Borley Rectory, England — The Nun
by Dawg
In the hollow bones of Borley Rectory, where dust drifts in shrouded layers,
a silence heavy as frost blankets corridors that once echoed with prayers.
The moon slants through fractured glass, painting phantoms on the crumbling stone,
and somewhere between heartbeat and hush, a nun in faded linen wanders alone.
Centuries swirl in the amber air–her habit trailing secrets, footsteps erased by time,
eyes veiled by penance, lips silent but for whispers of unspeakable crime.
She drifts past relics of ruined sanctity, a smudge in the periphery of the living–
her longing tethered to the mortar, her grief as thick as the chill in the eaves unforgiving.
Walls remember–Latin murmurs, a priest’s trembling plea,
illicit love scribed in candle smoke, vows broken beneath the yew tree.
Borley’s grounds swallow every confession, roots gnawing on unshriven guilt,
and the nun, condemned by passion and punishment, roams where her grave was never built.
On windless nights, the scent of old fires taints the plaster and the linen,
fingers of smoke curling through rafters, tracing sins that can never be forgiven.
Doors rattle on their hinges, keys rust in unyielding locks–
in the shadows, phantom bells toll vespers for those eternity mocks.
Once, flames devoured Borley’s bones, licking secrets from the wood,
locals gathered in the moon’s indifference, swearing they saw her where she once stood–
black eyes ablaze in the window, mouth shaping prayers for release,
a figure half-shaped by light, half-drowned in hungers that will never cease.
Some say the nun was bricked alive for love forbidden,
others whisper she waits for the priest who never came, her torment still hidden.
Every fire, every shudder, every unexplained sigh
rekindles the agony of a woman who could never die.
There are houses alive with the ache of history–
Borley stands at the edge, where faith sours into mystery.
A convent’s ghost, a lover’s mistake, a spirit chained in stone,
in these broken halls, dread will always call,
and the nun will always walk alone.