The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror by Joseph Vargo, Joseph Iorillo

squealed as the steel ring crushed down upon the bone, breaking her fingertip backward with a sharp crackle.
     Elizabeth let loose a sickening wail, completely exhausting the air in her lungs. Undeterred by the girl's shrieks of agony, the inquisitor took hold of the next lever.
     "No! No!" she screamed. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
     Ignoring her pleas, the man plunged the handle downward, cracking the top knuckle of her middle finger against the joint with a force so violent that it caused the fingernail to tear away from the raw flesh.
     Elizabeth's screams of agony reached a horrific crescendo of ear-splitting cries.
     Taking a step back, the tormentor thrust the dagger in front of him and shouted "Hear me demon, and believe me when I say that I have no misgivings about inflicting unbearable suffering and torment upon your mortal host! I will sacrifice this child, if need be, in order to save her eternal soul!"
     The girl's shrieks diminished to gasping sobs. She hung her head and wept, nearly passing out from the excruciating pain.
     The inquisitor leaned in close to her, lifting her muzzled chin with his dagger and looked deep into her eyes. "There are six more fingers to go," he said solemnly. "Trust me when I tell you that your thumbs will cause a whole new level of pain. Then we will move on to your toes."
     "Kill me," Elizabeth whispered, "please... just kill me." Tears streaked down her cheeks, and a single teardrop fell from her chin, landing on the hand of her tormentor.
     The man stiffened, staring down at the droplet on his weathered skin. "No," he whispered. "No." The blessed dagger trembled in his hand, searing the flesh of his palm before it fumbled to the ground, where it spun briefly, its blade gleaming in the candlelight, before coming to rest, the tip pointing accusingly at him.
     It was as though he had been jolted by lightning, and every nerve in his body felt as if it were set ablaze. One moment he had been grimly set about his work, thinking of his years of service to Sister Helena—Sister Salvation, as he sometimes thought of her—and the next moment his entire being felt as if it had been bathed in a white-hot fire. It lasted but an instant, and after the initial shock he stood there breathing heavily, a strange calmness pervading his being. There was something wrong inside of him, he could feel it, but his mind seemed unable to protest or investigate the matter further. It was as though a shadow had fallen across his soul and that shadow was now directing his actions. Without being aware of it, he removed the hood that masked his weathered, bearded face. His voice, curiously flat and emotionless, seemed to be coming from far away as he gazed upon the girl in the chair.
     "Goodbye, my dear. It's a pity that we didn't have more time together." He moved to the entrance and pulled open the heavy door.
     "Don't leave me here," the girl sobbed, "Please!"
     Paying no heed to her desperate cries, he slammed the door shut behind him and threw the bolt, abandoning Elizabeth in the dark chamber.

It was now time to report back to Sister Helena. The mere thought of dealing with her made his face twitch with sinister glee. The strange force within him seemed to purr with a ferocious hunger, like a vicious panther sensing the proximity of its prey.
     At the cathedral, the vespers service was coming to its conclusion as the sun set, its dying light setting ablaze the stained glass windows in a fury of color. Ignoring the mournful, melodic chanting of the brothers, the man strode across the grounds to the rectory. He descended into the bowels of the church, his boots echoing hollowly on the stone steps.
     In Sister Helena's chamber, he saw her silhouetted against the window as she stared out into the churchyard. "You have been gone quite a while," she said softly.
     He said