For the 13 days leading up to Halloween, I am trying an experiment by rewriting the same story in 13 different styles, reflecting the various horror subgenres as part of my Thirteen For Halloween series. You can find the original version HERE. So, feel free to come back and weigh in with your opinion of which style worked the best!

In a secluded monastery, hidden amongst the mountains and reachable only by a treacherous path, lay the form of Anaïs upon an austere wooden pallet. Sacred icons and religious texts surrounded her, but their holy aura seemed to retreat from her lifeless body. A shroud of foreboding filled the air, making even the flickering candles in their sconces seem reluctant to dance.

Years ago, Anaïs sought refuge in the monastery, running from a shadowy past. The monks, led by the wise Abbot Benedict, took her in, hoping to provide solace and redemption. They were aware of the rumors about a cursed lineage, but believed in the power of faith over any curse.

As the moon reached its zenith, harmonizing with some blasphemous alignment of celestial bodies, a disturbance rippled through the sacrosanct space. Anaïs’s eyes blinked open, revealing not the bright spark of human life but a dark, malevolent sheen. Her lips twisted into a sinister grin as she lifted her body in an eerie, unhurried manner.

From his chambers, Abbot Benedict sensed the shift. Racing to the scene, clutching a cross and a vial of holy water, he was joined by Brother Matthias, the youngest monk, who still remembered the kind-hearted Anaïs who told tales of the world beyond the monastery.

A chill spread through the chamber, a cold that transcended physical sensation, freezing not just air but also the sanctity of the room. Holy symbols tarnished spontaneously, as if corroded by her very existence, revealing the malevolent forces that possessed her. The crucifix around Matthias’s neck grew unbearably hot.

Stepping into the sanctuary, Anaïs paused to gaze upon the altar. Abbot Benedict, a figure of unwavering faith, stepped forward, attempting to remind her of her humanity, of the Anaïs who found peace in prayer. But his words were drowned out by her mocking laughter.

Brother Matthias, torn between fear and sympathy, murmured a prayer for her soul, his voice quaking. He took a step towards her, “Anaïs, remember who you are. Remember the hope and redemption you sought here.”

The confrontation reached its peak in the heart of the monastery’s grand cathedral. Abbot Benedict, reciting an exorcism rite, clashed with Anaïs in a battle of wills, a spectacle of good versus evil, light against dark.

But as dawn approached, Anaïs’s power waned. The cursed lineage that plagued her, the very darkness that the monks hoped to shield her from, was being driven back by the combined faith of the monastery.

The conclusion remained open-ended. Anaïs, though weakened, escaped into the wilderness, her final fate uncertain. The monastery, though scarred, continued its sacred duties, forever vigilant against the return of darkness.

Yet, whispers among the monks hinted at hope. Brother Matthias, ever the optimist, believed that the sliver of Anaïs’s humanity remained intact, waiting for another chance at redemption. The tale became a testament to the enduring battle between faith and malevolence, a reminder that the line between sinner and saint is ever-blurred.