Night Sisters
CLINICIANSA word that will come to haunt Casualty Sister Rachel Young through the dark nights ahead.CLINICIANSA word she hears from a terrified patient, brought dying into her department after driving a stolen car straight into a brick wall. Still trying to escape from someone who has surgically mutilated his brain.CLINICIANSHe isn’t the first; he won’t be the last. People are disappearing in the darkness: the lost ones, with no shelter from the night. Those that are found again have hideous post-operative injuries.CLINICIANSFor centuries they have pursued their cold and merciless quest for knowledge, leaving death and mutilation in their wake. And tonight they have come for Rachel Young. for her, they have a special role …
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © John Pritchard 1993
Lyrics from Ribbons © 1990 reproduced by kind permission of Eldritch Boulevard Ltd/EMI Songs Ltd
A version of the opening chapter of this novel first appeared in The Dark Side magazine under the title On Her Deathbed.
John Pritchard asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780586217696
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008226909
Version: 2016-10-26
‘A good old-fashioned tale of battling evil, which turns into a roller-coaster ride to heights of gut-churning suspense and real terror’
RAMSAY CAMPBELL
‘A taut and fast-moving tale with bags of authentic detail and a slam-bang finale’
STEPHEN GALLAGHER
‘Night Sisters is one of the creepiest and most shocking novels I’ve read in a long, long, time. The writing is superb. The story is brilliantly eerie, marked by stunning shocks of violence’
RICHARD LAYMON
Contents
They told me afterwards that when Mrs Lennox died, Jenny – who had the reputation of being the most cheerful, most patient, most loving nurse on the gerry unit – had been heard to say, quite clearly, ‘Thank Christ for that.’
You might find that a shocking sentiment; but the girls who told me it didn’t think so, and neither did I. We knew well enough what Jenny had gone through; had seen how that grim old woman had worn down her patience, and turned her bright-eyed enthusiasm into bitterness and tears. And we’d seen more. We’d seen her fear. For all her cool professionalism, she had come to dread that darkened room and its occupant at the far end of the ward. Uncomprehending, her friends and colleagues had shrugged it off: ignored the signs. Only now did we realize that Staff Nurse Jenny Thomas had been truly afraid of entering that room alone, even after its occupant had died. In fact, especially after its occupant had died.
It had been a sombre winter afternoon when the doctor was called round to certify Mrs Lennox dead. By all accounts he’d done so as quickly as possible, and left the small, malodorous room with some haste. Jenny had described the old woman to me once, and I could picture her lying there, with that waxen immobility that immediately distinguishes death from sleep. A gaunt face staring up from the pillow, its lines of age contrasting bizarrely with the jet-black of her dyed hair. Eyes still half-open; jawbone slack.
There were no relatives to inform, so at least they’d been spared that thankless duty. The problems began when Jenny refused to lay the body out.
Sister accepted that the patient had not been noted for her personal hygiene: nightdress and bedclothes were stained and stinking. The body was still damp with the patina of sweat raised by the final struggle against death. Of course it wasn’t going to be a pleasant job, but it had to be done, and besides, they needed the bed.
Still Jenny had refused.
She was reminded of the staffing situation – two trained nurses including herself (Sister was about to go off) and a completely inexperienced student, to run a twenty-bed ward. The other staff nurse was starting the drug-round; Jenny would have to do the body, and do it on her own.
A third time she’d refused. The Sister must have been quite nonplussed, getting this from an experienced nurse like Jen: a girl she knew and liked. But she had no option now but to threaten disciplinary action. And finally, reluctantly, Jen had relented, and turned back towards the room where the body of Mrs Lennox lay waiting for her ministrations.
