Part 1
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/zlblgq/comment/j04qhsk/?context=3
part 3
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/zxpsz6/the_sisters_of_perdition_part_3/
I work at a construction company and we are renovating this old monastery into a library. The last of the monks decided to sell the building for money and the state of Tennessee bought it make it a heritage site. There is still going to be a library and in addition to adding a bunch of books they are keeping all the ones that were originally here. While renovating the building I found the journal of someone named Sean. After reading it I found this part particularly fascinating and wanted to share it.
My brother Kyle was never the same after Dora died. He started acting like her, imitating her in a bunch of strange ways. Sometimes he even sounded like her.
We lived in a house on a farm in rural Tennessee. Me and my strange family, Deb, Dale, Kyle Me and Scott. I was 14. it was 1845.
My Aunt and Uncle didn’t live very far away. And Neither did my grandfather Carl.
Carl had invited us out to the old hunting camp. He always used to say it was to get away from the women but now that Dora was gone I don’t know what he was getting away from.
We went out that day and, Me, Kyle, Scott, Jeff and my father.
Old Carl had somehow manged to get his hands on a rife, and we were all excited to see it.
We gathered round as Carl showed it off.
“So here, you just pull this back to empty the bullet. Put it in, then pull forward to load it. Bolt action!” He said enthusiastically.
He fired hitting the target near the bullseye.
“Now you try!” he said, handing the rifle to Jeff.
“Its just like in the tales!” Jeff cried. “When our fore fathers fought against the tyrannic English tyrants!”
Old Carl was not quite old enough to have fought in the American revolution. And the whole family always talked about how our forefathers fought in the war even though they didn’t.
Jeff emptied, then loaded the rife and fired, hitting the edge of the target.
Jeff handed the rifle too Kyle and he emptied and loaded the rifle.
Right before he fired Dale chimed in. “You should sit down while you fire. And turn to the side.”
Kyle responded like a trained dog and did what he was told. He fired, missing the target completely.
He handed the rifle to Dale, who did the same thing, missing the target completely.
Dale handed me the rife and I emptied and loaded it. I fired it like Carl and Jeff did, standing up. I hit the edge of the target.
“Scott is too young to fire it.” Dale said.
My father loved to hold things over us. It was him and my mother’s favorite pass time.
Later that night we sat around the fire drinking ale. Scott was not allowed to have any though.
“I better put another log on the fire, it sure is cold” old Carl croaked.
While he put another log on the fire I sat there drinking ale. This was the first time I had ever gotten drunk.
Later that night I stood beside the camp puking when Jeff approached me.
“Your hurl once for every drink you’ve had” he said with a smile.
I continued puking and was only 1 short of what he said.
The next day I was so thirsty that I couldn’t even speak. The cotton mouth killed me until we boiled some water that morning.
When I finally had my drink we ewr ready to head back home.
When we got home for lunch my mother was standing beside her cauldron, with a pot of soup boiling.
“I hope your hungry, I used the hog bone for a great stock.” She said with gross grimace on her face.
In our house we always had to label our food and their were rules about who could eat who’s food too.
If anyone ate my mothers food they got stung by the tarantula hawk fairy in their sleep. My mother would come with a fork and poke you while you slept. My mother was of course allowed to eat whosoever’s food she wanted.
My father would always say that he never touched anyone else’s food, but always did. He even liked to give you things then eat them in front of you.
My father grabbed a big glass of the milk he had ‘given’ me yesterday and gulped it like a pig.
“Why do you always do that? Drink my-“ I said, being cut off.
“Your such an asshole. Always making things up. Your mother and I are so good to you and you don’t even see it.” he said, milk covering his mustache.
I was taken aback. Not knowing if he was senile or purposely deceitful.
Kyle chimed in “Your fucking gross”
I felt hurt and betrayed and sat there emasculated.
As I sipped my soup my father got that strange look in his eye, then left the table. He returned shortly after holding his favorite dirty broom.
“Here comes the broom bear!” He laughed.
He came and swept over mine, then Scott’s, then Kyle’s bare feet.
“The broom bear wins again!” He said with an o face.
My mother came in with a purposeful grimace. “Has the Tarantula hawk fairy any prey tonight?” She said looking over the names on the utensils on the table.
There was no prey today and my mother sipped her soup, going from thin veneer of sweetness too demonic snarls.
My father would occasionally have this depraved evil tone that came out from under his fake voice. It shone through as he said “Round 2!” and came sweeping.
This time recollection dawned in his eyes and he only swept mine and Scott’s feet. My mother watched approvingly.
It was back to farm work after that and I milked the cows, fed the chickens and swept the hen house.
After that I went to the pasture to sit with Alziza, my favorite donkey. Alziza wise a wise ass, he really knew how to listen. And unlike my family he didn’t use every bit of information I gave him against me.
I sat there and talked to the wise ass most days. All he could say back was “Eeeeaaaaa” but I knew he understood me.
After our nightly session I headed back to the house as night began to fall.
My father was drunk as always. He screamed angrily at the newspaper as he read it for the millionth time.
My mother sat there with evil in her eyes, and treachery in her heart.
“Staring into the mirror and talking yourself is key to a healthy mind” she said snickering.
Her and my father always liked to give me terrible advice. I had asked my pastor at church one Sunday about it and he said “Talking to yourself in the mirror feeds Beelzebub.” so I recognized one of her terrible pieces of advice as such.
“I’ve heard it can drive you crazy” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t you give me that tone young man.” she said scornfully. “Think about how poor Dora would feel if she were here.” she said snickering.
I felt sick, like I usually did after talking to my mother. She had this thin veneer of a sweet old lady she used with the public and supposed friends. But with her family her awful disgusting self was on full display.
“This table is the perfect height!” she said out of nowhere.
I thought about how low the table was and how often I bumped my knees into it.
My mother handed me a plate of boiled potatoes, corn and pig fat.
“This is a real stick to your ribs meal” my mother chanted.
I felt weird that night, like my mother has sucked the life out of me, and had trouble sleeping.
The next day when I woke up and looked in the mirror I saw Dora standing behind me. She had needle like teeth twisted into a macabre smile.
I was startled, dropping the mirror and shattering it.
I was terrified knowing that breaking a mirror meant 7 years bad luck.
I went to breakfast hat morning feeling terrible.
“I broke a mirror this morning! That doesn’t actually mean I’m going to have 7 years bad luck does it?” I cried.
My mother’s lips curled back in a toothy snarl.
“7 years is only if you look at it every day dear. IF you talk to it its 40 years bad luck!” she said, full of venom.
Recollection dawned in her eyes and she sneered a knowing smile.
“Honey there is some jam in the cellar, could you go get it for breakfast?” she said with a veneer of sweetness.
I went down into the cellar and the door closed behind me locking me in the dark.
“Mom what are you doing let me out!” I called a few times, there was no response. I grappled around in the dark for a few minutes and found a lantern, lighting it.
The whole cellar was full of mirrors, and I saw mine and Dora’s reflection repeating in the mirrors. They had her needle teeth twisted in a smile in some sort, forked tongue waving in the others.
I was scared at first, but she kept saying she loved me and I was fine until I turned out the lantern. Then I felt a bite down on my arm and screamed and turned the lantern back on.
There was a chunk taken out of my arm and I wrapped it up in a bandage.
I cried for my mother to let me out and eventually found my reflection in the mirror.
I looked in the mirror with a demon on my face “I’m your new friend Beelzebub” I said to myself, then changed back to me.
“Your not my friend!” I cried.
I was terrified, and really hope my mom let me out soon.
I found a journal down here, I guess writing in it will help pass the time, the mirrors scare me too much.