It was forbidden to turn on the lights. Forced to navigate the sprawling corridors of Wickford Hall by touch alone, Miss Thomas let her hand graze the corridor wall. Her fingers brushed along the peeling wallpaper, over the edges of ornate frames, against the cool brass of door knobs...

There was a small torch in her cardigan pocket, but its batteries were on the verge of dying, and she needed to conserve it. And, anyway, she didn't really need it. She had come to know the halls of Wickford quite well, already memorising the vast manor's layout though she had only been here for a few weeks. The Mother Superior had insisted on it. They needed to be ready in the case of an emergency. The staff were always expected to be prepared for the students' protection—and their own.

It was her duty, her obligation to her country, and she did it without question.

This was war, after all.

She stopped in the darkness, having counted her steps. She had been keeping track of her progress since she had stepped off the stairs, and if she had counted right, then she had come to a stop in front of room number six. She reached out into the darkness and as she expected, found the cool door handle. Her fingers lingered over the doorknob for a moment before she took hold of the handle and twisted. She kept her movement controlled, slow and sure, careful to keep the old hardware from letting out any squeak or groan. Once she heard the latch give, she pushed the door open, just a crack. With a single eye, she peered inside, but the darkness was so complete it was difficult to see much beyond. Finally, she dug the torch from her pocket, clicked it on, and aimed it through the gap.

Inside were two beds, simple metal frames that did not match the manor's grand design. In each bed lay a young girl, bundled in their plain bedding, fast asleep. They did not stir as the weak beam of Miss Thomas' torch traced their faces. Most were used to this nightly disturbance by now. She watched them lie there, their breathing even and slow, before she backed away.

All was well.

Satisfied, Miss Thomas closed the door behind her. She was about to switch the torch off when it gave a flicker and went out on its own. She clucked her tongue and slapped at the side of it, hoping to jostle the last of the life out of its weakened batteries.

It did not work. The light stayed dead.

Somewhere behind her, the floorboards gave a creak.

Miss Thomas went still, making no sound, holding even her breath. The hairs prickled on her arms as her deepest instincts told her she wasn't alone.

"You shouldn't be out of your room."

Miss Thomas spun around, clamping her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. A wide flash of light filled the dark hall, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to shield them from the sudden brightness. Her eyes burned, even behind her eyelids.

"Oh," came the voice again, unamused. "It's just you, Miss Thomas."

The light dimmed, and Miss Thomas blinked as her eyes adjusted back to the dark.

At the top of the stairs, brandishing an old oil lantern, was one of the nuns—Sister Marion. In the dark hall, with her gaunt face and white veil, she looked a bit like a ghost. She was one of the oldest nuns at Wickford Hall, thin and shrunken with age, but time had not dulled her sharp edges.

"I was wondering who was making such a din," Sister Marion continued, sneering now. She snapped her tongue and shook her head. "I thought it might be a student out of bed. I was not expecting a teacher. What are you doing, standing there in the dark?"

Miss Thomas dipped her head. "My apologies, Sister. I was just doing my rounds for the night and my torch died on me."

She held it aloft to show the mistrustful nun, but, of course, that was the moment when it decided to spring back to life. Miss Thomas dropped her arm and sighed.

"Bit late, isn't it?" Sister Marion said, looking particularly disinterested in her excuses. The large lantern swayed in her bony hand, the dimmed light it gave off dancing across the hall. "Shouldn't you have been done by now?"

"I got a late start," Miss Thomas said, fidgeting with the buttons on her cardigan to avoid looking Sister Marion in the eye. The nun's gaze always cut right through her. "But I'll be done soon enough."

She smiled at the old woman in hopes of softening her.

It did not work. Sister Marion's brows angled sharply over her beady eyes, casting the hollows of her wizened face in a sinister shadow. "You best hurry, then. If you carry on like this for much longer, you're sure to wake the girls."

"Yes, sister. Of course."

"Go on, then," the nun said and shooed her with a flick of her hand. "Hurry. And be quiet about it. I don't want to have to come back up here."

And with that, she turned and marched back down the stairs, taking the lantern's light with her.

Miss Thomas waited until she heard the nun's steps fade completely before she let out a heavy sigh. She knew she should be grateful. It was by the grace of Sister Marion and The Order of St. Bride that they were even here. It wasn't up to her to judge how they did things. She was supposed to stuff it down, keep calm, and carry on.

Turning back to the hall, she moved on to the next room. Room seven across the hall was next. Just as quiet as before, she slowly turned the handle and opened the door to peer inside. The beam of her now-working torch flashed across another lavish room with another set of simple beds. The girl closest to the door stayed asleep, but the far one—a girl with red, ruddy cheeks and matching hair—sat up and squinted into the light. She frowned at Miss Thomas until she lowered its beam.

"Sorry!" Miss Thomas whispered. She turned the torch down and closed the door behind her.

Most of the girls were acclimatized to the nightly checks, but not all. But it was not on Miss Thomas to accommodate them. They would have to get used to their routines. The checks were simply part of being at Wickford Hall, a necessity to keep them all safe.

Miss Thomas hurried on, keeping her footfalls light. She didn't want to give Sister Marion a reason to return. If she did, then... Well, all Hell would break loose, she supposed. That thought made her chuckle.

As she reached the next door, the flashlight sputtered out again. And once again, she shook it out, but it did no good. Miss Thomas cursed at it under her breath.

Another creak echoed down the hall.

Miss Thomas froze. Chills cascaded down her back, but she shrugged them off. It couldn't be Sister Marion, could it? She had just gone. Or maybe she had found something else for which to chide her...

She turned, expecting the beam of the blinding lantern to reappear around the corner of the stairs.

But the hall stayed dark.

"Sister?" Miss Thomas called into the empty black.

There was no response, but the floor gave another groan as if it was shifting under the weight of someone.

And it sounded closer this time.

Miss Thomas began smacking at her torch again, hoping to eke out a bit more light.

Smack smack.

"Hello?"

Smack smack.

"Who's there?"

Smack smack.

Finally, blessedly, the torch lit up brighter than ever. Its light filled the hall, spilling out down its length, almost reaching the far end... But not quite. There, at the very end, was a figure. They were hidden in the last of the shadow, just out of reach of the torch's light.

Miss Thomas wasn't quite sure it was a person at all. For all she knew, it could be a fold of a curtain, a piece of furniture, or a trick of the shadows...

Until the shadow shifted.

So, someone was there.

"I see you!" Miss Thomas called, not caring to be quiet now. She didn't care if she woke the students or brought Sister Marion down on her again. They could blame the interloper if they wanted. Students knew better than to roam the halls at night. It was dangerous out here, in the dark. Deadly, even. "You're not to be out of your rooms!"

Miss Thomas thought everyone knew better than to be out of their rooms, but things had been quiet as of late. And that's when the nuns always complained the girls would get complacent...

This was not the time for complacency.

Whoever was there shrank back into the shadows.

Miss Thomas assumed they may have dipped back into their room, but that would not save them. She needed to make sure. She headed for them, striding swiftly down the hall.

But as she almost reached the end, she heard another creak, a flutter of steps...

Only it was somehow behind her.

Again.

How? Miss Thomas spun around, bewildered. How did they get behind me so quickly?

Was it another student, or was it—

The light of the torch touched them, only a few steps away. Miss Thomas squinted through the dim light until her eyes registered who was there.

A swell of sweat gathered on her skin as she felt her whole body go cold.

"No," she whispered.

In the torch's light, the figure's eyes lit up as if they belonged to some kind of nocturnal creature. Then they moved, advancing towards her slowly, their gait as smooth and purposeful as a predator closing in on its prey.

The light's beam began to shake in Miss Thomas' trembling hand.

"Please..." she begged as she backed away. "Please, no. No, no, no. Please..."

But there was no pleasing them.

They twisted in their spot and lunged forward. Miss Thomas gave a cry, but it was cut short.

The torch dropped and went out for good.