Bobby looked around the grounds of the convent through the small slits of his mask and glanced at his brother. ‘Problem is, Sal, we don’t know what the kid looks like.’
Salvatore sniffed, then said calmly, ‘Then there’s only one thing for us to do. We kill them all …’
‘Alice … Alice … Come out, come out, wherever you are!’
Still hiding in the corner of the outhouse, Alice, hearing her name, whipped around, confusion mixing with fear.
Puzzled and scared, wet with sweat, she crept back across to the tiny window, taking another peep, freezing at the sight in front of her … There were nine, ten men, all standing in a row wearing clown masks, gruesome and deathly but worse still, they were looking her way. Heading towards her hideout.
She heard herself cry out, but she quickly slammed her hand over her mouth, not trusting herself not to make a sound as tears of terror ran down her face.
Taking a deep breath, Alice tried to calm herself and, not knowing what else to do, dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and clasping her hands together as she moved her lips in a silent prayer. But she felt no solace and the fear continued to flood over her, making her feel like she was drowning in a pool of horror.
Braving herself to peep with one eye, Alice could see the men were still there, and for the first time in her life she was scared her prayers weren’t going to save her. Right then and there, she decided her mother had been right: the sin of forgetting to give thanks meant God would forsake her in her hour of need, like she’d forsaken him. And although she realised she’d been bad, she wished he’d give her a second chance, forgive her, because she was really terrified and had no idea what to do or where to run. All she wanted was to see her dad.
Shivering, Alice’s thoughts began to rush. She couldn’t think straight, her chest beginning to tighten, making it hard for her to breathe, and her tears were choking her, blocking her airways. It felt like she was going to die.
‘Alice!’
She held her head in her hands, rocking backwards and forwards. Why were they calling her name? How did they know it? She just wanted them to go away.
‘Alice, where are you?’
Swallowing hard, Alice nervously crept forward, craning her head round the open archway, pinning herself against the wall in the shadows. As she watched, she banged her hand over her mouth again, this time to stop herself from screaming. Horrified, she saw one of her schoolfriends running, her face marked with terror as she charged towards the flower-filled woods. But it was too late, one of the men had spotted her, aiming and firing his gun in quick succession until a fountain of blood spurted out of the back of the girl’s head as it burst open, splitting into tiny pieces.
Waves of nausea overwhelmed Alice and she struggled not to faint. She vomited in the corner, trying desperately not to make any noise. She knew she had to get out and wiping her mouth, Alice headed for the back window of the outhouse, which faced towards the convent.
Glancing quickly behind her, panic-stricken, Alice clambered out, running frantically along the stone path, hoping to head towards the woods. At the corner of the outbuilding, hearing voices coming from the entrance of the school. Startled, Alice crouched down by the rose bushes, pushing herself as far back as possible.
As she waited, Alice looked down, suddenly feeling like she’d stepped into something warm. Wide-eyed, she stared as she watched her white canvas sneakers begin to turn red, soaking up the flow of blood oozing towards her.
Sick with fear, Alice’s gaze followed the trail. She gasped in panic. There, lying only yards away, were the bodies of Sister Abby and Sister Mary along with three of her classmates. Furiously, Alice scrabbled back, tears blinding her vision as she fought her urge to scream whilst the sound of more gunshots made her jump.
She put her fingers in her ears, desperate to block out the cries of her friends as she stumbled along the path again, tripping over more bodies of her classmates as she began to run towards the side door of the convent; the smell of death mixing in the air with the sweet aroma of purple cornflowers and poppy mallows.
Nearly at the main building, Alice froze in horror as she saw an evil clown with bright red hair, terrifying teeth and a bloodstained mouth standing guard by the entrance of the school, a sub-machine gun in hand. As fear clutched her stomach, she swallowed her vomit back down, petrified she was going to be caught.
Trembling and about to go back the way she came, Alice heard men’s voices behind her getting louder, getting nearer. Hiding again, but keeping her eyes on the clown by the door, Alice tried to work out what to do next … He hadn’t seen her yet, but he would if she stayed where she was – though the problem was there was no way she could get to the side door without him spotting her, and turning back wasn’t an option.
Then, suddenly, an idea came to mind and with a rush of renewed hope, Alice checked all around her, feeling her heart thump in her chest as she tiptoed along the wall, fixing her gaze firmly on the clown.
A few feet further, Alice came to a halt by the fire escape ladder fixed to the outer wall of the convent. If only she could manage to climb up to the roof, she could get in through the skylight and make her way through to the other side of the building, which would give her access to the woods. Then just maybe, maybe she stood a chance.
Looking up to the top of the five-storey building, Alice, who was terrified of heights, closed her eyes briefly, kissed the cross on her necklace and prayed for strength as she tried to push away her terror, to stop herself from shaking. Then, a moment later, Alice Rose began to climb.
Sister Margaret opened her eyes. The pain was unbearable but she needed to move and get help. Turning her head slowly to check no one was about, she winced in agony and, unable to stand, began to pull herself along the ground. She could feel herself losing blood, but she needed to get to the office before it was too late.
Exhausted, she dragged herself along, saying a prayer for every dead body she passed as she ignored her own suffering, focusing on getting to the building and listening out for any approaching footsteps.
After what seemed like forever, Sister Margaret finally made it to the small green door situated at the side of the convent’s office block. Stretching up for the door handle, she struggled to reach high enough, as the excruciating pain from the bullet – which sat like a ticking time bomb in her chest – prevented her from doing so.
With her hands trembling and blood running down her arm, she tried again, fighting back frustrated tears. But it was no good, the pain acted like a barricade.
Panting, Sister Margaret leant against the door, closing her eyes in anguish. Then almost immediately she opened them, smiling to herself ruefully, admonishing herself for thinking her despair wouldn’t be answered and guided.
She pulled her rosary beads from her robe pocket and held them in her hand before flicking them up in the air, only for them to fall back down on her lap. Undeterred, Sister Margaret tried again. This time they hooked over the silver door handle, creating a loop to hold onto.
Grabbing the large wooden cross on the end of the rosary, Sister Margaret drew herself up. The weight of her body on the beads – as she intended – pulled and released the door, giving her the opportunity, before they broke, to throw herself forward and tumble inside the hallway.
Still unable to stand, she heaved herself along the corridor, a trail of blood behind her. Drained and weak, feeling like time was running