To escape the dangers of wartime London, Millie has been sent away to Wickford Hall, but what lurks there is far more sinister than anything war might bring.
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THERE'S SOMETHING WICKED STALKING WICKFORD HALL...
As war rages on, Mildred Cunningham...
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Millie's thoughts were racing as she stared wide-eyed at the Mother Superior.
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "What do you want from me?"
The Archdeacon leaned in to whisper in the Mother's ear. "Perhaps she should be given more context... She cannot fight what she doesn't understand."
"No," the Mother snapped, her tone firm and final. "Not yet."
The heat of rage flooded Millie, burning through her, singing at her skin. Why were they talking about her as though she wasn't even there?
"Don't I deserve to know why you're doing this to me?" she cried.
They did not respond.
The rage sparked something in her. She leapt up and charged at them... But once again, she was blocked, bounced back into the room by an invisible force. Millie shook her head out, confused. She pushed forward again, reaching out into the air between them, and a shock echoed up her arm.
There was a wall there, only she couldn't see it.
She dropped her gaze to the floor. She noticed she was at the very edge of the lines that had been carved into the floor. For the first time, she turned around, taking in the room as a whole. She'd only glimpsed parts of it from the photos, but with Sister Marion's lantern lighting the space, it was all clear now.
The carving embedded into the floor dominated most of the room. It was intricate, each line a braid, weaving together first to create a circle, then crisscrossing in the centre to form a many-pointed star.
Millie turned back to the watchers. She reached out again, moving slowly this time. As she neared the edge of the circle, the air crackled as though filled with static, threatening to shock her again.
The design on the floor had formed some kind of barrier.
"What is this place?" Millie whispered to herself.
Another crack echoed through the room. Millie whipped her head around.
Matthew had managed to pull himself up to stand. He was regaining his strength. There was another crack as he turned to face her.
"Millie," he said, his voice clear now. Even his brutalised face seemed to be smoother, brighter, almost as he was before, though his eye was still gone. It was almost as though he was healing at some accelerated pace. A memory from their last conversation flickered into Millie's mind. It was the theory she had shared with him as they walked towards the gate, her theory about the nun's sacrifices and the story of the Earl's demon.
