearings. It’s a shame Father Anthony wasn’t here; he would know. He was the parish priest here for a very long time – over thirty years. Would you believe that he took over from Father Patrick – who was here even longer? I’m sure Father Anthony would know all about your house, but he’s not been very well. He’s in the retirement home.’

‘Oh that’s a shame, bless him.’

‘If you like I can make some enquiries. I’m going to visit him tomorrow. If he’s well enough I’ll ask him if there’s anyone you can talk to. Have you tried the records office at the library?’

‘No, not yet and that would be brilliant, thank you. I’ll go into town when I have a minute. I’m up to my neck in renovations. The builders are knocking the house to bits.’

‘Ah I see. When you say strange things have happened, what exactly do you mean?’

Kate didn’t want to say that she thought someone who smelt of old leather, burning flesh and garlic was in her house, and that they were possibly putting up crosses on her freshly painted walls like they were going out of fashion, in case he thought she was completely off her head. She wanted to tell him something, however. He had the kind of face that made you want to confess your sins without setting foot inside a church.

‘Earlier on I thought I heard my friend calling my name when there was only me in the house, only she died three months ago. When I’m on my own at night, after the builders have gone, I hear footsteps on the floor above me, but whenever I go and check there’s no one there.’ She stared at him, waiting to see if he would start to laugh at her, thinking she was mad. He nodded his head.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Sit down. I’ll make us a strong pot of tea and then we’ll talk.’

She sat down on the hard wooden chair and watched as he poured boiling water into the teapot. It was very relaxing watching someone else take over for a change. He put a cup and saucer in front of her and took a packet of chocolate biscuits out of the cupboard, shook half of the packet onto a plate and put it on the table.

‘My mum would be so proud if she could see me now.’ He winked at Kate, who laughed. For a priest, he was a funny guy.

‘So, Kate from the other side of the woods, it’s time to talk serious. Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits? Zombies? The undead?’

‘I suppose so. I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it. What has that got to do with my house?’

‘For want of a better word, I’ve always been fascinated with anything that wasn’t quite normal. I wouldn’t usually disclose that to someone who I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting; however, I get the impression that you need my help so I’d be grateful if you could keep this between us. I loved reading and hearing about ghost stories when I was a kid, then as a teenager I used to go on ghost hunts with my friends. Granted most of the time we were pissed and wouldn’t have heard a ghost if it had been screaming in our faces, but we did it. You name an abandoned building and we would go, in the dark with a crappy old camcorder and a torch. Any old hospital, church, cemetery, you name it we went there.’

‘I don’t understand. How do you go from being a ghost hunter to becoming a priest?’

‘Because, Kate, this is where it gets serious. I saw some scary stuff that I can’t deny existed and if that exists then so must God. In fact I scared myself so much I couldn’t stand to be on my own. So I figured the best way to get over it was to become a priest – plus you get a free house and it’s not the worst job in the world.’

He began to laugh, that infectious laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you my deepest, darkest secrets when we’ve only just met, but there’s something about you, Kate. You remind me of myself a little. What I’m trying to say in the most ridiculous way ever is that sometimes things that go bump in the night can’t be explained in a rational way. Of course we should always, always look for ways to debunk stuff – that’s a given – but when things can’t be explained then we need to look for other explanations. These incidents you’ve told me about, I find a little worrying.’

‘So you think my house is haunted then?’

‘No, I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is just because it doesn’t sound rational don’t discount it. You’re doing a lot of renovating by the sounds of it so it could just be the house settling at night or it could be that all this work you’re doing has disturbed something that had once been at peace. However, there are different types of haunting. There are your benign spirits who just want to stay where they were the happiest, or they might not even realise they’re dead. I look at this way: they are still living their life in a different time frame to you and I. Sometimes we get caught up in each other’s worlds, usually only for the briefest of moments, but it does happen. And then there are the real, scary, serious hauntings of either a person, place or even an object. I don’t want to scare you, but if there is something in your house calling your name and mimicking your friend; well then, you need to be very careful because this isn’t a residual haunting. It’s intelligent.’

Kate shuddered. The thought of spending all her money on a haunted house was not an attractive one. She sipped her tea, wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here or whether she’d been led here by someone who was looking after her. Her first thought would be Amy; her friend wouldn’t want her putting herself in any danger be it spiritual or conventional.