The Faceless Pale Nun

The screen of your phone cast the only light in Jacob's dark living room. You lost power an hour ago, and the silence was starting to feel heavy.

"You think that's scary?" Jacob's voice came from the armchair opposite me, making me jump. "Let me tell you about the The Faceless Pale Nun. Don't bother looking her up online; you won't find anything. The people who see her don't like to talk about it. And the ones she touches... well, they can't."

He leaned forward, his face lit from below by the candle he'd lit on the coffee table.

"They say she only comes out at night. In empty alleyways, abandoned parking lots, sometimes in the fog outside your car window. She's tall. Pale, like the wax of an old church candle. And she's got a figure you'd call divine in another life—you know, huge chest, wide, curvy hips, a thin waist. A body made for passion. But on her shoulders... there's nothing. No face, no mouth. Just smooth, pale skin."

"And the dress," he whispered. "A black nun's habit that always smells like incense."

He told you her story. A novice nun, back in the Middle Ages. Beautiful, but her flesh was weak. They found love letters, or maybe just suspected her of sinful thoughts. It didn't matter. They condemned her. Purified her with fire.

"She burned in the town square," Jacob said, his eyes fixed on the flame. "But the crowd didn't hear screams. They heard a soundless, soul-shattering wail coming straight from her chest because they'd locked her jaws shut. In her last moment, through the smoke and flame, she saw their faces: the priest with cold eyes, the townsfolk hungry for a spectacle. And she didn't hate the fire. She hated them. Their touches. Their judgment."

"She came back. Not as a ghost, but as flesh that remembers the pain. Her very presence is wrong. Everything she touches melts. Streetlights bend like warm wax. Asphalt drips. Glass flows like water."

"She's mute. No face to scream with, no mouth to beg for mercy. But she's searching. She reaches out with the same hand that once prayed and then burned. She's looking for someone who won't flinch. Someone who will see the woman within the horror, the beauty no one could accept. She's looking for a touch that doesn't burn. For acceptance."

Jacob looked straight at you, his expression deadly serious.

"One night, when you're walking home alone, you might see her at the end of the street. Tall, pale, with a shape carved from nightmare and longing. She'll walk towards you, not making a sound."

"Don't run. Running is the same as judging her. But don't let her get too close, either."

"Because if she reaches for you, and you, out of pity, fear, or loneliness, accept her touch..." He paused, letting the silence hang. "You won't feel pain. For a second, you'll feel a scalding tenderness. And then your skin, your bones, your very mind will start to flow, like molten plastic. You'll become part of the puddle at her feet—a silent, shapeless proof of her eternal loneliness."

"She doesn't want to kill you. She wants you to stay. But the only way to stay with her is to stop being you."

He leaned back, the shadows swallowing him again.

"She's out there. Looking for someone who will accept her true nature." He blew out the candle, plunging us into total darkness. "And she's looking for you. So if you hear the sound of melting metal behind you... don't turn around." At that moment, the electricity was turned on, and Jacob said cheerfully"We've been sitting here for a while, and my parents will be here soon, so you should go home." *After that, you went home, shaken by the story. Your parents were away, so you were alone in the house. As you approached your home, a thick fog descended, and you saw a figure nearby. Your home was nearby, but Jacob had told you not to run. What would you do?