DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: Historical (1950s), Corruption, Satanic, Sodomy, Abuse, Devil Worship, NC, Sex Demons, Young, Ritual Murder, Shemale.

AUTHORS NOTES: Loosely based upon the popular horror 2018 flick, The Nun, which rides on the critical acclaim of The Conjuring. It stars the hot little Taissa Farmiga as a novitiate — who inspired this version of The Nun story, which, I hope you’ll enjoy.

CREATED: 31.10.2020 / REVISITED: 20.11.2023

The Nun 1


Once upon a time in post-war Romania, a young nun, at a cloistered abbey takes her own life. The Vatican sent a troubled exorcist, Father Burke, and a young nun, to investigate. The Vatican officials hope that they will shed light on Sister Victoria’s unaccountable suicide. Father Burke and the idealistic novitiate, Sister Irene, who is on the threshold of her final vows, visit Saint Cartha’s monastery. Before long, intense sexual encounters with the supernatural will bring the pair of unsuspecting investigators face-to-face with true evil — embodied in the shape of a malevolent nun. Undoubtedly, there are many dark secrets behind the abbey’s thick stone walls surrounding a seductive dark force that craves sexual perversity and corruption. Will Father Burke and Sister Irene fall prey to demonic evil? Will this be a happy Disney-like ending or will the Devil get his dues?


Based upon the latest spin-off from the one-time high-quality The Conjuring franchise. Sticking strictly to a formula that will either infuriate or satiate horror genre fans, The Nun delivers enough creepy boo-jump tropes to keep it above average. There’s plenty of roaming about dark corridors and churchyards, with lanterns our only prominent saviors from the terrors of the dark. If, and it’s a big if, you don’t mind that Corin Hardy’s film isn’t trying to raise the bar for horror, and is in fact staying safe, then there’s a decent enough good time to be had here. If you are one of those who constantly moans about bringing nothing new to the table, don’t bother with this one, in fact, think of something new to bring to the table yourselves then.


  • Father Anthony Burke – troubled exorcist sent to investigate the suicide (40)
  • Sister Irene – our protagonist, a young pretty novitiate nun called to aid Father Burke by the Vatican for unexplained reasons (16)
  • Maurice aka Frenchie – a French-Canadian used as a guide by Father Burke (20)
  • The Nun – the demon nun, the hermaphroditic demon of corruption
  • Sister Oana (20), Sister Samantha (28), Sister Lucy (23), Sister Cynthia (29), Sister Ruth (32) — wicked nuns sent to Cartha Monastery as a punishment
  • Sister Victoria – a nun that commits suicide (22)
  • Sister Abigail (26), Sister Clara (54), and Sister Jessica (34) – the good wholesome nuns from the Cartha Monastery
  • The Abbess – Mother Superior from the Cartha Monastery (39)
  • Bishop Pasquale – an official at the Vatican (58)
  • Bishop Forne – an official of the Vatican, helped Irene when she was younger (60)
  • Cardinal Conroy – an official at the Vatican (62)


The following occurred in 1952 at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania.

The young idealistic sixteen-year-old novitiate, Sister Irene, sat nervously in her fully white habit. She had yet to take her vows, yet here she was — in this evil place. Across from her, sat Sister Oana, a slightly older, twenty-year-old nun from Saint Cartha’s Monastery.

“Tell me about the history of the Abbey —” asked the curious Sister Irene.

“This Abbey was built by the Duke of St Cartha during the Dark Ages,” Sister Oana began, “He wrote countless texts on black magic, witchcraft, and sexual rites, in which to call upon the forces of darkness — Hell used him to open up a gateway — so that an unspeakable evil would walk among us!”

Sister Irene was speechless.

“But the Church sent crusaders to storm the castle,” Sister Oana continued, “They sealed the gateway using an ancient relic that was said to have contained — the Blood of Jesus Christ. The Church then claimed the castle for its own, and our perpetual praying began — to secure the Abbey and contain the evil. For centuries it worked. And evil was kept at bay — until the bombs of war shock the Abbey — and evil found another way to open the gateway!”

Sister Irene listened intensely. She was blessed with a sense of these things. And here in the monastery, she had felt the presence of evil. It seemed to be all around them, almost mockingly, as if it was listening to their very conversation.

”Sister Oana, last night in the chapel — I saw a nun — she was … she felt … anything but holy!”

“You see her too? I’ve seen her stalking the hallways at night. We all have! She looks like us, but she’s not one of us — it’s something unholy — it takes on different forms to deceive us and prey on our weaknesses. It appears as a nun so that it can hide among our cloister until it can corrupt us all — I feel her presence, which means the gateway has opened again!”


A week earlier in the Vatican Chambers, Vatican City.

Father Anthony Burke was a troubled priest. An exorcist, he had had his fair share of dealings with evil. Not all had ended well. The Father still had nightmares from those he was unable to save. Satan and Lilith were strong. And their demons were clever.

Father Burke had been called promptly to the inner sanctum of the Vatican. There sitting at a large round table were Bishop Pasquale, Bishop Forne, and Cardinal Conroy.

“Be seated Father Burke,” said Cardinal Conroy, “We have received news that a nun has taken her own life in an Abbey in the mountains in Romania.”

”Suicide is a terrible, terrible sin —” Replied Father Burke, “But this doesn’t strike me as the reason for our reunion?”

“The news of it, wouldn’t bolster our argument to keep with the Faith — and Church,” argued the Cardinal.

Father Burke looks unconvinced.

“You’re not telling me something?” Father Burke replied.

“Why do you say that?” asked Bishop Forne.

“Because we are in the Vatican,” implied Father Burke.

“Let me put it this way Father,” the Cardinal replied with a wry smile at Father Burke’s soft rebuke, “In this, be it rare instance, we do not believe we are the ones with the secret —”

Bishop Pasquale pushed a leather portmanteaus across the large polished wood table toward where Father Burke sat.

”These are your travel documents,” he said, “And the contact information on the man who discovered the nun. He lives in a small village near the Abbey. You need to talk to him first.”

Father Burke opened the portmanteaus and found a file with a picture of an attractive young novitiate dressed in all-white regalia.

“Also in the file,” continued Bishop Forne, “Is the name of a postulant who can help assist you in your inquiries — since it is a Cloistered Abbey — your access will be limited. She is also familiar with the territory.”


Father Burke first met the young nun, Sister Irene, in the Vatican Gardens. She was dressed in a fresh white robe (like her picture). He looked haggard and dusty. As they walked down towards the scenic lake, the Father wondered about their assignment. He was usually called in the deal with issues of Catholic catechism. To investigate a suicide was not his usual work.

“You were recommended for the journey because of your familiarity with the territory,” commented the Father.

“The territory?“ asked Sister Irene.

“Yes, Romania,” answered Father Burke.

“I have never been in that part of the world —” replied the nun.

”Really?” asked the Father.

“There must have been some kind of mistake,” replied the delicate nun, “I apologize if coming here was a waste of your time.”

“No … No apology is necessary —” answered Father Burke, “Every decision the Vatican makes is with purpose. I am sure they have their reasons for selecting you.“

Sister Irene was small and immature in her physical development. He assumed she was of age, but he found her child-like — a quality, that he hated to admit, but he found sexually enduring. He immediately dismissed this unwanted thought.


A few days after their meeting in the Vatican Gardens, at a small village close to the Abbey of Saint Cartha in Romania.

Father Burke and Sister Irene had arrived at the village close to Saint Cartha’s Monastery. The Bishop had advised them to travel in plain clothing, so as not to draw attention to themselves, as Romania was still under the strict control of the communists. They would not look favorable upon any interference by the Catholic Church.

Father Burke had had a checkered past with the Vatican. His skills as an exorcist were undoubtedly renowned, but some of his failures had drawn serious criticism. He knew in his bones that there was much more to this situation than that of a simple suicide, otherwise, he would not have been selected.

They had met with a man called Maurice, whose nickname was Frenchie, though he said he wasn’t actually French, but in fact a French-Canadian. Frenchie’s attraction to the young nun had been immediately obvious. But finding out that she was in fact about to take her vows, made him feel ashamed of his sexual feelings.

Frenchie agreed reluctantly to take the two of them to the Abbey. He explained that the villagers never went there. They never talked about the abbey. It was evil, they said. The domain of sexual demons and mischief. Frenchie explained that the only reason he went there was that it was his job to deliver food to the cloistered nuns. He never saw them, only delivered their fresh produce to an ice room at the side of the remote abbey.

It was on one of these delivery runs that he found the body of the nun hanging from outside of the windows high above in the monastery battlements. The body of the young nun had been there a while. The crows had picked at her eyes and her body had become bloated and bloody as it had started to decompose. Frenchie had cut the nun down and placed her inside the ice room. There, at least, she wouldn’t be attacked by wild animals.


Finit hic, Deo (God ends here) — An earlier but unknown time at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania.

Sister Victoria was twenty-six and Sister Clara was in her fifties. They both made their way down the darkened passageway, their only light came from the simple oil lantern that Sister Clara carried.

The cross-lined passageway was dark, narrow, and very long. The walls seemed to teem with large moths that settled for a moment and fluttered their dark wings. The old Abbey creaked and groaned as if it were alive. They said it was the high winds that made the old building shudder and tremble. Sister Victoria began to chant in Latin as they both approached a closed door located at its far end.

Finally, they reach the door. It was locked. As the Sisters stood before it, they both knew that strange things happened there — evil and wicked things — Sister Clara held the skeleton key between her trembling fingers as she went to unlock it. Both nuns looked hesitant about whether or not to proceed — their fear was obvious.

The door had been marked with a small wooden sign that read Finit hic, Deo — God ends here — The warning had been placed there for good reason.

“Will the relic really save us?“ asked Sister Victoria.

“Have faith Sister,” answered the much older nun, Sister Clara, as she turned the key to the heavy wooden door.

Sister Victoria was still unsure of that. In fact, she was not sure what she believed anymore. Faith. God Almighty. The Blessed Mary. She’d heard the stories. They all had been about the origin of this evil. About the Dark Duke who had been obsessed with sexual wickedness and how the evil had found a way, through the Duke’s meddling in the occult, to enter into this place. Damned it was. Then, after the Relic had been used to push it back, the Sisters began their perpetual adoration to hold it within their walls — she had to have faith — Faith was all they had.

Sister Victoria began to recite the Lord’s Prayer with a hushed and hesitant voice as Sister Clara pushed the door open. The darkness seemed to leap forth around them, spilling their only oil lamp and extinguishing its glow — they both gasped out loud.

Sister Victoria gripped her rosary tight and closed her eyes for just a moment. But when she looked again — Sister Clara was gone — the darkness had snatched her and only the open door into blackness remained. There was a sudden and distant scream, followed by complete silence.

Sister Victoria knelt shivering. She watched in shock as each of the crosses that had been fastened upon the walls of the dark passage began to move, turning slowly, until each was inverted.

Sister Victoria was now terrified. Suddenly out of the blackness fell Sister Clara’s body. She collapsed onto the stone floor, right in front of Sister Victoria. The older nun was covered with blood from what appeared to be a brutal attack. In her clenched fist, she held out the skeleton key.

“Take it —” She cried as blood poured from her head wounds — forcing the key on the younger woman, “This evil needs a vessel to escape — it will come after you next — don’t let it have you. You know what you must do!”

“I cannot —” stuttered the shaken Sister.

Without warning, Sister Clara’s body was suddenly pulled violently backward, screaming again as she disappeared into the unknown. The darkness growled loudly like a wild beast — alive and malicious.

Sister Victoria clambered to her unsteady feet and stumbled backward away from the doorway. Too afraid to close it, she turned and began to run back down the dark cross-lined passage. The inverted crosses all burst into flames, as the panicked Sister fled as fast as she could.

Gasping for breath, she tried to slam shut the outer doorway, hoping to hold the advancing evil. She bent down and grabbed the hangman’s noose, that had been tied to the bedpost. She placed it around her delicate neck while she mounted the windowsill. Sister Victoria pushed back the large lead-light windows that looked directly down upon the graveyard some hundred feet below her. The wind howled through the open window. Sister Victoria looked back momentarily. Something heavy fell against the outer door with a loud thud.

“Forgive me Father for the sin I am about to commit,” she cried.

As the outer door burst open, Sister Victoria didn’t look back. She jumped forward into the air and fell hard against the stony battlements. Her neck snapped instantly as the rope reached its end and the heavy bed that it was secured to lurched forward with the force, snagging against the sill. Sister Victoria’s body hung lifeless in cold night air.

A dark shadow moved across the open window. There was a growl of anger that echoed as its prey had escaped before the fun could begin.



In the months leading up to the suicide at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania.

Sister Oana entered quietly into the darkened chapel. She had not been at the Abbey long. A fresh recruit — or a coerced recruit — sent to this awful place.

She’d suddenly awoken from another wet dream. Guilt had been her first conscious thought. Dread and guilt filled her thoughts. At twenty years old, she’d become a novitiate from a very early age. Almost a decade ago. It had been the wishes of her pious parents (not her own) that had sealed her fate and bonded her to this life. Even through her vows, there had been self-doubts. And then, as a late bloomer, she fought against her own strange sexuality. They say that what you cannot make conscious will consume you, and though at some level of awareness, she recognized her own failings — these unmet desires had been manifested into self-loathing that required daily punishment and prayer.

The night vigil was already in progress.

Sister Oana had intended to take her place next to Sister Victoria, Sister Abigail, and Sister Jessica, who were all kneeling before the chapel altar, hands clenched tightly in white-knuckled prayer as they chanted incessantly in Latin benediction.

The long candles that surrounded them, flicked with only a faint incandescent light that barely made much visible in the chapel. Lost in deep shadows, the stone saints, the iron crucifix, the leathered bible — all their religious iconography that could not save them.

Sister Oana looked at their desperate faces as they chanted over and over in their pathetic efforts to hold back the evil infestation that seemed to have only gotten more oppressive and more incessant as their long night of worship continued. Was there a connection between these evil hauntings and her own propensity to dream of perverted and taboo things? The omnipresent evil seemed to seep through the very wall of the old dark and decrepit abbey. Deep below its crumbling mortar and creaking beams, the Well of Wickedness was filled with longevous poison. Was all lost? Was all this for nothing?

The praying nuns all looked exhausted from their efforts — as if their bodies remained upright only through sheer force of will. None of the nuns of Saint Cartha slept more than a few hours, maybe two or three hours at the most, and then the vigil would continue — day after day, night after night — it would never end.

Sister Oana’s guilt welled up inside her, as it did frequently. Being sent to this place, that seemed to be on the precipice of eternal damnation. Would she find her atonement at last for her gross sinfulness and shameful body? Was this torment befitting for her waywardness and ungodly desires for the flesh of young children? Her shame never seemed to dissipate — quite the opposite — in this place, it seemed to intensify and her heart ached from this joyless circus of pain.

Sister Oana didn’t observe their Mother Superior, The Abbess, enter the dark candle-lit chapel. Standing momentarily behind Sister Oana, the Mother Superior placed her cold fingers upon the Sister’s slender shoulder.

”Sister,” whispered the old Abbess, “Leave your vigil tonight — I need you in my private chambers.”

”Yes, of course, Mother Superior,” she answered attentively.

Sister Oana wondered what could be the problem. Their vigil was always their requital — they lived to serve as the Brides of Christ — to be the last bastions against the hopelessness of Hell’s fury.


Sister Oana had never stepped inside the Mother Superior’s chamber before. She hesitantly knocked on the outside of the door and waited nervously.

”Come in,” beckoned the distinctive voice of the much older woman. “And lock the door behind you.”

Sister Oana pretended not to be too curious, but when she saw the Mother Superior was inside her washing room, she quickly had a discrete look around. This was not the usual monastic and featureless surrounding of cloistered life.

She was surprised to see how lavish it was. The walls were covered with rich, dark tapestries of an unknown origin. They appeared to depict something similar to Dante’s Inferno – detailed devilish scenes of human torture at the hands of naked demons. Looking closely, she could not help but notice the intersex nature of these seemingly female demons — their phallus all erect and excited — they were sodomites, hell-bent on raping and torturing their human victims for Satan’s pleasure. It struck Sister Oana how explicit these evil works of art were.

Several candelabra filled with ornate red candles of various stages of use lit the room. Even more, candles burned in a line along a mantle piece above a wide fireplace. A high-backed leather chair and foot stall faced the cracking fireplace. The room felt overly warm. There was a large ornate dressing mirror that faced directly onto the canopied four-poster-bed and a long velvet curtain covered an entire wall to one side. There was a large wooden writing deck scattered with papers, books, and open manuscripts. The wide bed seemed to be covered with strange animal skins and fur.

There was a used chamber pot, that was almost half full of bitter-smelling urine. It wasn’t that young Sister Oana found the smell offensive — in fact, she found the aroma strangely arousing.

When the elderly Abbess appeared, she was no longer in her wimple. She gestured to Sister Oana to sit. Despite her age, the Mother Superior was actually quite attractive with the absence of her austere outfit of authority. The Mother Superior smiled at the young nun as she walked gracefully across the room in bare feet. Dressed only in a light, almost translucent shift, she nodded to direct the younger nun to sit opposite her on the low-foot stall near the fireplace.

“Sister,” said the Abbess, “I have seen your devotion and dedication. Your deeds have not gone unnoticed.”

“Thank you, Mother Superior,” she answered.

She was still unclear about her reason for this most private of meetings. It was unusual for the Mother Superior to conduct such a session. But Sister Oana knew of the troubled times that besought them and she had not been in the abbey long enough to be familiar with all the procedures and protocols. Besides, the demons were always there. She’d felt their nocturnal temptations — the scourge of deviant dreams upon her wanton flesh. The wickedness was always there, praying on our weaknesses, she thought.

“I had a dream,” said the Abbess, “It was a disturbing dream — more of a nightmare, in fact — but I took it as a revelation. And in this revelation, a voice spoke to me, saying that it was time that I must venture beyond the door —” the Abbess paused, “The door that separates us from them (the demons of Satan and Lilith). The voice told me, not to be afraid of the Well of Wickedness, that it was a destiny that must be faced.”

The fireplace seemed to increase its intensity with these words; burning hotter and brighter. She had heard from several of the other nuns about the aptly named Well of Wickedness. Was this the source of her unnerving dreams? Sister Oana glanced over at the obscenely sexual tapestries that covered the walls.

”Ahhh!” said the Abbess, “You have noticed the tapestries, my dear.” Sister Oana nodded guiltily. “Exquisite aren’t they? The Devil’s Playground. Eternal sufferance for the sinners and sodomites. I find myself quite strangely drawn to them. Evil can be so — seductive — don’t you think?”

The young nun suddenly felt stifled in her restrictive habit.

”You look uncomfortable Sister, here change into one of my shifts,” suggested the Abbess, “You will be more at ease.”

“I am fine. Thank you Mother Superior,” replied Sister Oana.

“No — I insist — Change. Now! Before me.”

The nun reluctantly did as she was told. She changed as the Abbess watched voyeuristically. The older nun’s eyes made no secret as they stared directly at Sister Oana’s sensual lithe form. The Abbess seemed to drink in her bony form and overly skinny limbs, angular hipbones and pronounced rib cage.

”You have such pretty little feet my dear — and an immature body,” said the Abbess, “Small breasts, narrow hips and are lithe of body — so child-like.”

It sounded almost like a checklist. Sister Oana’s face burned with embarrassment at being seen. She covered herself and sat down again. Though she felt self-conscious — this feeling was also accompanied by an unusual arousal at the Abbess’ shameless gaze.

“Who’s voice was it, Mother Superior?” asked the young nun trying to draw attention away from her embarrassment about her physique.

“Ahhhh — Yes. The voice. It was unclear, Sister, but words of destiny made me reflect on why I am here. Do you know why I am here?” asked the Abbess, “Do you know why?”

Sister Oana shook her head. All this talk of nightmares and pornographic tapestries was bizarrely unsettling. Ever since her arrival at this terrible place, she had wished for dreamless moments in the little rest they afforded themselves. But alas, her nights only conspired to torment her flesh sexually. Sinful dreams of unbridled lust and unholy wantonness — sex with animals and young children — left her hot and often on the brink of orgasm. Lately, it had got worse — her dream only a few hours before, had been deliriously perverted (something reminiscent of the Abbess’ tapestries) and had left her dripping wet and almost breathless.

“Well, I will come back to that shortly — fetch my chamber pot, Sister,” ordered the Abbess.

The young nun hopped up in her bare feet and did as she was asked. The bowl felt heavy with the accumulation of briny liquids. The Abbess seemed to notice the young nun’s lack of disgust — the old nun’s smile was a little unnerving. The Abbess indicated for the nun to place it near their feet between them.

The Abbey had become a place of oppressive solemnity. It felt despondent and distressing at the best of times — but right at that moment, in the Abbess’ private chambers, the mania was strangely distant, as something else, dare she say, sensually diabolic seemed to take over.

“I broke a sacred vow recently,” confessed the elderly Mother Superior, “I have been perusing the sealed files of all the nuns under my charge,” she nodded towards the pile of papers on her desk, “It is strictly forbidden by the Vatican. But I did it, regardless. And I was surprised to find that more than half of the nuns here have been found guilty of wantonness and blasphemous sins of the flesh.

“I’m talking about pedophiles, Sister Oana — despite their vows of celibacy — and promises to serve as the Brides of Christ, these are nuns that have all committed gross acts of sexual abuse against minors under their charge. They are all accused of wilful acts of forced sex, Sapphic sex; even sex with animals. Perverts accused of a host of unholy profanities — uncovered by the Vatican Fathers.”

Sister Oana, concerned with her indiscretions, listened intensely, unclear what would happen next.

“Unholy —” muttered Sister Oana under her breath.

”Unholy profanities indeed, Sister Oana,” emphasized the Abbess, as she stood up and hitched up her shift.

The Abbess positioned herself over the chamber pot. She seemed shameless; but there was something about the theatrics of it, that excited the young nun. Sister Oana couldn’t help but stare at the freshly shaven vagina of the much older woman. Instead of squatting, the Abbess began to piss, whilst still standing. Her urine poured forth, arcing downwards into the white porcelain bowl below her feet. Her piss-flow smelt acrid and some of it ran down the insides of her legs and over her fingers as she pressed down on her urethra.

”I have seen your file, Sister Oana —”

The young nun swallowed hard — she expected the worst — and her face burned with a combination of guilt and sexual arousal, watching the Abbess perform this bizarre act in front of her. The Abbess stopped pissing but remained standing and did not cover herself. Instead, she sucked her urine-drenched fingers.

”As I was saying — why was it that I came to be here in this god-forsaken place? My calling to serve? No — like yourself, Sister Oana, this posting was because of my unnatural indiscretions and proclivity for sexual deviance.”

The Abbess stopped talking — her words hung in the air — as Sister Oana tried to wrap her mind around what the older woman was confiding in her.

“Yes, you heard that right — they caught me molesting a young female acolyte, no older than ten years of age. A mere child — so trusting and naive,” the Abbess openly touched herself between her legs, stroking her cunt as she spoke, “Her innocence offended me and I wanted to take it from her. Now, I say caught, because it wasn’t the first time for me. No. In fact, I had indulged in this unholy desire of mine on many occasions without detection or report. But this time they caught me in the act. I was called a monster and I was sent here to be shamed!” said the Abbess as she masturbated herself in front of the young nun.

Sister Oana was in shock at the Abbess’ confession and overtly sexual behavior.

“Come now — you of all the nuns in my charge should understand the compulsion of these deviant urges — my cunt is so hot and I haven‘t finished emptying my bladder. Come my dear — kneel over my piss bowl — lick me and taste my sour cunt. I want to piss in your mouth, my dear. It’s the dream that makes me cum almost every night. Suck my cunt before we fuck like demons all night in my bed. I’ve coveted you, since the moment you arrived here. And knowing we share so much in common, makes my lust for your flesh even greater.”

Sister Oana was still shaking but somehow she managed to obediently kneel over the piss bowl. The long fingers of the Abbess held the back of her head and guided her tongue between her piss-wet labia. A warm flow of acrid piss cascaded over the young nun’s face and down the front of the plain white shift, turning it translucent with yellowish urine. The wet material clung to her tiny breasts and erect nipples. She opened her mouth wider allowing the piss to flow over her tongue and down her greedy throat.

“Aaaarrrrrghhhh —” groaned the old Abbess, “You are a demon’s delight. Suck my clitoris dear — suck it like a little penis — Oh yes. Oh yes! Hail the darkness! Hail the wickedness.”


After the suicide at the Abbey of Saint Carta, Romania.

Sister Irene sat quietly as their horse and cart made its way towards the Abbey. It hadn’t been a long journey, but the landscape had changed quite dramatically. The isolation and dark skies set a mysterious mood. As they got closer to the foreboding Abbey, which towered like a blackened silhouette across the horizon, the horse came to an abrupt stand-still.

Father Burke asked Frenchie what was wrong and he said that the horse wouldn’t go any further. Father Burke suggested they get a new horse, but Frenchie said that it wouldn’t help. The animals all feared this place. It was evil and they were afraid. Father Burke and Sister Irene collected their bags and began to make the ascent, up the hill, to the Abbey on foot.

They navigated the dense graveyard of crosses. Frenchie remarked how he had always felt the crosses were there, not to keep evil out, but to keep the evil in. Now they were close. Looking upwards, Sister Irene saw, for the first time, the enormity of the abbey that had been built during the time of the Dark Ages. The cold stone battlement loomed above them with its turrets and windowless wall that looked impenetrable.

Eventually, they arrived at the stone steps that lead up to where Frenchie had discovered the hanging body of the dead nun. There was still a large blood stain across the steps below where the body had been. The blood still looked fresh. But that wasn’t possible? Father Burke examined it closer.

“How is that possible? It’s been weeks,” asked Sister Irene.

“I told you,” said Frenchie, “This place is — what’s the opposite of a miracle, Father?”

“Show me the body,” ordered Father Burke.

Frenchie took the priest and the young novitiate to a small door that led to the ice room. Inside Father Burke saw the remains of the nun’s bloated corpse lying exactly where Frenchie had placed it.

”Father, what is it?“ asked Sister Irene.

Father Burke prized a small object that hung on a rosary chain.

“It seems to be a key of some kind.“

A noise startled them and as they all looked around they noticed another door.

“That’s the door the nuns would enter from to retrieve the supplies, so they wouldn’t have to leave the castle,” responded Frenchie.

“We should give her a proper burial and then we must speak with the Abbess.” Demanded the Father.



In the months leading up to the suicide at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania

Sister Oana returned to her accommodation. Her mind tried to wrap around the poisonous nature of their Mother Superior’s plan. She knew all about Sister Oana’s shameful past — but her diabolic plan seemed to fester in Sister Oana’s subconscious — leaving her with only sinful evil thoughts as she recalled their perverted love play.

“There’s more to tell,” said the Abbess rubbing the young girl’s face into her hot musky cunt, “I sent Sisters Cynthia and Samantha to the village orphanage. I told them to bring me three boys and three girls between the ages of eight and eleven.”

Sister Oana licked fervently at of older woman’s cunt-hole.

“I know the Sister-in-charge at the orphanage. I said to tell her that they were to serve as acolytes at the abbey. There will be no official records. Nobody will care for the lives of these lost children — I said specifically to Sister Cynthia to pick the prettiness and the most vulnerable ones; and the most effeminate of the young boys. She knew exactly what I was asking for. And they are here in the cloister. I had the six of them, washed and cleaned up, given food and fresh altar robes.”

”Here?” asked Sister Oana, realizing the plot was thickening.

”Yes. —“ cooed the perverted Abbess.

The older woman grasped Sister Oana’s shoulders as she dribbled with more sour urine and bucked at Sister Oana’s oral pleasuring.

“Aaarghhhh —” she groaned, “And when the moon is full, you will join me at Finit hic, Deo —”

The Abbess looked animated as she spoke of such illicit things.

“Sisters Cynthia, Samantha, and Lucy will be expecting you. They are all like you, Sister Oana. And where God ends, each of us will take our place at the points of the inverted pentagon Of the Well of Wickedness together, each with an orphan —”

”But you said there were six?” Asked the inquisitive young nun.

“And one will be an offering to our demon — the same demon that brings us these perverted dreams every night — we have all come to know her as the Demon Nun —” explained the Abbess.

“The Demon Nun?” Sister Oana looked up at her Mother Superior, “Is it her that we see in the darkest of nights? — she is the apparition? — the phantasms? — she is the cause of my unholy wet dreams?”

“Oh yes, and while our good sisters keep their pious vigil. We shall be performing a profane ritual of our own. Not to hold back the evil, but to welcome it, to worship it — and to make a sacrificial offering to it. Because it is our destiny!”


After the suicide at the Abbey of Saint Carta, Romania

They had laid the nun’s body to rest in the grave and then entered the abbey. The heavy metal spikes of the portcullis opened with a clanking of its chain mechanism. And though it was bright daylight outside, inside in the lower hall, it was dark and dungeonous.

It took hundreds of candles to light up the long entrance that had the appearance of a sepulcher. Two low stone mausoleums stood decorated with statues of the brave crusading saints that had once stormed the Abbey to liberate it from evil. There were a number of other large white marble statues — most notably, for Sister Irene, was the Immaculate Virgin — Mary, the Mother of Christ — her soft chiseled features seemed to smile approvingly.

Sister Irene felt a strong vibration pass through her entrance.

Her vagina becomes instantly uncomfortable in its wetness and state of sexual excitement. An unexpected sensation, as far as the young nun was concerned. She looked towards a large arched stone throne and noticed the dark-robed figure of a woman whose face was fully veiled — more like a specter than a fellow nun.

“Hello —” said Sister Irene, her voice echoed in the hollowness of the hall, “Please forgive us for our unannounced arrival.”

“What is it you want?” croaked an ancient voice from behind the black veil.

Sister Irene gazed at the veiled face that gave no indication of her true identity.

“I’m Father Anthony Burke,” he stated, “This is Sister Irene. Are you the Mother Superior? The Abbess?”

“I am,” she responded flatly, then the veiled Abbess turned to Sister Irene and added, “You haven’t taken your vows yet.”

“No …” answered Sister Irene.

“Please —” interrupted the Priest.

“Why are you here — Father?” asked the Abbess.

“We have come — on behalf of Rome — to inquire about the recent death in the convent,” stated the Father.

“Recent death?” repeated the Abbess.

“One of your nuns,” interrupted Frenchie, “I found her outside, hung from the neck.”

“Is that so?” croaked the Abbess, “And you saw fit to bury her?”

Father Burke turned to look severely at Frenchie for his unwanted interruption.

“Would you allow us a moment please?” asked the Father maintaining his calm.

Frenchie looked awkward and then walked out of the lower hall.

“You should leave with him,” suggested the Abbess.

“Are you saying that you were not aware of the recent passing of the nun?” pressed Father Burke, “Rome is concerned with the safety and well-being of your cloister — let us speak with the Sisters — so I can offer my assurances to the church.”

“I can offer the assurance you seek —” replied the unmoved Abbess.

“I’m sorry but that won’t suffice. They will just send … more … and less diplomatic, church officials,” pressed the priest.

“Yes, Father. However, the gate will be closing shortly as we are about to take our vespers — followed by the great silence which ends mid-morning. Come back tomorrow and you will find the answers you seek. There is lodging in the convent. You may stay there.”

“Thank you,” replied Father Burke.

And without any further words, Sister Irene and Father Burke left.


Outside they met an impatient Frenchie. “Why could you not talk to the sisters now? Why wait until morning?”

“The sisters took a vow of silence from sunset to sunrise,” explained Sister Irene, “It must be respected.”

Turning to Frenchie, Father Burke said, “You should be heading back yourself, I imagine you don’t want to be caught on that road when night falls —”

“Better the roads than here — Father,” answered Frenchie.

“We’ll be fine son,” said the priest, “Come back in a few days — that should give us enough time to get what we need.”

“Yes, Father,” said Frenchie and he departed.


Father Burke and Sister Irene found their way to the cloisters. They had brought some supplies with them and sat down at the long bench table to share their evening meal together.

”Father, you mentioned miracle hunting before,” said the young nun, “Is that a role you sought out?”

“No. God, no.” He replied, “I’m a part of a small select few the Church relies on to look into their more unusual matters.”

“So, you know Bishop Forne?” she inquired.

Father Burke looked a little surprised.

“How do you—”

“Because he helped me when I was younger. I had a series of visions when I was a girl. My father believed I was mentally unstable — Or worse, a liar — But word of my visions reached the Church. Cardinal Conroy, specifically, and he sent Bishop Forne to meet with me.” she answered.

”What were your visions?”

“There were many,” she said, “Never the same one repeated. But after each one ended, the same thought would be stuck in my head.”

“Which was what?” Father Burke asked.

“Mary points the way.”


“Visions” — it reminded Father Burke of an aborted exorcism — that he’d conducted in the early years of his priesthood, upon a young girl who claimed to have had visions. The girl had been deemed by the Church to have been possessed by a demon — a wicked and sinister one that identified itself with sodomy and pedophilia.

They had chained the girl, spread-eagle between two hammer-beams, and kept her in a dark and dank oubliette — a subterranean dungeon reached only by a trap door.

The much younger and inexperienced, Father Burke, had entered the chamber armed with only a bible, a short dirk (a Scottish ceremonial dagger), and his faith. His oil lamp lit the way down the steep ladder. Once inside, he saw the young girl’s naked form silhouetted against an eerie ambient light. His intent had been to try and save her from a fate worse than death. But alas, the demon proved to have a stronger hold on her soul and wasn’t about to leave the girl without a fight to the bitter end.

Father Burke, since that day, had seen many strange things in his miracle-hunting days. But back then, this particular demon seemed to be testing his still-developing abilities and the strength of his faith.

At the seminary, he had studied the interrogation records of accused female sodomites — which the text had explained the physical abnormalities, required to perform such an act, as brought about by demon possession in consequence of some diabolical deed or by the black magic of witchcraft.

The young exorcist was familiar with the church authorities’ view. They regarded all forms of sodomy as a crime against God’s natural laws. He had read the treatise that claimed to have uncovered the truth about the Demon Lilith and the Serpent that had corrupted Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. His fellow demonologists had linked the distended length of the clitoris (she-cocks) with sudden sex changes, saying this unnatural phenomenon of females sodomites was explained as the product of spontaneous shape-shifting (hermaphrodism) at the direct hand of Satan himself.

Father Burke had observed some of Satan’s handiwork before. But the possession of this girl had affected him in a way he never expected. At first, the girl twisted and contorted in front of him. Her nubile young body undulated in a snake-like way. He watched her, hypnotized by her erotic movements. He prayed for strength, but instead, he found himself becoming highly aroused against his will.

In this unstable state, he should have left, but instead, he decided to press forward regardless.

The naked young girl shook against the heavy chains that held her fast. And then it began to happen — he saw something begin to emerge from within the girl’s tiny lips of her vagina. Her immature labia began to part, wider and wider as the phallic-shaped head of the Snake Demon became visible. Its evil eyes stared fearlessly at him. They taunted him.

To Father Burke’s dismay, he felt his cock throb with sexual excitement and unwillingly began to seep with precum at the sight of such a diabolical delight. The serpent’s length elongated like a telescope as its forked tongue licked the air that seemed electric with energy as everything inside the oubliette began to shake and rattle — animated by its evil presence.

The young girl’s body continued to undulate and convulse. She began to moan in what young Father Burke couldn’t decide was abject agony or orgasmic pleasure — she cried out to the priest for help. But the serpent had already begun to fill his impressionable mind with wicked thoughts of lust and wantonness. He’d dropped everything and had removed all his clothing without even realizing it. Now, he knelt naked before the chained girl. His hand subconsciously began to rub against his own erection, unknowingly he had succumbed to the demon’s spell. He began to masturbate furiously as the serpent continued to grow forth, inch by inch.

Momentarily coming to his senses, the priest fumbled as he tried pathetically to grab the crucifix that hung around his neck and hold it aloft as he prayed in Latin for the demon to cease its progress. But his voice was weak, unconvincing, and desperate. And despite his conscious efforts to continue the exorcism, the serpent’s progress remained unheeded. More and more of the vile reptile pressed forward from the girl’s spoilt vagina. Sliding forward, it appeared not separate, but to be part of her as it reared up like a large erect penis.

Father Burke’s hand continued to rub his own engorged flesh, faster and faster. He moaned out loud, finding himself at the very edge of delirium and satanic orgasm — in direct consequence of the demon’s power over him. His mind screamed for his body to stop, but his flesh was weak and the demon knew his weaknesses. Demon and girl were now indivisible. Like conjoined twins — the beast had transformed her to appear as a tiny girl with an enormous eel-like phallus. Her eyes were now its reptilian eyes. Her mouth was its slit-like mouth. Her tongue was long and forked.

The serpentine beast began licking the wet tip of its own wet cock.

The creature then spoke through the hissing mouth of the possessed girl. The priest saw the face of innocence transformed by the vile and vulgar things that couldn’t possibly have come from the mouth of one so young and naive. The demon demanded that the naked priest turn and bend over before it — to offer the demon his anus to penetrate. The naked priest found himself bending to the demon’s demands. He felt helpless to resist its sensuous demands. Sodomy. Buggery. He knew, if the demon entered him, his fate would be sealed for eternity.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but as he turned and bent unwillingly before the beast, his hand found the fallen dirk. The beast pressed the head of its rigid cock against his anal opening — but before it could begin to sodomize him, the priest turned quickly, welding the sharp edge of the dirk in his hand. Maybe it had been a lucky attempt, but somehow he managed to slice through its flesh. The demon screamed with vengeance from the mouth of the girl. Blood squirted forth, like a fountain, from the stump left of its castrated phallus — while the remains of its phallic serpent fell to the floor of the oubliette and began to smoulder and then burn.

It had been a horrific turn of events. His brush with the powers of darkness had scared him. The girl had not survived. His dismal failure remained a severe scare in his impressionable mind. This demon had vanquished him and had taken the life of an innocent girl.


Father Burke was awakened by a feeling he was more than familiar with. Demons often used the temptations of the flesh to seduce their prey. He felt the prickly sensations of their unholy stimulation throughout his body (especially through his groin). Though he tried to ignore the sensuality, his cock was still turgid. He could smell the evil here. It always left a foul stench that was unmistakable. He looked at his pocket watch. It was three in the morning. He had deliberately slept in his clothes, wanting to be ready, should he or Sister Irene encounter any preternatural forces during the night.

He got up and retrieved his torch to light the way as he intended to take another look around. Strange unnatural sounds echoed in the dark corridors of the cloister. The beam of his torch only penetrated a few yards in front of him — everything else was formless in the black of the night.

He stumbled back into the lower hall. He noticed a number of statues had been crudely removed — the broken ornate bases remained like the stumps of fallen trees seemed to have been left as a reminder of where they had once stood. He remembered the white marble the statue of the Virgin Mary had faced the entry — it too had gone.

Father Burke looked puzzled at this desecration. Below he found a half-opened stone lid to one of several sarcophagi. Had they also violated the Holy remains of the Saints? He pushed the heavy stone lid away to reveal the white bones of the entombed Saint. He shone the torch and noticed that there were several large manuscripts lying among the remains.

Father Burke retrieved them and brought them all into the candlelight. They seemed to be very old, but the parchment had been very well preserved — obviously placed in the grave long after the deterioration of the Saint’s body. He turned the pages to reveal obscenities — black magic and rituals — all pornographically illustrated. A demon revealed itself. He’d encountered this serpentine creature before. His failure haunted him. Father Burke surmised that these obscene publications had belonged to the perverted Duke of Cartha. As he turned the pages he saw illustrated, exactly what he had witnessed as a young priest, between the legs of a young girl rose the head of the hermaphroditic serpentine demon.

He would have to fight an old foe.


To be continued?


If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com