Vigil

Sister Dorothee entered the church, where the entire convent community was gathered, through a side entrance. She often used this entrance when her duties had delayed her and she was late for a service. This allowed her to join the others discreetly without disturbing their worship. In this case, too, she initially went unnoticed. And this also applied to her pursuer, who had to stoop low to cross the small doorway.

The interior of the church was only sparsely lit, with just a few candles flickering on the altar and casting long shadows across the room. The atmosphere was mysterious, bathed in twilight, with the high arches and pillars appearing even larger and loftier than usual. As they entered, the latecomers heard the soft chanting of the devout nuns sitting in the choir stalls in their simple robes. The voices merged into a gentle, rhythmic chant that spread through the stone hall like a dense fabric. The choral music held a holy promise of peace and tranquillity.

The air was still cool from the night and motionless. The scent of incense, which slowly spread through the church, mingled with the pure freshness of the early morning. It was the time when the world outside was still asleep, but in here, in this sacred space, the faithful were already beginning their day with prayer and meditation. The ritual was celebrated with simplicity and without much fuss, but it was precisely in this simplicity that there was a deep spirituality. The participants felt an inner connection to generations of believers who had awoken in the darkness of the early morning to pray and prepare themselves spiritually for the day, while outside the darkness of the night gave way to the first glimmer of the new day.

Dorothee wanted to join in the chant, but her throat was tight. Her steps were sluggish and unsteady. Instead of quietly and unobtrusively joining the ranks of her sisters as she had done on previous occasions, she stumbled down the center aisle towards the altar. More than one head lifted from its silent, humble pose of devotion and looked in her direction, surprised and indignant. Perhaps they thought the celleress was drunk.

Then, out of the corner of their eyes, the first ones noticed the huge shadow approaching the assembly. Glances turned towards it, voices died away, the first cries of astonishment and - yes - fear were heard.

The demon had risen high and stepped out of the side aisle into the center of the room so that everyone could see him clearly. One thought from him was enough and the window panes in the outer walls went black. The young light of the rising sun was shut out and with it the promise of new life and salvation from the darkness. A casual movement of the hand caused all the doors and portals to slam shut. The multiple bangs and hundredfold echo suffocated even the last voices. It was replaced by the creaking of heavy bolts, which slid forward of their own accord and locked the women in with the giant.

His booming laughter echoed off the walls. Many of the nuns covered their ears in horror. Cries of anguish rang out. The previously orderly rows scattered. Many ran for the exits, shaking the locked doors in vain. Others fell to their knees and prayed fervently for protection and salvation. Some tried to hide in hidden niches or under the pews.

Sister Dorothee, meanwhile, reached the altar and clung to its edge like a drowning woman to a life raft. But she already knew in her soul that there was no escape. The prayers of her fellow sisters sounded hollow, as if their words no longer reached God's ear. An invisible barrier of fear and darkness seemed to have pushed itself between the praying nuns and heaven.

But one of them stood up. The old abbess stepped forward, the silver cross she wore around her neck clasped resolutely in both hands and held it out to the demon like a weapon. She whispered at first, then her voice grew louder and finally rose so that her voice drowned out the demon's laughter.

“In the name of the light that is mightier than the darkness...”