Death Cry-chapter nine

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 31, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, twlight, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

 
Her feet never touched the floor, as she was carried along on a wave of hysteria. Within seconds she was standing before The Dark One. His eyes were serious now they were face to face. They no longer held the mocking gleam of triumph she had so recently witnessed. She stood in front the table; he was behind it with Roma as a human barrier. The room fell silent, save for the odd shuffling or fussing of a child. Annie reached over and pulled down Roma’s dress. The woman never noticed this act of kindness. Her eyes were glazed over in fear, and Annie could smell the strong, acidic stench of her sweat. She allowed her hand to slip along Roma’s body until their fingers met and she squeezed. The pressure from Annie’s hand made the woman moan.

   “It’s all right.” Annie whispered. “It’ll be over soon.”

   “Even now,” The Dark One’s voice broke the silence. “Even here before you good people they continue to plot.”

Annie looked up at him.

   “Yes,” his mocking sneer had returned. “They continue to mouth their evil spells. Though I know nothing of the language of the Devil, the chant she used is clear enough.”

   “This is madness,” Annie spun around to face the people. “You all know me. I’ve helped many of you through the sickness.”

There were mutterings from the crowd.  

“And how many more have you helped to kill?” The Dark One asked. “Is there anyone who has not lost a loved one through your potions?”

There were shouts, voices raised high in anger.

   “My potions were made of herbs and roots. There was nothing in them to cause harm,” Annie hoped her voice belied the terror she felt.

   “Enough,” The Dark One roared. “We will hear none of your excuses and lies. All you are doing is prolonging the outcome of this trial.”

   “I thought this was a hearing?” Annie’s heart started to thump against her breast. “If this is a trial who is to speak on these people’s behalf?”

   “Perhaps you would care to address the court?” He waved his hand towards the seat on which the Squire sat.

Annie had forgotten about the Squire and the O Brien’s. She knew, even as she turned to face them, it would be hopeless to plead for mercy. Mary and Hugh looked at the proceedings stony faced, lips pulled into tight little lines. The Squire gazed down at her from his high seat and smiled. She had refused his advances and he would now keep true to his promise.

   “Well,” The Dark one was speaking to her. “Have you nothing to say on their behalf. No fanciful explanation for their sorcery?”

   “They are not sorcerers nor witches; just simple travelling folk and you wrong them greatly.”

   “And do we wrong you?”

   “You know you do. I am a healer; there is nothing sinister or magical about my power.”

   “Then you admit you have power?”  

  “No,” Annie spun around to face the crowd. “I admit nothing of the sort. I have the power to heal not to harm. You all know me; have known my family for years. Jane,” she searched the crowd for her friend. “Jane, come and speak for me.”

   “Where is this Jane you speak of? Bring her forward,” The Dark One commanded.

Jane O Regan was dragged from her hiding place among the crowd and pushed to the top of the room.

   “Jane,” Annie begged. “Tell them I do no harm. I only do what I can to heal others.”

Jane’s eyes darted from Annie to her accuser.

   “Well, speak up,” the Squire roared, making her jump.

   “I am not sure what you ask of me, Sir.”

   “It’s very simple, my dear,” His voice was sweet. “Is this woman a witch?”

   “No, Sir. I do not think so.”

   “You do not think so. What does that mean?”

   “She never done me or mine anything, but good.”

   “And your youngest child did she do her good?”

   “She died of the fever, Sir.” Jane was close to tears.

   “But you told me you were all sick when she arrived with her potions and spells; yet only hours later your little one was dead. How do you account for that?”

   “She was small and weak, sir. Her strength gave out.”

   “Do you not realise you stupid woman, that witches always take the youngest children and during their death throes breathe in their life force?”

   No,” Jane was crying. “That is not true.”

   “Yes, it is,” the honeyed voice again. “I have no wish to cause you any further distress, but what I say is the truth. Your child’s soul lives on in that creature you see before you. She has bound your child to her will, refusing to let her rest in order to help her in the Devil’s work.”

   “No,” Jane looked at Annie, her eyes wild in terror. “It is not true, is it?”

   “Of course, it is true,” The Dark One put his arms around Jane’s shoulders. “Think, were you there when your child died? Did you witness every drop of the potion she administered?”

   “I was resting below stairs while Annie nursed her and asleep when she died,” Jane was shaking her head in disbelief.

   “Of course, you were asleep and why, you must ask yourself this question. Would any mother sleep peacefully knowing her child was so gravely sick?”

Jane looked up at him, shaking her head.

   “She gave you a sleeping draught. That is why you slept and were unable to hinder her in her dreadful act.”

   “Then my child,” Jane sobbed, pointing at Annie. “My little one is in her?”

   “No Jane, no.” Annie pleaded with her. “Don’t listen to him. It is he who spreads such lies. Do not listen to him.”

   “See how she turns on me now?” He addressed the crowd. “More lies and slander. Anything to save herself and her servants.”

Roma’s soft crying was peculiarly piteous. Stefan regained consciousness and was struggling against his bonds, muscles standing out like wires on his bare arms.

The crowd was in an uproar. Screaming taunts and accusations at Annie. Men shaking their fists, and the women reaching out at her crying hysterically and calling for revenge.

Annie watched it all in disbelief. This was madness; everyone seemed to have lost their minds. The crowd surged forward calling out for blood, and she found herself ushered back behind the table. Looking up at her protector, she was surprised to find it was The Dark One.

   “I will not let them harm you, not yet.”

She shivered, trying to pull away, but he held her fast. At his command, the men holding Stefan and Roma formed a barrier between them and the crowd. Annie, Roma, and Stefan were herded away towards the cellar steps and down into the cells. The women were pushed into one cell and Stefan into the other. They still heard the thundering of feet from above and the shouts of the crowd. Annie and Roma huddled together in fear, sure at any moment they would gain access to the cells and they would be torn to pieces. But slowly the noise abated, and they heard a soft mumbling. The footsteps overhead retreated towards the main door. They heard the clattering of feet on the steps outside, and through the small, slatted gaps serving as windows, they watched the skirts of the women and heavy-booted legs of the men pass by. A few fell flat on the ground and tried to see inside the cells, but Annie and Roma retreated into the shadows. There were curses and threats hurled at them through the bars, and they covered their ears. The one thing all three of them heard from each foul-mouthed voice, was the promise of seeing them next day.

   “What do you think they mean?” Annie asked Roma when the last voice had died away. “Why will they see us tomorrow?”

   “Oh, Annie, Annie,” Roma fell against her sobbing. “My children, what will become of my children?”

   “Hush now. They are safe and well. I told Meg that if I was not back by nightfall to take the children and set off for the town. They will find Pat, he is a good man and he will help us.”

   “But,” Roma wiped the backs of her hands across her face. “The town is days away from here and that’s by horse and caravan. It could take much longer walking. Meg is old and the children will tire easily.”

Stefan, calling to them from the next cell interrupted their conversation. Roma reached out through the bars and managed to touch the tips of his fingers.

   “The children are safe,” she whispered. “Meg is taking them to the town to get help.”

   “Thank God,” he moaned. “Let us hope they are not too late.”

   “Are you very badly hurt, my love?”

Annie moved to the other side of the cell ashamed at having to hear their whispered words of love and endearment.

Her mind was in turmoil worrying about her sisters and Meg. She prayed for their safety and protection, and the strength to bear what was about to happen. Picturing in her mind Meg’s cottage and the route they would take to the town. She hoped they would keep well into the shadows of the trees until they were clear of the village. Then they could get a ride in one of the many carts heading for the town. She was so deep in thought she did not realise Roma was calling to her.

   “Annie, come,” she beckoned her over and stood back in order that Annie might take her place and speak to Stefan.

   “Stefan, are you, all right?”

   “I am fine, Miss, but it is sorry I am for bringing such trouble on you and yours.”

   “This is not your fault,” Annie assured him. “We are all part of some dreadful plan. In truth I think it is me he is after, and I will do whatever I can to help you both.”

   “There will be no help for us, Miss, I fear.”

   “You must not think such a thing,” her whisper grew more urgent. “There is always hope.”

The sound of approaching footsteps made Annie draw back. Taking Roma by the hand, she pulled her towards the back of the cell.

   “Well, well, well,” The Dark One stood outside the bars with Mary on one side of him and Hugh flanking the other. “Your bravery seems to have deserted you,” he spoke to Annie.

She refused to answer him, and his eyes grew hard.

   “Bring her to me,” he roared, before walking away.

A man appeared with a bunch of keys hanging from a belt around his waist.

   “Come along you,” he dragged Annie outside, throwing her hard against the wall.

She stood there winded, as he locked the cell.

   “Come on, I want no trouble from you, witch,” with this he caught her wrist in an agonising grip and pulled her along the dark corridor. She caught Stefan’s look of despair as she passed his cell, and she heard Roma sobbing, as she descended deeper into the mouth of darkness. Her jailer knew the dark passageway well, but Annie stumbled a few times on the uneven stone flags. She was shaken and pulled to her feet and her wrist burned from his grip. Just when the darkness seemed absolute a door opened, and she was propelled into a room. The door slammed behind her and she found herself once again facing The Dark One.

   “Sit down,” he pointed towards a chair.

Mary and Hugh sat opposite her, their eyes never leaving her face. A fierce fire burned in a brazier in the centre of the room and chains hung from the walls. A huge wooden chair stood in one corner and the seat was made from long nails! Their sharp points glistened in the light from the fire and the arms were fitted with leather restraints.

   “Now,” he continued, “We can make this all quite simple. If you confess your guilt here in the presence of you cousins, you will be dealt with fairly. If, however you persist in denying your guilt, you will suffer a torture you could never imagine. I’ll make an example of you.”

   “You know I am not guilty of the crime of which you accuse me. I know this is some dark plan hatched by you, but I find it hard to understand your reason. What have I got that you want?”

   “Do you hear that, my dear?” Reaching down, he took Mary’s hand and brushed it with his lips. “What has she got that I want?”

   “My dearest Oliver wants nothing from you,” Mary hissed. “You are an evil, wicked child.”

   “Then you,” Annie asked. “What do you want, the cottage, the land? Take it; I will give it to you in exchange for our freedom.”

Mary’s eyes lit up at this, and she was about to say something, when…

   “She will make no deal with the Devil,” He answered for her. “This woman,” he placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Is sainted and above corruption. She wants nothing from you.”

 Annie’s mind was racing. The heat from the fire was searing and her mouth felt dry, as she tried to swallow. As if sensing her discomfort Hugh asked.

   “Would you like a drink of water?”

   “Oh, yes thank you, Hugh.”

She watched as he walked across the room to a barrel and filled a large wooden scoop. He carried it carefully back to her, and Annie watched the small dribbles falling from it and licked her lips anticipating it coolness on her parched throat.

   “Here you are.”

Annie reached out to take the scoop, but before she could do so he laughed and threw the full contents into her face.

   “I show no mercy to witches,” his mouth curled into a sneer.

His mother was laughing as though it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, but there was no sign of mirth in The Dark One’s eyes.

   “I think,” his voice put a stop to the laughter. “I should work alone from now on.”

   “Why, Oliver, dearest,” Mary became flustered. “Have we upset you in some way?”

   “No,” his tone belied this fact. “You must not witness what is about to happen. Not a woman of your sensibilities.”

   “Very well,” Mary stood for a moment brushing the creases from her dress, unsure of his dismissal.

He took no notice of her and turning to Hugh, ordered.

   “See your mother safely home.”

   “But, I…”

   “Just do as I ask,” the flames leaping in The Dark One’s eyes left no room for discussion. “You may return later.”

Hugh started to lead his mother away. As he passed Annie’s chair, he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled. It hurt so much she screamed, and she felt each hair as it was ripped from her scalp.

   “I will see you later, cousin,” he hissed in her ear.

She tried not to cry and rubbed instead at her torn hair. It felt wet, and she gasped at the blood on her hand. Once the door slammed behind them there was silence, save for the crackling and spitting of the fire. She was alone with The Dark One. Concentrating on the pain in her head, she prayed for relief, but there was none. The pain raged within her and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

   “He is not listening.”

Oh, please God, she prayed, do not let me cry.

   “I told you he is not listening.”

Still, she refused to acknowledge him, digging her nails into the palms of her hands until finally…

   “Sit still.”

She tried to leap from her seat when his hands touched her head. Sharp, icy needles pierced her skin until slowly the pain subsided. She brought her hands to her head. The pain had completely disappeared. He sat opposite her.

   “I can be good to those who obey me. What I have done is nothing to what I can do for you and for your sisters; if you’ll only bend your will to mine.”

   “I don’t understand,” she croaked, her mouth even drier than before.

He stood and walked to the water bucket, returning with a scoop. She shied back at first, but he pushed it towards her.

   “I take no pleasure in such pettiness.”

She reached out and took it. The water tasted like honey.

   “Thank you,” she held the scoop out to him, and he took it, flinging the last dregs of water into the blazing fire. The flames hissed, protesting the intrusion of the cold water before settling down to their crackling once more.

   “Now, let us not waste any more time,” he returned to his seat. “There is much to be done if we are to save your sisters.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “They will go for them at first light and bring them here.”

   “But they are innocent. Oh please, I beg you. Do not let this happen.”

   “There is no need to beg. All the power you want is within your grasp. Just say the word, Annie,” his voice was soft. “And all this will pass from you. Things will return to normal and your life will continue until it has run its course.”

   “I still do not understand.”

   “Let me explain. You have a power I desire. Give me the power and in return I will reward you. Whatever you want, gold, property, the lives of all you love will be saved and you will have the sort of life you could only dream of. Just say the word and it will be yours”

   “How can I give you my power?”

   “I do not ask for it now; no indeed. My only desire is to have it when you are no more. Think of it Annie. You can leave here now and take your gypsy friends with you. Live out the remainder of your life in luxury. See your sisters grow and prosper. I see many children in their futures and long lives. Do it for them.”

   “So,” she asked. “You would take my power once I was dead and not until then?”

   “That is right. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Annie chewed on her lip. The children would be saved. So would Roma, Stefan, and Meg. What right did she have to condemn them?

   He was grinning, sensing her weakness. The power so strong in her he could almost reach out and touch it.

   Please God, she prayed, one last time. Show me what to do.

   “Yours is the power of angels, Annie,” the whisper was close as lips against her ear. “The power of light over the darkness you see before you.”

Closing her eyes, she allowed the sense of peace to flow within her and felt its goodness, its light reaching the very core of her being.

   “And what would you do with this power, Lucifer?” The voice asking the question was no longer that of a young girl’s, but a more enlightened soul.

   “You dare address me with that name!” He jumped up and, in his anger, threw the heavy, oak chair across the room. “You, who know nothing of my power, of my legions.”

   “I know you would use my power against God.”

Even then, as he stood over her, his face resembling the beast, she refused to fear him.

   “You will die. All of you will suffer, but you,” his spittle stung her face. “Your suffering will be absolute. The death I give those you love will be nothing to what I’ll do to you.”

The fear welled up in Annie, but then the voice in her ear.

   “Be at peace, child.”

He reached out an odious gnarled claw at her and she covered her face trying to avoid the sharp talons. Cringing, she waited for it to make contact on her skin but…. Spreading her fingers wide, she peeped through and saw he was backing away. A strong breeze threw her hair around her in disarray, blocking him from sight. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she looked around the room for the source of the wind. She saw nothing except the shadows thrown on the walls by the firelight. They looked like…wings. Yes, like giant birds’ wings flapping. Faster and faster they moved, their shadows uniting until they moved as one. The Dark One covered his face and was screaming curses. It was a language Annie never heard before or would ever want to hear again. The shadows moved from off the walls, surrounding him. Something brushed against her face, its touch as soft as cobwebs stirred her. She got up and ran towards the door. She would escape into the woods and save her sisters. The door was heavy, but she pulled with all her might. It swung open and hit the wall with a resounding thud, and she ran straight into the arms of Hugh O Brien.

Death Cry- chapter eight

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 29, 2020
Posted in: banshee, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fairies, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, sleeplessness, thoughts, twlight, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Annie pushed her way through the crowds making for the mill. She had not realised so many people would turn up for the trial. There were street hawkers all along the road selling sweet biscuits and fruit. Others had effigies of sharp-nosed witches, riding on brooms, or swinging from a rope. The whole event had a feeling of carnival about it. She was one of the first to arrive at the mill.

    The building fell into disuse years before, long before Annie could remember, but it was still used as a meeting place and at rare times, as a jail. The worse crime she could recall was an argument over cattle or land, and no one was held for long. The culprit usually gave in after a few hours in the draughty, barred, basement cell and was sent on their way with a heavy fine. Now, as she picked up her skirts to begin the climb up towards the door, she felt as though she was stepping up to the gallows. There were fourteen steps in all; she counted them as she moved. The stairway was wide and there were people on either side of her; the wood resounded to each footfall, the thuds echoing and vibrating. She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared in amazement. Mary O Brien and Hugh stood on either side of the door as though greeting guests to their home.

   “Why, Annie,” Mary smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

   “Why not, everyone else seems to be here?”

   “Yes, of course, dear,” Mary agreed. “And where are your sisters?”

   “They are safe and well, thank you,” she started to move past, but Mary grabbed her arm.

   “It was a big mistake you made in refusing my Hugh.”

Annie glared at her and looked across at Hugh.

   “I don’t think so.”

   The inside of the mill was set up with all different sized benches. At the top of the room, there was a high desk, a chair, and a large, sturdy table. She wondered who the judge might be. Luke Richards oversaw such things in the past. He was also the local wise man and the leader among the elders. Sadly, he had succumbed to the sickness and would be a great loss to the village. She had not noticed the gallows on her way there and looked up at the dirty, dusty windows lining the room. It was only by listening to the general hubbub around her she learned it was built round the back of the mill. The room was filling, becoming stuffy despite the cold morning air. Many were unable to get seats and stood around the walls or sat on the stairs leading to the upper rooms. Annie prayed for Stefan and Roma, trying to block out the heightening buzz of conversation and the crying and fussing of children. Suddenly, it stopped, and she felt her heart tighten with dread. A loud rumbling was moving towards the hall. Whatever it was clattered and rolled over the cobbles. Everyone held their breaths. It reached the steps outside and the noise stopped as suddenly as it had started. There came a rattling of chains and the muffled curses and shouts of the men, as they hauled, whatever it was, up the steps. The doors were flung open and the thundering began again, louder this time on the wood floor. Annie glanced to her right as it passed her. It was a giant wheel of sorts. Like two cartwheels, one on either side and joined together by stout rungs. It was rolled to the front of the room and chained to the wall. She saw the hooks that were made to house this contraption. The whispering and chatter started up again until Annie wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the sound.

   “Silence.”

She strained in her seat to watch the procession coming from the main door. The Squire led the way and she felt sick when she realised, he was going to be acting as judge. A dark man followed close behind him, she was unable to see his face, then Mary and Hugh O Brien. The Squire took his place on the judge’s bench, the dark man, Mary, and Hugh sat in specially designated chairs to his left.

   “Bring in the prisoners,” the disembodied voice again.

There was a wave of movement as everyone in the room leaned forward, wanting to be the first to see the witches. Annie gasped; when she saw them, but the sound mingled with so many others it went unnoticed. Stefan and Roma were dragged in chains to stand before the judge. Stefan’s head was bowed, and he reminded Annie of some great, gentle bear being held in captivity. Only Roma held her head high, scanning the crowds. She caught Annie’s eye and shook her head. Their clothes hung in tatters around them, and she saw the marks of the whip and the blood-streaked patches on their skin. Annie’s throat ached with unshed tears.

   The list of charges was being read out; it was as she had expected. Roma was charged with being a witch. Of cavorting with the Devil and siring his children, of selling charms and potions to aid in his work. Stefan was charged with much the same things as his wife.

   “Will you say now before this court and these good people that your wife is a witch? That she aids the Devil’s work and has sired his children?” The Squire roared at Stefan.

   “My wife’s no witch,” Stefan’s voice was a low growl.

   “So be it,” the Squire turned to Roma. “Will you admit before this court and before God that you are a witch?”

   “I am not a witch,” she spat. “If I were, I would turn you into a man.”

There was laughter and sniggers from the crowd, but these were soon silenced with a glare from the Squire.

   “Proceed,” he turned to the dark man, and for the first time Annie got a good look at him.

He was very handsome and somehow familiar. This must be the famous Mr. Tanas Jane spoke of. He bent down and fumbled in a bag beside him, withdrew a knife or large needle and held it up for everyone to see. The sunlight streaming through the windows lighted on the tip and showed it cruel, sharp point in all its glory. There were more gasps and ooh’s from the crowd, as he walked across the room with the weapon held high.

   “This will help us to prove,” he told the crowd. “If these people are really in league with the Devil; a witch will have a mark that’ll does not bleed when it is pricked.”

   Nodding to the group of men who held Roma, he waited as they picked her up and placed her on her back on the table. She screamed and struggled against her capturers, but they held her fast. Stefan roared and pulled free, the chains on his arms hitting the men who held him and knocking them to the floor. But, before he could reach the table, the men gathered about the walls set on him, trying to drag him to the ground. They beat at his legs with clubs and though he fought bravely, he was no match for the weapons. Even when he fell to the floor, they continued to beat him. Annie held a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She watched the faces of the men as they went about their merciless work. Men she had known all her life. Men who had once been kind were somehow been transformed into snarling beasts

   “Enough”.

The men stopped and looked up at the voice. Sweat dripped down their faces from the effort and spittle ran from the corners of their mouths. They turned to go back to their place by the wall. Their eyes wild, they were more beasts than men.

   “I take it I am safe to continue?” The dark man looked at the fallen Stefan.

   “He will give you no more trouble.” Hugh laughed.

   “Very well. As I was saying…” he stopped, annoyed by Roma’s sobs and unsure he could be heard above the noise, he slapped her face. The sound seemed to resound within the room, and for a moment there was silence.

   “Now, I will start again, and I take it I will have no more interruptions?”

Roma was crying quietly.

   “Very well. I shall now look for the witches mark,” he took the hem of Roma’s tattered skirt and pulled it up about her waist. She kicked and struggled, mortified at such a violation. The women in the room gasped and hid their eyes; the men leered at her exposed limbs.

   “Do you want me to strike you again?” The dark man roared at Roma.

Annie felt all hope fading as Roma lay still and allowed him to examine her legs. He found what he was looking for, a small mole just below her knee.

   “I have found the mark.”

He looked around the room and was satisfied by the gasps and looks of fear. Taking the needle, he placed the tip against Roma’s leg, and they all watched in disbelief as he pushed it in, all the way to the hilt. It must have reached the bone, yet Roma seemed to feel no pain. He then withdrew the needle and called to the Squire to inspect the mark.

   “There is no blood,” the Squire seemed as astonished as the people, and he called on others present to witness this.

There was a general shuffling as everyone wanted to witness this sign, this abomination. Annie sat frozen in her place as the people beside her tried to push past.

   “Get in line.”

 The shout brought about some order as the pushing and shoving ceased, and they filed past Roma as though viewing a corpse. Some of the women lifted their children to see the mark, and each child was carried away screaming. It was whispered the children, in their innocence, could tell a witch, but Annie knew differently. She watched each child as its eyes moved from the mark to Roma’s face. It was her look of terror frightened the children. Annie pulled her shawl tighter around her. Icy hands seemed to move up her back and she felt the fine hairs on her neck rise. The dark man was looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment, before looking away. The people were filing back to their seats and the crowd around Roma thinned. She was no longer crying; her shame was now absolute. When everyone was finally back in place, the dark man spoke down at the prostrate figure on the table.

   “Will you now admit that I have proven it, declare you are a witch and save your soul, if not your life?”

Roma turned her head towards the crowd, searching. Annie saw blood on her mouth. The man was still speaking, but Annie had no idea what he was saying. She was too busy trying to make eye contact with Roma. There were jeers from the crowd and shouts at Roma to admit her guilt, but Annie could not hear any of it. A silence seemed to envelop her, as her mind reached out to contact Roma. Their eyes met and she watched as Roma mouthed three words. Her view was constantly being blocked as some of the villagers ran forward and poked and prodded at Roma. Some of the women pulled her hair, as they screamed at her to admit her sin. Everyone within the room seemed to be caught up in some religious fervency. Annie tried to block it all out, calling to Roma with her mind, tell me? “The Dark One.” She heard it as clearly as it was whispered in her ear. She looked towards the table and Roma nodded at her. The Dark One was here? Annie looked up at Roma’s tormentor. He was staring at her again. This time she did not look away.

A cool breeze ruffled her clothes. She was no longer in the mill. The crowds disappeared, the jeering was no more, and she was no longer in that time. She was standing on a plateau, the full moon lighting the road before her. The grass about her was brown and dry and crunched beneath her feet as she walked. There was no life in this strange, arid place. Blood dripped from the moon staining the velvet blue sky. She walked quickly onwards as the plain parted before her, dividing into two roads. The one to her right looked dangerous. The ground was covered with sharp stones and deadly looking thorns sprang from the blackened hedgerows lining either side. It would be safer and wiser to take the left path. She turned to walk towards it and heard Roma calling out to her.

   “Take the right-hand path, Annie. Do not be afraid. This is the right way.”

   “But, it’s dangerous.” Annie shouted. “I will walk the other way and meet you at the end.”

   “There will be no end if you choose that way. Your journey on this path will be hard and the going slow, but it’s the way to salvation.”

   “Such theatricals, don’t you think?”

Annie spun round. The Dark One was walking towards her along the left path.

   “I do love a good performance, don’t you?”

   “What is this place?”

   “This,” he swept his hand around. “Is the place where most decisions are made? It is part of your mind, the darkest part. Yes,” he smiled at her. “We are inside your head.”

   “But I would never imagine a place such as this,” she looked at the red moon and ravaged landscape.

   “Nevertheless, we are here and it’s your time to decide.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   “Neither did I once and like you, I had many questions.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Enough,” he was angry. “The time grows short and there’s much to be done. Choose now. Take the right path and your suffering will be great. All you love will be punished for your folly. Your sisters will perish if you choose to listen to the words of the gypsy. She has decided her fate and you will see the outcome of that, but you, you have a chance. Watch what happens to her and then decide, but I warn you. Choose her way and her death will be nothing to the death I will give you. Do you understand now?” He leaned towards her.

Annie closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, but she could smell him. He smelled of freshly baked bread and spring flowers. It was all so familiar to her and yet she turned from it.

   “Open your eyes.”

She looked up at him. He was very handsome, and she could not tear her eyes away.

   “Come with me, Annie. I will keep you safe and your sisters too. With me there will be no suffering. We could be incredibly happy.”

His eyes burned into her soul. They seemed to light his face and all around her. She wanted to feel safe again. She was so frightened since her parent’s death, and she did not want to suffer like Roma. She did not want Dora, Rose, or Meg to suffer either. He smiled, sensing her weakness, and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment before slowly, very slowly, her hand moved up from her side to take his. Their fingers were almost touching, when…

   “Annie, child,” it was her mother’s voice. There were no tricks this time. “Come away.”

       “Don’t listen to it,” The Dark One urged. “It’s a trick.”

   “No,” Annie started to back away. “No, it’s you who plays tricks.”

The white hand he reached towards her began to swim and change. The veins stood out against the skin and the fingers stretched and gnarled. The carefully manicured nails turned black and pointed. The fire was still there in his eyes, but the light in them burned like the flames of Hell. His talons reached for her and she held up a hand to stop them.

   “No.”

The words formed an invisible barrier and she watched as he clawed the air before her but was unable to penetrate the shield.

   “You will pay dearly for this,” he hissed, and she saw his tongue was long and pointed.

   “Maybe so, but you will never have what you desire,” with this she launched herself towards the right path, threw herself into the thorns and landed with a thump back on the bench in the mill.

The dark one was still staring at her, but this time he bowed, before going back to his work. She felt the sweat on her face and could smell her own fear. The noise returned; the jeering of the crowd and Roma’s moans filled the air. Annie saw wet patches in her hair and smelt the blood coating it. They were tearing her apart, she had to stop this, but before she could rise his voice rang out.

   “Tell us the name of your leader; whom it was initiated you into the Devil’s work.”

Roma moaned and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her hair making her scream and turned her head back towards him. Leaning down, he seemed to be listening to something she said.

   “Annie,” his voice rang. “Annie, who?”

Everyone turned towards Annie. She got up, tried to run. She knew Roma had not betrayed her and this was his work, but she was frightened. She did not want to die; she wanted to live. She wanted to see her sisters grown and watch their children grow. It was so unfair; she was no more then a child herself. The hands stopping her flight were strong and vicelike on her arms. She struggled; begged with them to let her go, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

   “Bring her forward. Let us hear what she has to say.”

She knew as they were propelling her forward toward The Dark One, her life was at an end. 

Death Cry-chapter seven

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 28, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Death Cry, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, thoughts, twlight, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

The woods seemed darker than usual when Annie set off that night. Though she knew all the trails by heart, she picked her way carefully. The wind died down and she tried not to listen to the night sounds. Meg placed a small wooden cross around her neck, and it felt good against her skin. She mouthed a prayer for protection, but the paralysing fear she once felt, was no longer upon her. She now had four children to think of and Meg.

   The village was well lit that night. She saw the flickering of torches long before she reached the outskirts, and she made her way hidden by the shadow of the forest, to the back door of Jane’s house. She tapped a few times on the wood before a light appeared in the window and she heard Jane whisper.

   “Who is it?”

   “It’s me, Annie.”

   “Annie,” Jane stood framed in the doorway, a candle in her hand. “What brings you here and at such an hour?”

   “I need to speak with you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

   “Come in,” she stood back and allowed her to enter.

The kitchen, the room in which Annie spent much of her time while nursing Jane and her children, seemed grander, more elaborate, even in the dim candlelight. There were stuffed cushions on the wooden benches, and she noticed the food shelves were well stocked.

   “Has the work situation improved?”

   “No, why? Well, maybe a little.”

   “Things seem to have looked up since I was last here, and I wish you well.”

They were still standing by the door, and Jane with great reluctance, asked Annie to sit down.

   “Jane, what is it. What’s wrong?”

   “It’s nothing. Oh, I am sorry, Annie. It’s seeing you after all this time and so late at night,” the smile she gave Annie never reached her eyes.

   “I won’t keep you long. I need to know if you heard anything about the gypsies that were camped down in the hollow.”

   “Oh, yes, indeed,” the subject sparked something in the woman. “They took them last night, you know?”

   “No, I don’t know. Who took them and for what reason?”

   “Why, the elders. They went to the camp last night and brought them here.”

   “Here, where?”

   “To the old mill. They’re being held for trial.”

   “On what charges?”

   “Witchcraft, it was they caused the sickness.”

   “But, Jane, you know the sickness was here before they came.”

   “Yes, my dear, I know it was, but good Mr. Tanas, says that’s how they work. They send the sickness ahead of them, and then come to gloat at their work.”

Annie got up and paced the room. Roma and Stefan, two of the gentlest people she had ever met were being tried for witchcraft.

   “Who is Mr. Tanas?”

   “He’s a truly kind gentleman who’s been staying with the O Brien’s. He too has suffered, poor dear, because of these people, and it’s become his mission to track them down and stop them from hurting others.”

   “When is the trial to be?”

   “Tomorrow.”

   “Who will speak for them?”

   “I’ve no idea. They’re unlikely to have any money.”

Annie found it hard to accept the change that had come over Jane. In the old days she would have been crying when talking of such things, now…

   “If they had money,” Annie spat. “They would not be on trial.”

   “Well, Mr. Tanas says…

   “To hell with this Mr. Tanas, I’m sick of the man and I’ve yet to meet him.”

   “Oh, Annie, you mustn’t take on so. You’ll change your mind when you meet him and realise, as I and many others have done, what a good man he is.”

   “Be quiet, Jane,” Annie’s mind was racing.

   “Please, do not upset yourself, Annie. After all, they did cause the sickness. Even you lost your parents because of them.”

   “Jane, once and for all, will you listen to me?  The heat caused the sickness. Ignorance and careless handling of food caused the sickness.”

   “Are you saying I in some way caused my child’s death? How could you, Annie,” Jane was near to tears.

   No, that is not what I am saying. No more than I brought about the death of my parents.”

   “I’ve heard enough. I want you to leave,” Jane took the candle from its holder and walked towards the door.

   “I didn’t come here to upset you, Jane, but don’t you see what’s happening? The villagers strive for a simple answer for the sickness and all this talk of a curse is the stuff of fairy-tales. There is no curse. There are no witches. They have picked on the gypsies because they are poor. Who will they come for next, you or me?”

She knew by Jane’s face what she asked was not far from the truth. Meg was right; she was in danger.

   “I’ll bid you goodnight,” Jane held the door wide.

   “I’ll be back in the morning. Someone has to speak for those unfortunates.”

   “Then I should come quite early, if I were you.”

   “To be sure of a good seat?”

   “If you are going to speak for them.”

   “Why, what time does the trial start?”

   “At sunup.”

There was something missing, something her friend was not telling her. Annie stood waiting.

   “Well?”

Jane squirmed, fussing with the cuffs of her dress, and pulling at the neckline.

   “It’s just that…”

   “It’s just that, what?”

   “They’ve already built the gallows,” Jane’s head was bent; the words muffled.

   “How can this be? They haven’t even been tried yet.”

Jane shrugged.

   “Well, we’ll see about that. Not everyone in this place can have taken leave of their senses.”

   “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call here on your way to the trial. Rumours spread so quickly at times such as these.”

   “I understand. I would not want to put you in any danger. You were always such a good friend to my mother.”

Jane flinched at the mention of her mother.

   “Good night, Annie.”

   “Goodbye, Jane.”

No matter what Meg said, no matter how much she pleaded, Annie refused to stay away from the village. Meg was shocked at the news of Stefan and Roma’s impending trial, but she was more afraid for Annie.

   “But, Meg, don’t you see? I must go. They have no one, and there’s no one to speak on their behalf.”

   “It’s too dangerous,” Meg shook her head. “The people are out of their minds with worry. They’ll turn on you, mark my words.”

   Then what am I to do?” Annie whispered; fearful she might wake the sleeping children. “Stand back and let them hang for a crime they haven’t committed?”

   “You have to think of the young ones. You are all they have. Look at me, child.”

Annie did not want to look.

   “Annie, look at me,” Meg’s voice was softer. “I’m old, I cannot always be around for the young ones, and you can.”

   “Oh, Meg, don’t you know that I’m thinking about them. I’m doing this for them,” she knelt beside the old woman, and buried her face in her lap. “Don’t you think I’m frightened too? I dread going to court tomorrow, but I’ve no choice.”

   “There’s always a choice, child,” Meg stroked her hair. “And there’s always a price must be paid for those who are true to his teachings. This time, God help me,” her words became a sob. “He’s asking too much of you.”

   “Oh, Meg, don’t cry. Maybe he’ll find a way to help me.”

   “He couldn’t help his own son.”

   “But it had to be,” Annie whispered. “He had to be sacrificed to save us.”

   “And who will save you, child. What if it is time for another sacrifice?”

   “I don’t know, Meg. I only know I have to try and help them.”

   “Oh, child, child,” Meg held her. “I feel as though my heart is being torn from me.”

   “I’ll come back. I promise I will. You’ll see me walking through the ferns tomorrow afternoon and with Stefan and Roma following.”

   “And if I don’t?”

   “Then take the children and start walking towards the town. Find Pat and bring him back here as quickly as you can.”

   “I’ll do that. I will keep the young ones safe. I’ll promise you.”

Neither of them slept that night, though no strange noises came from the forest to trouble them. They spoke little, each lost in their own thoughts. Meg cried quietly in between praying, and Annie studied her books. Every so often she got up and went to check on the sleeping children. They lay as always huddled together with Blackie at their feet. Meg told her she had to give them a little something to help them sleep. Paul and Lily’s upset was passed to her sisters, and they needed to get some rest.

   They were asleep when Annie left for the village. She kissed each warm face and stroked the cat, which eyed her wearily before purring and nuzzling her hand. The first rays of light were streaking through the trees when she set off. Meg kissed her, wishing her a speedy return before breaking down and sobbing.

   “Oh, Annie, child, don’t go.”

   “I have to, Meg,” Annie pulled her fingers from the old woman’s grasp. “Pray for me.”

Annie started to run. She wanted to be far away from the cottage when she too, broke down. When Meg was well out of sight and the cottage lost among the trees, she stopped. Leaning against a trunk, she sobbed until she felt sick. She was frightened, terrified, but she had to go on. Something within her said she must do this. Wiping her eyes and pulling her shawl tightly around her in the hope of finding courage within its folds, she set off. She stopped once more beside a small stream and washed the tears from her face. Then hurried onwards, sure the villagers were already awake and thronging the streets. It was not every day they tried someone for witchcraft.

   There were many who stayed awake that night. Although Oliver Tanas was too busy to help in the erection of the gallows during the day, he was highly active at night. Being a man of great learning, he had many books on witchcraft, and these he read with great gusto to the assembled villagers. There were chapters on how to tell a witch, what marks to look for. He had even drawn the wheel they had to make to help in the interrogation of the said, witches. His most fervent servants were the O Brien’s. They worked by him nightly teaching the others, etching the fear of witches deep into their brains. Mary and Hugh now felt they were a great authority on the subject and lost no time in telling others about the fearful things being done by these witches. Their words came directly from Rome and became their mantra. “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.”

   Witches were easy to spot. They could be young or old, but they all had the devils mark. This, so-called mark, was the teat with which they fed their familiar. This could be a dog, a cat or the witch hunters were known to have settled for a spider. The familiar was an imp in animal form and acted as a go between, ran errands and took messages between the witch and the Devil. They also helped in the invocation of demons. Once pricked with a needle the mark refused to bleed.  The absence of blood was a sure sign of a witch.

Oliver had a special tool for such a purpose. He had shown it to Mary and Hugh many times, holding it up in front of a lamp, so they might see the gleam of the steel, the point of the blade. They had no idea this awful looking blade was made to retract into the handle, and when it seemed to the onlookers the needle had descended deep into the victim’s flesh, in fact, it barely touch them. Witches were mostly women with great power over men. They were said to collect male organs and Oliver lost no time in telling the frightened men how he found a nest of almost forty of these at the home of one witch. The more beautiful the witch the more dangerous she became. Now, on the day of the trial the people were not only frightened out of their wits, but their blood was up. They would weed the witches out, they told one another, find every one of them and make them pay.

   Oliver was gathering strength for the days ahead. He despised the light, but he could not miss this opportunity. If he left it to the oafs around him, they would surely make a mess of things. This had to be handled gently, with a silken touch. The girl was already here. He felt her coming through the forest. Such bravery was rare in one so young; he would enjoy toying with her. There were so many in the past who settled for so little. Eternal life was always a good seller, eternal damnation was their reward. He had a cave at the mouth of Hell for all those who had fallen to him; a black cave echoing with their cries and pleas for mercy. They had shown none of this to any of their own kind, and he felt no inclination to do the same. So, few realised, until too late, what a precious thing the soul was. This one would not surrender so easily. She might even amuse him for a while, but in the end, she would submit.

Death Cry-chapter six

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 27, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, wailing cry, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Annie rubbed at her eyes and yawned. The words on the book seemed to swim, and she was too tired to make sense of them. Both day and night Meg kept her at this study. She knew her life and the life of her sisters depended on the words within the books, but she was exhausted. She longed to crawl beneath the feather quilt on Meg’s bed and sleep. The lessons continued for eight days and there was little time to rest. Meg stopped to prepare food for them, or to allow Annie to bathe and wash their soiled clothing. They ventured out only during the daylight hours and then never far from the cottage. It was a struggle to get her sisters to stay close by, and she hated having to frighten them with tales of the sickness.

Roma and her children sought them out. Worried when she had not returned to her cottage, they took the hungry Blackie, and set out in search of the girls. Within minutes of their arrival at Meg’s cottage the gloom seemed to lift. Meg and Roma recognised the power in each other and were soon chatting away like old friends. Once the children were safely out of earshot, Meg told Roma about Annie’s dream and the visit she had received from the Dark One.

   “Aye, I felt his power was strong, and I’ve been praying for you, child,” she said to Annie. “But it’ll take some doing to defeat him.”

   “Then you feel he’s stronger than before?” Meg asked.

   “I’ve never felt his anger and lust for power more intense, and I’ve travelled far and wide.”

   “It’s as I thought,” Meg sat wearily into her chair beside the fire. “He’s been gathering strength among the villagers. There are many who will fall under his spell. What hope have we, a young girl and an old woman against such might?”

   “I’ll fall in with you. Then, perhaps, together we can defeat him?”

   “Let’s hope so,” Meg sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

With that Annie gained an extra teacher. Question after question were thrown at her to confirm she was learning the lessons. Now, when Meg flagged through tiredness or hunger, Roma took over. Her husband had rallied and was back on his feet and in search of work. Annie told Roma of Pat’s offer to shoe the horse.

   “We take nothing for nothing,” Roma said. “But my man is strong and will work for your friend and earn the money.”

Unfortunately, Pat had left for the town when Roma’s husband called, and his assistant knew nothing of the offer. He called to the door of Meg’s cottage in search of his wife, and Annie was overawed by the sheer size of the man. He must have stood at almost six feet, and he was big in stature to match. Meg, of course, invited him to join them in their dinner, and with a gentle prompting from his wife, he accepted. He was not used to being inside the homes of settled folk, he told them, and seemed awkward and unsure of himself. This soon passed with the flurry of children streaming through the door. Lily and Paul were delighted to see their father, and Rose and Dora stared up at him in wonder. They had never seen anyone so big in all their lives, but they were soon clambering around him, following the lead of his children. Annie watched him as he played with the children and smiled at his gentleness in handling them. He tickled and teased them, making sure Rose or Dora were not left out of the horseplay.

   There was not a scrap of food left over that evening, and Annie vowed she would cook some extra from now on. Roma’s husband, Stefan, was built like a bear and ate as much. It was comforting to have him there. He seemed to fill the small room, and it felt safe. The children were sent into the next room to play as he told the women about his day. How Pat had left for the town, and how his offer to work was turned down by the villagers.

   “Some of them spat at me when I passed, and others crossed themselves. There is something amiss there. I’ve known many who despise our kind, but I’ve never seen such hatred as I did in the faces I saw today.”

Roma sat by her husband and laid her hand on his.

   “The Dark One is here.”

The look of fear crossing his face was impossible to miss.

   “Are you sure?”

   “We’ve all felt him.”

   “I’ve not got the power,” he spoke to Annie. “But I sense something very strong in you.”

   “I don’t know what this power is.”

   “It is the power of light over dark,” Meg replied. “You’ve been granted a gift only few have ever known, and it is only given to those he knows will use it well. It’s the light of angels.”

   “Am I an angel?”

   “Far from it,” Meg smiled, and the others laughed.

They talked for a few more hours. Roma and Stefan told more of their travelling tales and of the wonderful sights they had seen. When it came time for them to take their leave, Annie went to the bedroom to call the children. All four of them were snuggled together in one bed and sound asleep.

   “It seems a shame to wake them,” she whispered to Roma. “Leave them here. They’ll be quite safe.”

Roma hesitated for a moment before nodding. When they went back to the kitchen Meg and Stefan had their heads close together, whispering.

   “Let us in on the secret,” Annie teased, and the faces that turned towards her were solemn.

   “I was just saying to Stefan, they should bring the caravan here. They can park it behind the cottage. The horse is lame but can walk this far, and between all of us we can push the caravan.”

Annie and Roma looked at one another in delight. Meg, Annie, and the girls would have the comfort of having a man about the place, and Roma would have a sanctuary of sort. It was decided Stefan would lead the horse to the cottage at first light, and they would all return with him and help push the caravan. He hesitated, when told of the sleeping children.

   “I worry, you know, Miss.”

   “We all worry but be assured I’ll guard them with my life.”

   “Perhaps, it’s as well,” he looked out into the darkness. The trees in front of the cottage tossed and swayed in a strong wind. “It’s going to be a bad night.”

   “Maybe, you should all stay,” Annie felt a strange unquiet. “You could sleep in front of the fire.”

   “No, that’s not our way. I’d probably wake screaming,” he laughed. “We’re not used to being caged. We will be back in the morning and weather permitting; I will make a start on the thatch on your roof. I noticed it’s in need of repair.”

   “That’s incredibly good of you. I was worried about it and if we get a heavy snowfall it will probably cave in. My father meant to do it,” she stopped and bit her lip.

   “Well, we’re glad to have a man around again and that’s for sure,” Meg tried to lighten the mood.

   “Oh,” Annie said. “I’ve no way of paying you.”

   “Haven’t you fed and watered us,” he laughed. “That’s payment enough for us.”

   “We’ll be able to keep you in work for a long while,” Meg assured him. “This young one,” she placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Has fields that need harvesting and the sooner the better or the crops will rot.”

   “Till the morning then,” he dipped his head to get out the door, and Roma kissed both women before following him.

   “Lock up well,” she warned.

They were soon swallowed up by the darkness, and Annie closed and secured the door with a stout plank of wood. Meg threw some more turf on the fire and went to fetch her books. They would spend the next few hours in study and prayer.

He was standing outside in the darkness; his shoulder-length hair flew around him like a black cloak. He watched the gypsies leave. These people always thwarted his work since the beginning. They were his enemy’s foot soldiers, and while their power was not great, it was somewhat annoying. Now, they were in league with the girl and the old woman. It would not do. He stayed for a few moments longer watching the shadows moving in the flickering light inside the cottage. The girl had grown stronger in the past few days. She had learned much and the more she knew, the more of a threat she became. He would wear her down. Take everyone she loved from her until he was all she had left. He had work to do before morning, but he could not leave without wishing her goodnight. Throwing his head back, he opened his mouth and screamed at the heavens. It was a roar of triumph, for it would not be long until he had the power. His enemy was weak; the people of this place were turning from him. We will meet soon the sound said, but to those who heard it bellowing from the forest, it was the sound of the beast.

   “Go back to your book,” Meg warned Annie, who was looking in terror towards the window.

   “He’s outside?”

   “He’s been there most nights, but you’re safe. He knows it is useless to try and come in. Go back to your learning.”

Annie looked down into the book, but the words swam. She was shaking, her heart pounded against her chest. What sort of man, of thing, was it that could make such a sound?  Her fingers shook as she turned the page and she tried to avoid Meg’s eyes; in case she saw how frightened she was.

   “It’ll go.”

She looked up from the book.

   “The fear you have will leave when you come face to face with him.”

Annie nodded and glanced towards the window again. Meg’s finger tapping on the top of the book made her turn around and continue with her studies.

The sun had been up for hours and there was still no sight of Stefan and Roma. Paul and Lily were delighted to wake up in the bed with Rose and Dora, but they were becoming anxious. Annie searched the forest trail expecting at any moment Stefan would come into view leading the horse. It was past noon when they got tired of waiting and worry sent them in search of the couple. Meg walked slowly, leaning on her stick with one hand and Annie’s arm with the other. The children ran and played in the giant ferns beneath the trees. Hiding and jumping out at one another, their screams of fright and delight grating on Annie’s nerves.

   “It’s just over the hill,” Paul called. “Not far now.”

   “Paul, come back,” Annie shouted at the boy, who was disappearing over the brow of the hill. “I have to stop him,” she brushed Meg’s hand from her arm and started to run.

He was sliding down the grassy hill into the hollow when she skirted the brow. She half slid, half ran after him, but he was too quick for her.

   “No, no, no.”

She ran into the camp and stood panting and looking in amazement at the carnage. Lily came and stood beside her, slipping a small hand into hers.

   “Where’s my Ma and Da, Annie?”

   “I don’t know.”

Meg reached them and was trying to coax Paul to stand up. The boy had fallen to his knees in fright. The caravan lay on its side; the roof was shattered into splinters. Pots, pans, and multi-coloured bits of clothing littered the site. From a distance the blues, reds and greens must have looked like a carnival, but close up, it was a different matter. The smell of fear hung in the air and there was something else… Annie put Lily in Meg’s care and went in search of whatever it was she sensed. She did not have to look far. The giant Shire horse lay dead among the trees. He, like the caravan, was lying on his side and the marks on his body were unbelievable. Blood matted his hair and black streaks ran down the side visible to Annie. She drew closer, the smell was sickening, but there was a sort of horrific fascination in the marking on the body. What she had thought of as black streaks were in fact great tears in the flesh, as if some beast with enormous talons attacked the animal. The horse’s eyes, now glassy with death, were open wide in terror, its lips drawn back across of teeth in a grimace of agony. Annie did not realise she was crying until she heard Meg call to her.  Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she went back to the campsite. Meg stood before the dead campfire and surrounded by the frightened children.

   “What did you see?” Rose asked.

   “Nothing, there was nothing to see. Come,” she turned them back towards the hill. “We’ll go back to Meg’s cottage, and I’ll go to the village and find out what’s happened.”

   “Are my Ma and Da dead?” Paul sobbed.”

   “No, I’m sure they’re not. There was a terrible wind last night. Perhaps that is what happened. It blew the caravan over and scattered the clothing everywhere.”

   “Where’s Ivan?”

Annie realised Ivan was probably the horse’s name.

   “He must have wondered off or been frightened by the wind. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

   “Promise.”

   “I promise.”

It was a much more subdued party that made its way back through the forest. The children walked slowly, whispering to one another. Annie told Meg about the horse and its strange wounds.

   “And what of Roma and Stefan?”

   “I don’t know.”

   “Think, child,” she stopped. “Close your eyes and feel it with your heart. Are they still alive?”

Annie closed her eyes and searched for them in her mind. She could feel them.

   “Yes,” she almost cried with joy. “Yes, they’re alive.”

   “Thank God and his Blessed Mother. They must be close by for you to find them so fast. In the village, perhaps?”

   “I’ll have to go and see.”

Meg did not answer. In fact, she said little until they were inside the cottage. The children’s faces and hands needed washing, as they had become streaked with grime from the constant wiping away of tears. Annie prepared something to eat, but no one had much appetite. Meg sat by the fire lost in thought and brushed away the plate offered to her.

   “What will you do now, Annie?” Paul asked.

   “I’ll go to the village and see if anyone has news of your parents.”

   “I’ll go with you. I’m big and I’ll take care of you.”

Her heart ached as she looked into his earnest face.

   “Thank you, Paul, but I’d feel much better knowing there was a man here taking care of the women.”

He thought for a moment, before nodding.

   Instead of going outside as they usually did, the children opted to go into the bedroom. They were trying to be brave and she heard Paul talking to them, assuring them of his protection. His was the kind of courage only a child can know. Closing the door as quietly as possible, she went back to the kitchen and started to clear away the plates.

   “Leave that for a minute, child,” Meg called to her.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Annie went and sat beside the old woman.

   “They’re in his power. He’s taken them prisoner.”

   “Are you sure, Meg?” Annie had sensed him at the campsite. Among the many smells, the strongest was that of corruption. “What do we do?”

   “We’ll wait until nightfall. You are not afraid of the night are you, child. Being alone again in the forest?”

   “No, I’m not afraid anymore.” Annie was amazed to hear herself say this, but it was true. Having seen the carnage at the site, the dead horse and the crying children somehow renewed her courage and strengthened her resolve. She would do whatever she could, face whatever foe she had to, to free her friends.

   “Then you’ll go to the village under the cloak of darkness and visit Jane O Regan. She will have heard what is going on. It’s a pity Pat’s away.” The old woman mused, and Annie felt her cheeks grow red at the mention of his name.

   “Why can’t I go now?”

   “It’s the talk, child, the stupid talk that’s been put about of witchcraft. Women like us, with the knowledge of healing have been persecuted for centuries. It does not matter we use this knowledge to help to heal the sick and injured; they still fear and spurn us. I thought we would be safe in a place like this. Your blessed parents thought so too ever since that first day…”

   Annie knew what Meg was talking about; she had heard the story enough times. She could have been no more then five or six. They were walking through the woods and Annie heard an animal in pain. It was a rabbit, trapped in a snare. Its leg torn and bleeding from its efforts to get free. Being a child and unwise in the ways of the hunter, her first instinct was to free the rabbit. Meg watched as she edged closer to the frightened creature, soothing it with soft words until it seemed hypnotised and stopped its struggling. Meg helped her untie the snare and watched in fascination as Annie wiped the blood from its torn leg with her apron. Once the cut was clear of blood, she continued to run one finger over the torn tissue until the flesh joined and there was no trace of there ever having been a cut in the first place.

   “I healed the rabbit,” she told Meg, as they watched it hop away.

   “You healed the rabbit sure enough,” was the way Meg always ended the story.

It was then Meg and her parents realised how gifted Annie was and they were afraid for her. But the years passed by without too much fuss. True, there were those in the village who thought her strange, but they were never a threat.

   “If the fear of witchcraft is on them, they might try to take you as well.”

Annie found she was shaking. She was not afraid for herself, but for her sisters.

   “What do they do to witches?”

   “Hanging mostly, but I’ve heard of worse. Oh, child, I would not frighten you for the world but I am afraid. I am old and my time is almost up, but you have your whole life ahead of you. We must be careful. Trust no one from now on. Be careful of whom you speak to, and we may somehow survive this.”

Death Cry-chapter five

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 26, 2020
Posted in: banshee, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Death Cry, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Mary O Brien gaped in wonder at the man standing on her doorstep. It was not in her nature to be shy, but she was almost simpering at the unexpected visitor. He really was something out of the ordinary. He was tall, much taller than her, so he looked down into her eyes as he spoke. The voice addressing her was soft, caressing and she watched in fascination the movement of his wide, full lips and sighed at the words that dripped like honey from them.

   “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she blushed; when she realised, he had finished speaking.

   “Not at all, dear Lady. Make no apologies to me. I was merely asking if you would have a room to let for a weary traveller?”

   “Oh,” she spluttered in confusion. “I don’t rent out rooms, Sir. This is a private house, but you could try the Inn.”

   “I was on my way there, but on passing your home, I noticed it was the finest in the village. I make no excuse that catching site of its lovely owner through a gap in the curtains, made me stop and act as bold as I now am.”

   “Dear me,” Mary blushed again. “But I must admit you’re being quite bold.”

   “Forgive me?” he smiled taking her hand and raising it to his lips. The kiss felt soft and the eyes looking up into hers were the brightest green she had ever seen. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

   “There is no need,” she caught hold of him. “I mean…I’m sure I can’t let a gentleman such as you sleep at that Inn,” she cast a baleful eye across the village. “After all, I do have many spare rooms, and I’m sure my home would be more suited to you.”

   “You are too kind, dear lady and be sure I’ll pay you well,” with this he pulled a purse from his coat pocket and emptied a mass of silver coins into her hands.

   “Oh, but this is too much,” she gasped.

   “I insist,” he held up a hand. “And may I say it is no more than you are worth.”

He picked up the bag at his feet and waited for her to stand aside. Mary pocketed the thirty pieces of silver, stood back, and allowed the Devil to enter her house.

Hugh was surprised to find they had a visitor, and at his mother’s constant attention on the man. He was obviously rich, from his dress and manner. It had to be someone important if his mother was fussing so much. He had admitted on meeting him, the man was very charismatic, and the hand shaking his was cool, but strong.

   “Are you just passing through, Mr…?”

   “Tanas, Oliver Tanas.”

   “Dear me, how foolish I was not to ask your name,” Mary was mortified, and hoped he would not think her rude and uncouth like the other villagers.

   “Then we were both foolish for neither did I ask your name, dear lady. Though I admit I imagined it to be something saintly.

   “It’s Mary, Mary O Brien. Of course, you have met my son, Hugh, and I am afraid that is all there is in my family. I’m a widow, you see,” she had to let him know she was available. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Tanas, I’ll see if the girl has our supper ready.”

Hugh was left alone with him once his mother disappeared into the kitchen, and was put out at having to make conversation.

   “Do you like card games?” the man asked, and within minutes they were deep in conversation about the games of poker they had played.

Hugh spent most of his night’s playing cards, and this caused constant trouble with his mother. He was hopeless at the game, and there were many times when she had to pay his gambling debts.

   “Tell you the truth,” he mumbled to his new-found friend. “I lose more than I win.”

   “Perhaps, it’ll change for you. Let us play a few hands after supper.”

   “I’m afraid I can’t,” he shrugged. “I’ve arranged to play with some friends later.”

   “Well, never mind. Some other time, perhaps?”

   “Will you be here for long?”

   “A few weeks, I think.”

   “Are you staying locally?”

   “Why, dear boy, I’m staying here.”

   “You mean here. In this house?”

   “The very same.”

The news seemed to throw Hugh for a moment, and excusing himself, he followed his mother into the kitchen.

   “What’s the idea of having a stranger stay in this house?” he demanded. “I’m talking to you, mother.”

Grabbing his arm, she pulled him out of the servant girl’s hearing and hissed.

   “Listen to me, you little upstart. He’s rich and I want you to treat him well, understand?” She already had their mysterious visitor marked out as husband number two. “Look,” she fished in her pocket and withdrew some of the coins. “And there’s more where this came from. So, treat him well or else…” the threat was left hanging, as she swept past him and went back to her visitor.

   The supper was more elaborate than usual, though their visitor seemed to have little appetite.

   “Is the food not to your liking?” Mary asked.

   “It is delicious, I am sure, but my appetite is not what it was. I’ve recently recovered from an illness.”

   “Dear me, I hope it was nothing serious,” she felt his money slipping from her grasp.

   “Not at all, dear lady. I’m quite recovered, but still unable to eat much.”

   “I’m so glad to hear of your return to health. If there’s anything I can get for you do let me know.”

   “You are truly kind, but I’ll not trouble you for much. I shall be out all day so please do not prepare any food for me. I usually eat on my travels.”

   “What is it you do?” Hugh managed to get the question in before his mother.

   “I’m of independent means, but a scholar of sorts.”

   “What is it you study, Mr Tanas?” Mary was ecstatic. Independent means!

   “You could say the work of the Devil.”

Mary and Hugh looked at one another.

   “Let me explain,” their visitor laughed. “I believe my recent illness was brought about by unsavoury means.”

   “You mean you were cursed?” Mary gasped.

   “Precisely, and I’m not the only one. I have heard about the suffering in this village, and I believe the Devil’s work is being done here. If this is the case, I mean to root out this evil and put a stop to it at once.”

   “Oh, sir, how fortunate we are to have you here with us. I was saying only last evening, wasn’t I Hugh?” she slapped at her son’s elbow. “This place is cursed and I’m sure I know who the cause is as well,” she nodded at their visitor in a very conspiratorial way.

   “Then you’ll be of great service to me,” he smiled.

Hugh left his mother and her visitor deep in conversation. He felt good tonight. He was not sure if it was the fine supper he’d just eaten, or the two silver coins slipped into his hand before he’d left home by the man with a wink and a wish of good luck. Things were about to turn his way for once. Setting his cap at a jaunty angle, he spurred his horse forward and galloped away from the village.

   Mary O Brien’s visitor was proving to be as mysterious as he was handsome. He left the house each morning before she awoke and made his bed up before leaving. The room looked completely undisturbed. Curiosity drove her to check his wardrobe, and the clothes she found hanging there pleased her. Some of his suits were of the finest brocade and lace hung from beneath the cuffs. These were the clothes of a great gentleman. His dressing table also gave her great joy. On it were his comb, brush, and perfume bottles, all were fashioned in the finest silver, even the bottle tops. On that first morning, she waltzed around the room with happiness. This man was about to change her life forever. She took no time in spreading the word of his existence around the village, and the reason for his stay. There were many who listened in awe to her story, and as many more doubted such a paragon of virtue was truly among them. Night after night she paraded him for all to see. Jane O Regan was first on her list. Describing her to Oliver, as he insisted, she call him, as a poor unfortunate and in need of their charity. Jane was impressed and Mary preened herself, throwing her shoulders back in pride at the woman’s reaction. Once they were seated, he immediately enquired to the state of her health.

   “I’m well now, sir,” she blushed under his gaze, and hoped the heat of the fire would be blamed for the sudden redness.

   “Well,” Mary sniffed. “If you ask me, you’re lucky to be alive.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “With that Annie Ryan and her herbs poisoning half the village, you were lucky to survive.”

   “But Annie helped us to get well. She nursed us day and night. No one could be as kind as or more attentive than she.”

   “You lost your little one, didn’t you?”

   “I prefer not to speak of it,” Jane gazed down at her hands.

   “It is sad indeed, when one so young is robbed from us,” Oliver joined in the conversation.

Jane looked up.

   “What do you mean robbed?”

   “Let me explain, dear lady,” he patted her hands. “I was nearly lost to the terrible sickness you suffered from. Had it not been for the wisdom of my doctor, I might have succumbed to the same fate as your child. Luckily, he realised that evil doers among us were causing the sickness, and it was only through his intersession I was saved. Let us hope I can do the same for the many afflicted in this village.”

   “But…but,” Jane stuttered. “You cannot imagine for one moment Annie had anything to do with it? Why, I have known her since she was a baby? There’s not an ounce of harm in the child.”

   “As you wish,” he stood up to leave, and Mary hopped from her seat to join him.

Jane tried to make amends.

   “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I am sure you’re more knowledgeable on this subject than I. It’s just I fear you’re mistaken in choosing Annie as the culprit.”

   “Very well,” he smiled. “Time will tell.”

Jane held the door open and Mary swept past her with a face like thunder. The stranger stopped in the doorway to bid her goodnight.

   “I fear I have offended Mrs. O Brien and your good self in some way, but I don’t know what it is I’ve done.”

   “You’ve done nothing but be a good friend to one who’ll shortly be in need of one,” he donned his hat and reaching into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew a handful of coins. “A small gift,” he took her hand and placed the coin in her palm, closing her fingers around them. “From someone who will hopefully be worthy of your friendship in the future.”

   He left Jane standing open-mouthed in the doorway. The coins in her hands felt warm and she rushed to the table and let them fall onto the wood. There was a small fortune there. She could hardly believe it. Picking up each piece she studied it as if it might disappear at any moment. He had ensured, by his actions that Jane and her family would survive the coming winter. She would have to find some way to repay him for his generosity. His clothes were of the finest materials. So, nothing she could make for him would be worthy, but she’d find a way.

Within a week Oliver Tanas was well known throughout the village, not only for his generosity and wit, but also for his preaching about witchcraft. In those dark times, when ignorance and superstition combined and made a very potent mixture, there were many who believed his words as anything else was beyond their understanding. They were simple folk, mostly hill farmers. They knew little of life outside their community and lived by way of the land. The winter brought with it the cold, the spring was for planting, the summer for heat and the autumn for ploughing. They had few enemies, hidden away as they were in that God-forsaken place and the appearance of this man; this saviour seemed too good to be true. Here was someone who understood the sickness, could root out the cause of it and drive it from the land.

Pat O Malley shook his head in wonder. How anyone could be stupid enough to believe what the man was saying was beyond him. He was on his way home from the Inn, where Oliver was preaching, surrounded as usual by the red-faced drinkers, who hung onto his every word.

   “Your misfortunes were caused by witchcraft,” Oliver hollered. “The sickness is a curse on your house, sent from someone you know. It could be a neighbour, even one you regard as a friend, but trust me, my friends, you are cursed.”

   “Bullshit.”

The crowd stopped their mumbled agreements and parted so Oliver could see who had uttered such profanity.

   “Were you addressing me, Sir?”

   “I was, Sir,” Pat stood, and made a mocking bow.

   “Perhaps, you’d care to repeat that?”

   “I said bullshit.”

There were gasps from the room, and many smiled in anticipation of the coming fight.

   “You are, of course, entitled to your opinion, but perhaps you’d enhance it somewhat further so I might understand?”

Pat laughed in his face, but was stopped by the man calling for drinks for the house Asking Pat to join him at his table, he did so out of curiosity, but refused to accept a drink, preferring to buy his own.

   “You seem very set in your ways,” Oliver smiled at him. “I admire a man who sticks to his opinions.”

   “I know the sickness was brought about by the heat, nothing more. The summer was too hot.”

   “Surely it was as hot in the other villages?”

   “We have different wells, a different water supply than the others. It may well have been the sickness came from there.”

   “You find it impossible that I am right, this village was cursed? That there are many who do the Devil’s work?”

   “Oh, I believe in the Devil,” Pat fixed him with an angry stare. “And speaking of the Devil’s work, what may I ask, have you to gain from your preaching?”

   “Nothing,” Oliver raised his hands. “Nothing at all. I survived a sickness such as this and have made it my life’s work to root out all who’d do such harm.”

   “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” Pat emptied his ale mug and stood. “Once the winter sets in it’ll put an end to all this sickness. If I were you, I would not waste my time with these simple folks. It could do more damage than good.”

   “As you say, it’s my time and what I choose to do with it, is for me to decide.”

Pat was almost out the door when the voice stopped him.

   “Perhaps you protest so much, because you fear for someone you know.”

He hesitated, wanting to go back and smash the milksop in the face, but decided against it. It was best not to draw too much attention. He heard the rumours and did not want to add fuel to the flames. They caused him to lay awake night after night worrying about Annie, aware once Mary O Brien had a hand in what was going on, she would not be safe. He had not seen her in over a week and there was no sign of the gypsies either. He even considered going to her, asking her to leave this place with him. They could set up somewhere else. Even if she did not love him, he loved her enough for the two of them and in time…. Things would have to be sorted soon. There was rumours the village would be put into quarantine and no one would be allowed in or out. He planned to take his cart into the nearest town for supplies in a couple of days, but he would leave sooner. Food was running short, and those recovering from the sickness were becoming more demanding in the quest for delicacies. He would set out the next morning. His assistant could manage the shop, and once he sold the new supplies, he would have enough money to start anew somewhere else. He felt better at having come to the decision. Once he was back from the town he would go to Annie, ask her to marry him and keep her safe forever. He sniffed the air as he walked. It had the hint of frost in it and it would not be long before the snows came. There were many arrangements to make for his trip the next day, and a sleepy assistant was woken and told of his plan. Pat went to bed that night a much happier man. In just a short time he might be happier still if Annie accepted his proposal. He hated leaving her now, especially at such a time of unrest, but it was only for two weeks.

Death Cry-chapter four

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 25, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, twlight, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Annie found him waiting for her as soon as she fell asleep. At first, she assumed he was the mysterious lover foretold to her by Roma. She went to him willingly: allowing herself to sink into his arms and sighed at his whispered promises. She felt his hands move over her body, sending shivers of anticipation into her core. She moaned aloud in her sleep and moved with him. His tongue flicked across her cheek and she parted her lips and allowed him to enter her mouth. His words seemed strange to her; his promises confusing. She felt him slip from her side and crawl on top of her. His voice was rasping, entreating her to give him what he wanted, but these were not the words of a lover. She had to get away, to wake up. Her sleep was deeper than it had ever been, and she cried out in terror, as the hands roaming her body dug deeper. She felt his nails scoring her skin and the breath upon her face smelled of the tomb.

   “Annie,” it was her mother’s voice. “Annie, child, come back. This is not the way, turn back.”

   “Mamma, Mamma, help me.”

   “Not me, child,” her mother voice was fading. “But one much higher. Call out to him for protection.”

   “Sweet Jesus, help me.”

No sooner had she uttered these words then she felt the weight lifting from her. She fought her way out from the sleep and sprang up in the bed. The room was filled with an angry roaring. Everything spun before her eyes. What little clothes she had danced around her, caught in some terrible vortex. The air was freezing, as the wind turned faster and faster. She tried to get away from it, shuffling backwards in the bed until her body met the unresisting headboard. The wind moved with her, threatening to pull her into its swirling mass. The roaring died down and was replaced by a wailing and sobbing. She held fast to the headboard, praying aloud to God to save her.

   “Annie, Annie.”

Her sisters were pounding on her door. It opened slightly, but the pressure of the wind pushed it closed again.

   “Rose, Dora,” she screamed above the noise. “Go back to bed. Don’t come in here.”

   “Annie, I’m frightened,” Dora called, and the door opened a fraction as the children pushed against it.

Annie knew if they came inside, she would lose them forever. Holding tightly to the headboard, she stood. She did not know how she knew what to do, what to say, but she held her arms wide and called.

   “Before me, Michael, behind me, Gabriel, to my right, Raphael, to my left, Uriel. Guardians of the soul, protectors of the light, help me.”

   A dazzling white light shot through her darkened window and pushed the vortex aside. It spread wider until it filled each corner of the room. The screams faded with the last of the wind, and Annie shielded her eyes against the glare. She thought she saw shadowy figures within the light, but it was not possible to be sure. It was like looking at the sun, it hurt her eyes, so she scrambled beneath the covers for protection. She sensed the light fading and screamed when she felt the weight on her again.

   “Annie, Annie.”

It was her sisters, trying to tug the covers from her grasp.

   “Annie, what happened, what’s wrong?”

She peeped up at the two anxious faces and struggled to sit up. She was trembling so badly her teeth chattered, and she was glad of the warmth of their bodies, as they joined her in the bed.

   “Tell us, Annie,” Rose looked at her in wonder. “What happened?”

She tried to make light of what was the most frightening experience of her life.

   “It was the wind, nothing more. I left the window open and the wind came in.”

   “It must have been a big wind,” Rose gazed around the room, at the clothing littering the floor and the overturned vase of flowers.

   “Yes, it was,” Annie held them close. “And cold as well,” she tried to excuse her shivering and the goose pimples that rose on her arms.

   Like all children they accepted their big sister’s answer and were soon asleep. Annie lay awake for the rest of the night. Though her eyes felt heavy from the want of sleep, she could not risk having the dream again. Nor could she risk its aftermath.

They set off for Meg’s cottage at first light, gathering herbs, roots, and berries along the way. She was glad to find her basket waiting for her on the doorstep and a freshly killed rabbit inside. Roma was as good as her word, and the rabbit would make a tasty stew. Annie was anxious to see Meg and hear what she would make of her nightmare. Meg knew the meaning of everything, each sign and omen. She could foretell the coming of snow days before it arrived or smell the onset of the rains. The children reached the cottage first, and there was the usual flurry of greetings and kisses before they rambled off to play. Annie nodded to Meg and placed her basket on the tabletop, then fetched the pestle and mortar for the grinding. Meg worked alongside her for a few minutes, picking the needed herbs and roots from the basket and throwing them into the mortar. Annie beat at the ingredients hard, and they were soon reduced to a fine powder.

   “I’d pity the poor soul who gets in your way this day.”

Annie noticed Meg looking into the mortar.

   “Sorry, Meg. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

   “Aye, I noticed, child. What was it kept you up?” Meg had not failed to notice Annie’s red-rimmed eyes, nor the pallor of her skin.

   “I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

Meg felt the cold fingers close round her heart; so, it was starting. This terrible blackness she had felt approaching.

   “Come away, child,” she caught Annie’s hand in mid-air, as she raised it to crush a new batch of herbs. “Come, sit by the fire and we’ll talk awhile.”

Annie allowed herself to be led to the chair. She was glad of the heat from the fire, as she found it hard to get warm since her fright. Meg sat opposite and was quiet for a while gazing into the leaping flames.

   “Tell me about this dream, child.”

   “It wasn’t just the dream,” Annie clasped her hands in her lap.” But what happened afterwards.”

Meg listened to the strange tale as though it was a common, everyday occurrence. When Annie finished, she crossed herself and mumbled a prayer that Annie was unable to make out.

   “Listen to me, child. For the hours of the day are short and the nights from now on will be endless. We have much work to do, to stop what’s about to happen,” she held up a hand to stop Annie’s questions. “The names you evoked last night were the most powerful of all. The four guardians of the soul came to your aid, with Michael as their leader. He is the warrior and the one most feared by the Dark One. Aye,” she answered Annie’s unasked question. “That’s who you saw in your dream. The one cast out and who fell from heaven. He has roamed this earth, this Hell since time began. His quest to gain as much power as God and bring about the destruction of mankind. He will not rest until he does so, and its man himself who aids his quest. Those who grasp at power, who lust for riches are his aids and feed his hunger. He has sensed the great goodness and power that’s in you and wishes to make it his own. You must learn to resist it. Fight him as fearlessly as Michael did and still does. He, along with all the hosts of angels, will be your allies and through him you’ll win the eternal struggle.”

   “I’m frightened, Meg, not so much for myself, but for my sisters. What if he tries to hurt them, how will I protect them?”

   “It’s he who plants such doubts in your mind. Pay him no heed and trust in what is right. You knew the exact words to say to save yourself last night. These came from God and will continue to do so.”

   “I’m only a girl. How can I take on the forces of darkness?”

   “When he comes to you again with all his whispered promises tell him you want none of him. To be away and leave you in peace.”

Annie looked at her wide-eyed. Meg sounded as though she was shooing away an unsuitable suitor rather than the Devil.

   “Come now,” Meg rose stiffly. “There’s much work to be done in helping those who are in need.”

   Annie joined her at the table, and they spent the next few hours mixing and packing the herbs. Annie told her as they worked, about the visit from the O Brien’s and the offer of marriage. She was glad her sisters were not around to hear Meg’s curses and ranting at the news. She also told her of Roma and her children and the villager’s hatred of them.

   “Well, God between them and all harm,” Meg sighed. “But they’re welcome to any spare food I have, and you tell them so.”

Annie promised she would, and it was well into the afternoon when she set off with her basket. She took great care to avoid running into the O Brien’s on her travels. The reception she received from the villagers was the same as before, with only Jane O Regan inviting her in. There were two more deaths overnight and Jane whispered to her of the rumours that were doing the rounds.

   “They say we’ve been cursed,” Jane said, looking about the room as if in dread of someone overhearing. “They say it’s those gypsies who are camped down in the hollow.”

   “What nonsense. Why only last night I spoke to them and found them to be lovely, gentle folk. It really is all nonsense.”

   “Still,” Jane sniffed. “The sickness has to come from somewhere and there’s none in the other villages.”

Annie knew it was useless to argue any further with her and after exchanging a few pleasantries, she set off for home. She was almost on the outskirts of the village when she heard her name being called. She turned to find Pat O Malley hurrying towards her.

   “Have you heard the rumours?”

   “Yes, but they’re nonsense. Those people wouldn’t harm a fly.”

   “There’s mischief afoot. Mark my words,” he took her by the elbow and led her towards a thicket of bushes. “Only last night I saw that old witch Mary O Brien coming out of Jane’s house and her with a smile on her like the cat that’s been at the cream. She’s up to no good, that one.”

   “Their horse lost a shoe,” she explained about the gypsies. “They’ve no money to replace it and the man’s sick.”

   “Send them to me. I’ll give them enough to shoe the horse and have them on their way before any harm befalls them.”

   “I will,” she picked up her skirts and made ready to run. She wanted to get home and tell Meg of what was happening and warn Roma as well.

   “Thank you, Pat. You’re a good man,” she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll not forget your kindness.”

He was still standing with his hand to his cheek, when she reached the edge of the forest and turned to wave at him.

It was dark and the forest, that once seemed such a friendly, familiar place, frightened her. The call of the night owl, who had recently risen from his slumber made her jump. The small scurrying from the bushes as she walked along were now transformed into the terrifying scratching of some great horned demon, who she expected at any moment, to rise and block her path. Even the slight, evening breeze skimming the treetops sounded like thunder in her ears. Hugging her shawl tighter around her, she hurried on. Once or twice, she thought she heard her name being called and stopped to listen. The first time she dismissed it as her imagination, but the second time… She stood still, hardly daring to breathe, as it came again, louder this time.

   “Annie, Annie.”

   “Mamma?” she called, looking desperately around her. “Mamma, is that you?”

   “Annie, Annie, child.”

The voice was stronger now. She saw a dark figure silhouetted in a clearing among the trees.

   “Mamma,” was it her mother? She had somehow come back to her, though every fibre of her being cried out it was not; could not be her mother, she did not care. She wanted so much to believe it was true. That her mother had somehow survived the grave and come back

   “Mamma,” she dropped her basket and ran towards the figure, tears streaming down her face.

   A hand reached out from the dark, grabbed her skirt and pulled her back with such force she fell against a tree trunk, winded.

   “Be gone, vile creature,” Meg waved her stick towards the figure. “Leave this child in peace.”

The figure sighed Annie’s name once more before it faded into mist.

   “Come, child,” Meg helped Annie to stand. “Let’s go home.”

 Annie was unaware of the walk to Meg’s cottage or the tender words meant to soothe her. It was not until she was seated by the fire and had drunk one of Meg’s cures for the vapours, that it hit her.

   “My God,” her hand shook as she handed the cup to Meg. “What’s happening to me; what was it, that thing out there, in the forest?”

   “A demon sent to lure you away. He’ll stop at nothing to gain your soul.”

   “Oh, Meg,” Annie started to sob. “Just for a moment…”

   “I know child. I know,” Meg put her arms around her.

   “I can’t fight him. I’m just not strong enough.”

   “We’ll fight him together. He is no stranger to me. You can stay here until you learn the way, until you are stronger.”

Meg had put Rose and Dora to bed. She prepared a sleeping draught for Annie. This would ensure she would have no dreams that night. The herbs contained within the draught would soothe her mind and still her thoughts and he would not find her waiting for him.

Annie was led to bed as the draught took effect. She was unaware of her shoes being slipped from her feet and did not feel the pillow when her head touched it. Meg stayed awake for most of the night. Fashioning crosses from dried reeds, she hung them from every opening in the cottage. Each was put in place with a small bundle of herbs attached to it and a prayer added to form an invisible barrier. Throughout the night, Meg poured over the many books and writings she had inherited from her mother. Refreshing the words of protection that were still clear in her mind as the day she first heard them, but she found comfort in reading them again. There was much to learn and little time. She cursed herself for not teaching Annie of these things sooner, but in truth, she had not realised how strong the child’s power had grown and how needful she’d be of this protection. She piled sods of turf on the fire trying to distil the gloom and the cold circling her. Dark shadows, thrown by the flames, danced across the walls and she lit a few more candles. She knew he was outside, prowling around the cottage. She heard his voice as she had done years before and brushed aside his promises of youth, of riches, of eternal life. When he tired of entreating her, he sent more powerful voices. She heard the soft voice of her mother. It told her to heed him, to do as he said, and they would be together again. Its strange Meg thought, as she brushed aside a tear, how a voice lost to her for over forty years could stir her heartstrings as though it were yesterday.

   “God grant you peace, poor spirit,” she prayed, and the words whispering in her ears echoed away into a mournful cry.

She knew the voice was not that of her mother’s. The Dark One was using some lost soul to imitate the sweet sound in the same way he had done to Annie.

   She was to have no rest that night. Angry, at what he saw as her meddling, he sent demon after demon to torment her. Tiny balls of flame leaped from the fire and turned to hideous snarling beasts that reached out sharp claws and tried to scratch her. The shadows lengthened on the floor as small black shapes crept from between the cracks in the walls and flew, turning into giant bats, their teeth dripping with blood. They hissed and swooped around her, their wings snapping like whips at her face. Still she prayed, never ceasing, allowing nothing to stop her in her mission to defeat the Dark One. It was only with the coming of dawn the torment stopped, and she felt him moving away.

He had not succeeded that night, but he was no fool. He knew what he was up against in the old woman. There were many others not as strong, who would easily succumb to his promises, and they were not so far away. The birdsong irritated him; the light slanting through the trees blinded him. He would rest now and allow those of his legions who worked by day to do his bidding. He belonged to the night and would need to gather strength for the task ahead. For he was about to do something he had not done in centuries; he was about to take on human form.

Death Cry-chapter three

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 24, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Death Cry, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, Irish folklore, legend, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Annie spent three days nursing Jane and her children. The children recovered quickly. Jane, though still quite weak and depleted by her suffering, was no longer as helpless as she had been, and Annie was desperate to get home. She missed her sisters, and the worry of their absence was more draining than the actual nursing. Jane was sorry to see her go and there were tearful farewells and kisses before she managed to tear herself away.

It felt good to be back in the forest. The air smelt fresh and sweet and the birdsong lulled her as she walked. The soft muted trot of horse hooves upon grass made her turn, and she was surprised to see the Squire ambling towards her.

   “Good day, Miss Ryan,” he raised his hat.

   “Squire,” she nodded, as way of both greeting and farewell.

   “Come now, Miss Ryan,” he rode up beside her, his boots almost flush against her face. “Will you not stop and pass the time of day with me?”

   “I’m in a hurry, sir. I’ve been away from home these past four days, and I’m anxious to be reunited with my sisters.”

She reached out and pushed against the mare’s damp hair. The horse was so close she was afraid it would knock her.

   “Then, I’ll walk with you,” he slid the foot nearest to her from the stirrup, and was about to dismount, when she managed to get past the horse.

   “Don’t bother. I’m really in a hurry,” she was off and running through the ferns bordering the forest. She dreaded the Squire. At the last Harvest festival, she had to smack his face for being too familiar. He vowed revenge on her, but nothing was forthcoming. She told her mother all about the affair, and a look of fear had crossed her face, but this was soon replaced by anger, as she cursed his cheek at touching her child.

   Annie was running as fast as the terrain would allow. She picked up her skirts and held the basket above the ferns to stop it snagging and pulling her back. It was slow going, and she was sweating from the effort, but terror spurred her onwards. She was still close enough to hear his parting words and though she did not turn around, she knew he was angry.

   “Take care in the forest, Miss Ryan. It’s dark enough to hide the Devil himself.”

It was a relief to be free of the ferns and out among the trees. It was easier to run here, and the many roots and gnarled trees twisted by age, made riding dangerous. He would not dare follow her.

   Dora was the first to see her, as she made her way towards Meg’s cottage.

   “Annie,” the child hurled herself at her sister’s waist.

   “Let me go,” she laughed, pulling free.

   “Oh, Annie, I thought you’d gone away forever.”

   “You silly goose. It has only been three days. You know I’d never leave you.”

   “Swear,” the child looked doubtful.

   “I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

   “Oh, no, Annie please do not.” 

   “Don’t what?”

   “Don’t hope to die.”

   “Then I won’t,” sudden cold clawed at her skin.

   “Annie,” Rose ran from the cottage, and Meg hobbled behind in her wake.

There were the usual questions about the village and the sickness. Annie answered as best she could, and though she was safe and back with her family, Dora’s fear seemed to mar her homecoming. Up to now the child had shown no signs of having the gift. Rose certainly did not have it. Perhaps it was just the worry of being parted from her made Dora so frightened?

After saying goodbye to Meg and promising to return the next day, they set off for home. The children skipped beside her, and Annie carried the newly christened cat, Blackie in her basket. Meg brought him to her cottage aware Annie might be away for days, and he now curled contentedly at the bottom of the basket, not at all bothered by the motion. Her cottage looked good when she spied it through the trees. It was not a palace and its exterior gave no hint of the happiness that had once been within its walls, but it was home. The gate creaked, as she pushed against it. It had grown stiff in the few short days she had been away. She stopped for a moment to take in the garden. Weeds grew wild in the hedgerows and wallflowers and ivy fought for a place on the front walls. The roof did not look too sturdy either. It arched at each gable end and seemed to swoon in the middle. She would have to get help in raising the thatch, before winter set in. The inside smelt familiar when she opened the door. It was the smell of turf, dried herbs, and old clothes. It smelt of her mother’s rosewater and the wooden carvings of her father. For a moment, the loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, as the wound of their loss was still open and very raw. 

   The children had eaten at Meg’s, so she set about cleaning the rooms. It was surprising how much dust gathered in the few days. When everything was once again in order, she called the children in from the garden. Amid howls of protest and chases around the kitchen, she managed to bath both and get them into clean clothing. Meg allowed them to run wild, and even sleep in their clothes. This would do them no harm for a few days, but it was not Annie’s way. While the children brushed their hair in front of the blazing fire, Annie washed the dirty clothes. She smiled, as they fanned their hair trying to dry it. Rose’s was the same colour as her own and turned gold in the light of the flames. Dora’s was like her mothers, almost white, fine, and easy to dry.

   Annie was pegging out the washing when she heard footsteps and voices approaching from the forest. They rarely had visitors, and then only to order wood for the winter, or some piece of furniture from her father. She waited in trepidation. When they finally emerged from the trees, she groaned.

   “Good day to you, cousin,” Mary O Brien was panting from the exertion of the walk from the village. She was used to a horse and cart, but that was of no use in the forest. Her son, Hugh was in tow, and she stood resting a hand on his arm and fanning her face with a white lace handkerchief.

   “Quite warm, don’t you think,” she gasped. “For the time of year?”

Annie did not think so. In fact, it’d grown even colder in the last few days, and now the air was decidedly frosty.

   “Won’t you come in, sit awhile and rest?” Annie asked.

   “Thank you, dear,” Mary pushed her son away, in her hurry to get inside.

Annie saw how her eyes took in the front of the cottage and heard the sniff of disapproval. Mary had to bend to get inside, for she was as tall as she was thin.

   “Well, now, this is nice,” the elaborate carvings on the chairs and the general tidiness of the cottage pleased her. She sat beside the fire and motioned to her son to sit opposite her.

   “Would you like a cool drink?” Annie asked.

   “Buttermilk would be fine,” Mary smiled again, and Annie could not help thinking of a wolf.

A few minutes passed in silence as she poured the milk, and her hands shook as she handed a cup to each of them.

   “My, that bread smells delicious.”

Mary was referring to the two loaves baking on a griddle.

   “Oh, would you like some?”

   “Yes, my dear that would be lovely. Wouldn’t it Hugh?”

He shrugged his shoulders. Annie wrapped a cloth around the griddle and carried it to the table. The bread was hot and hard to cut, and the butter melted as soon as it touched it and dripped down the sides. Nevertheless, she handed them both a plate and watched as they bit into the soft dough. Butter trickled down their chins. It was lucky the children had wandered off and were not there to witness the sight. It was funny to see Mary try to hold onto the cup, plate, and dab at her chin at the same time.

   “This is really quite delicious,” she beamed at Annie. “You’re such a good cook. Isn’t she Hugh?”

   “Doesn’t take much know how to bake bread.”

   “He’s spoiled you see, my dear,” she tried to cover up for her son’s bad manners. “I’ve always been known for my cooking.”

Hugh almost choked on the bread, and his mother slapped his back to still his spasm of coughing.

   “Dear me, what a to-do,” she thanked Annie for the proffered cup of water.

When the panic was over, and Hugh’s face was returning to a more normal colour, Mary stated her business.

   “Bring a chair over here,” she pointed to a spot beside her and Annie had no choice but to do as she was told.

It was strange sitting beside Mary. She always seemed so aloof, so fancy compared to the other women in the village, and Annie felt tongue-tied in her presence.

   “I’m not sure if your dear mother ever mentioned this to you but…”

Annie held her breath and waited.

   “It was always her wish and mine,” Mary added. “That one day, you and dear Hugh.” She leant across and patted his hand. “Would make a match.”

At this, she sat back contentedly and waited for what she expected as Annie gushing words of thanks, instead…

   “I think you must be mistaken, Mrs. O Brien.”

   “What did you say?”

   “I said you are mistaken. My mother wouldn’t wish for me to marry your son.”

   “Not want you to marry my son. Why any woman in her right mind would want to marry my Hugh. Why not may I ask?”

   “I don’t love him.”

 Annie looked across at Hugh, who seemed not at all put out by her refusal and shuddered. Had she not known of his reputation for cruelty and misuse of women, it would have been easy to read in his long, bovine face. The features were idiot-looking, but it was not this that gave cause for alarm. It was his dark, beady, crow-like eyes and carnivorous mouth. Annie turned back to Mary, who was by now, glaring at her.

   “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

   “Why, you wicked, ungrateful, child,” Mary struggled out of the chair and motioned to her son to do the same. “You’ll never have an offer as good as this again.”

   “I had no intention of insulting you. But I’ve no wish to marry anyone at this time.”

   “I’ve heard enough,” Mary’s push almost knocked her over. “I’ll make you pay for your folly, Miss.”

With this she stormed outside. Hugh stood awkwardly holding onto the cup and plate, and Annie was forced to take them from his outstretched hands.

   “I’m sorry, Hugh.”

   “Don’t care,” he sneered.

She noticed, he dribbled as he spoke, and she followed him and watched the two retreating figures. Mary worked herself into a terrible temper. She was gesturing back towards the cottage, and Annie drew back into the shadows. Mary was quite red-faced, but Hugh just shrugged his shoulders, and this seemed to enrage his mother even more. Twice she struck out at him before they were lost from view, and Annie knew there would be hell to pay, once he got home.

The encounter left her quite shaken. She knew her mother never harboured such thoughts, and Mary’s only reason for the offer of marriage was to get her hands on the cottage and the adjoining fields. Even the idea of marrying Hugh was disgusting. Imagine, she cringed, having that lump slobbering all over me, ugh. She would try and put it out of her mind. There was little chance of her running into those two in the coming weeks.

    “Annie, Annie,” her sisters came crashing through the door. “Look who we found.”

They had two ragged children in tow. The ones from the gypsy camp, in the hollow. They were tiny, no more then three or four years old. Bending down, she asked.

   “Are you hungry?”

They nodded in unison, eyeing the bread still sitting on the table.

   “Well, sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.”

The smaller one, Lily, could hardly see above the table and Paul the older one, but only by an inch, was the same. To save them embarrassment, Annie suggested they sit by the fire. She placed cold strips of mutton on the fresh bread and handed one to each of the children. Rose and Dora, though not hungry, would not want to be left out. This was all washed down with mugs of milk, and Annie’s heart sang, when she saw the colour coming to the malnourished cheeks and the milky moustaches being wiped away with the backs of their hands. Once fed, Paul was a hive of information. He told them stories about their travels and all the wonderful places they had seen. Of the work his Dadda did shoeing horses and mending pots. These quietly lisped stories were the stuff of imagination, for Annie knew had they been true, these children would be better fed. But he was funny and once he made them laugh, there was no stopping him, even if his language was quite strong at times. Annie knew he didn’t realise what he was saying, and the rather colourful words were overheard around the campfires. She also knew her sisters would go to bed that night dreaming of far-away places and wanting to live in a caravan. It was a welcome relief to have the cottage filled with childish banter and laughter.

   There was a loud knocking on the door and Annie hushed them and went to answer it. A woman with a peddler tray strapped to her front and loaded down with herbs and charms stood outside.

   “Sorry to trouble you, Miss,” she bowed. “I’ve heard of your loss and I’d not want to disturb you, but I’m out of my mind with worry. My two young ones wondered off and I’ve not seen hide or hair of them for hours.”

   “It’s all right,” Annie stepped back and motioned the woman to enter.

She seemed stunned by the suggestion and stood looking at Annie for a moment. Seeming to like what she saw, she walked by her.

   “Why you two, bold things,” were her first words when she entered the cottage and caught sight of her children. “You had me worried sick,” she hoisted the heavy tray from her shoulders and dropped it onto a chair. She was crying and laughing, as she kissed the wriggling children.

   “God bless you; Miss, for keeping them safe. There’s not many would do the same for our kind.”

   “I’m glad I could help. Would you like a cup of buttermilk?”

The woman had the same sunken, pallid cheeks as the children.

   “I’d not like to bother you, Miss,” she went to pick up the tray, but Annie noticed her sidelong glance at the second loaf of bread.

   “It’s no bother. I’d be glad of the company and the children have already eaten.”

   “Well,” she made a great show of indecision. “If you’re really sure you can afford it. I’d be glad of a sup.”

Annie prepared the same meal for the woman as she had for the children but added a slice more. The children, aware the adults were settling down to talk, scampered out the door. She sat opposite the woman and tried not to watch her eat, gazing into the fire instead.

   “You’re a fine-looking young woman,” the gypsy spoke. “And kind of heart as well.”

Annie turned towards her, blushing.

   “But there’s one that means to cause you great harm.”

Her words made Annie grow cold.

   “You’re not the only one with the sight, you know. I have it; my mother and my grandmother had it also,” she shuffled forward in her chair and placed the empty plate at her feet. “Aye, it can be a curse at times.”

   “Yes, I know what you mean.”

   “Sure, enough you do,” she nodded. “It can be more a hindrance than a help; allowing us to see the darkness within others.”

Annie knew what she was talking about and the urge that made her shy away from what seemed a friendly, kind soul. But, deep inside she saw the blackness, the greed, and the ability to cause harm. It always seemed like a nest of black worms pulsating within the person and made her want to retch.

   They sat and talked for hours, while the children played outside. Roma, as the woman was called, told Annie the true stories of their wonderings. Of the cold reception they received in each village. Of being stoned and turned away by many they came across.

   “I’d leave this place in a minute,” she whispered. “But the horse cast a shoe and my husband can’t find work to replace it. Now he has gone down with the sickness, and there’s not one who’ll buy from me,” she looked towards her tray of charms.

   “It’s the sickness,” Annie assured her. “It’s making people suspicious of newcomers.”

   “Aye that may well be, but how am I to feed my family, and how in God’s name are we to get away from here?”

   “I know nothing about horseshoes, but there’s plenty of food here.”

With this, Annie started to fill her basket with vegetables and the remains of the loaf of bread. Pouring some flour into a piece of cloth, she placed this in the basket as well. She returned from the cold store with a piece of salted bacon and put it on top of the pile. Picking up a few bundles of the dried herbs, she instructed Roma how to use them.

   “If he’s strong, He’ll recover in no time,” she promised.

   “Oh, he’s always been strong,” Roma said. “That’s why it’s so unusual for him to be struck down like this.”

   “Will you be able to manage all this?” she pointed towards Roma’s tray and the heavy basket.

The woman looked from Annie to the food and back again.

   “I can’t pay you for this.”

   “Say a prayer for me. That is all the payment I need,” Annie went to the door and called to the children. “Rose will help you part of the way, and it’s not far.”

The children were happy to be of assistance, and soon Rose and Paul were struggling out the door under the weight of the heavy basket.

   “I’ll return your basket in the morning,” Roma smiled. “God bless you and keep you safe.” As an afterthought, she took one of the charms from her tray. A bright, green enamel four leaved clover, and pinned it to the front of Annie’s dress.

   “It’ll bring you luck and your hearts desires,” Roma winked.

   “I could do with the luck. But I’ve no time for a man at the present.”

   “That may be, but I see one in your future.”

Annie waved to them until they were out of sight. Roma was amazed at Annie’s kindness. It was not often she met one so beautiful and kind. Had it been any other time, she would have counted herself lucky to have made a friend, but not now? Not when the shadows were lengthening across the land and the Dark One was abroad. She sensed his presence. He was on the prowl, and in search of one such as Annie. Roma was powerful enough to resist his whispered promises and words of endearment, having been taught to do so by her mother, but whom did that young woman have, and who’d steer her in the right direction if he sought her out? She sensed the power was strong in Annie, and what joy he’d have in corrupting such innocence. She would do whatever she could to protect the child and maybe, with enough prayer, he would pass by this place and leave them in peace. But she knew in her heart this would not be the case. Ignorance and suspicion were his appetisers, and he was hungry for a feast. She felt his evil flow over her as strongly as the wind ruffling her hair. He was here; moving closer to this place, and only God himself had the power to stop him. She muttered a prayer of protection for her family, for herself and for Annie.

As Annie predicted her sisters were full of talk of gypsies and caravans, as she tucked them in that night. When they were finally asleep, she washed herself before the fire. Standing in the old wooden tub, she rubbed herself down with a soft cloth. She shivered, remembering Roma’s words of a lover who would soon appear, and then smiled at such nonsense. What time had she for a lover? There was work to be done, and her sisters to care for. She gazed towards the dark window. The winter was drawing in; the nights would soon be longer and colder, and it was a bad time to feel so alone.

Outside the trees and ferns parted before him. The wind tossed and rolled at his feet, but all nature abhorred him. His was the power of centuries past and his search never ending. The need for power was as strong now as the day he had been cast down. His journey would continue long after he left this place and well into the future, but for now, he would be content with what lay within those walls, a power stronger than he felt in years. Given to a young girl too foolish to know its worth, and too pure to desire all it could give. He would take it from her and add it to the other powers he amassed. In time he would be as strong as his enemy, and then there would be Hell to pay. He laughed at his own joke.

Death Cry

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 23, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, Halloween, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, Ireland's past, legend, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

CHAPTER TWO

 The first night after her parent’s burial was the longest in Annie’s life. Unable to sleep, she lay awake and listened to the steady, rhythmic breathing of her sisters. Twice during the night, she thought she heard sounds coming from her parents’ room, but she knew it was not possible. They were lost to her forever. Crying silently, lest she awake those she loved more than her life, she watched the window, and it was a relief, when the first rays of sunlight crept into the room.

   There was freshly baked bread ready when the children woke, and she gathered eggs from the hen roost behind the cottage. Rose and Dora ate with gusto, scraping the shells in search of the last remaining bits of egg. It was amazing how well they had adjusted to their loss. After washing up and straightening the rooms, she got ready to leave. The children would have to come along with her, as she could not risk leaving them alone. Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she set off for the deepest part of the forest. Here the berries and herbs were plentiful and untouched by the scavenging birds. It took a few hours to find all the plants she needed, and she arrived at Meg’s cottage with two hot and irritable children in tow.

   After a cool drink, they settled down to play with the assortment of animals Meg had rescued over the years. There was a jackdaw, whose damaged wing made flight impossible and who had become as tame as all the other animals. A dog and six cats made up the rest of the menagerie. The squirrels nesting in the trees beside the cottage came and accepted berries from the children’s outstretched hands, and the odd deer with her fawn in tow stopped by on her meanderings through the forest. All of them, from the smallest creature knew they were safe with Meg, and as she often said, an animal like a child, has to be taught to fear.

While the children played, Meg and Annie got down to the more serious job of mashing and grinding the plants and berries. When the right consistencies were achieved, they placed spoonfuls of the mixture in small pieces of cloth and tied the top of each piece. There were many callers to the cottage that morning, and all were seen by Meg, and given one of the little bundles.

   “The sickness seems to be getting worse,” Meg shook her head. “There have been four deaths in the village overnight and many more are at deaths door.”

This information came from the last caller. Once all the bundles were ready, Annie loaded them into her basket and with a list of names; she set out for the village. Despite their protests, she ordered the children to stay behind with Meg. There was no sense in exposing them to the very real danger of the sickness.

The roads were deserted as she walked along. There was no trundling of farm carts as one might expect, and it was with heavy heart she approached the village. The lack of children playing in the street was a good indicator of how bad things were. She knocked at the first door on her list and was surprised by the hostile greeting she received. The bundle was snatched from her hand without thanks and the door slammed shut. She stood gazing at the wood for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. Maybe the sickness was making everyone cranky. The reception she got at each house was much the same and she was glad when there was only one more to go. This was the home of Jane O Regan. Jane was a widow with four children and had been a lifelong friend of Annie’s mother. The welcome she would receive here would be quite unlike the others. Annie tapped on the house door. A feeble voice bade her enter and she lifted the latch and walked into the gloomy interior. A makeshift bed lay in front of a blazing fire. Jane was sitting in the centre of the bed surrounded by all four of her children and each one was in the grip of some terrible fever.

   “Annie, thank God you’ve come,” Jane brushed a lock of sweat-drenched hair from off her forehead.

   “You should have sent word,” Annie put down her basket and hurried to check on the children.

They were burning up. What little clothes they wore stuck to their skin and had to be peeled off. She ran and fetched water from the well. Dousing the fire, she opened the windows as wide as possible. The heat was a breathing ground for the sickness, and despite Jane’s protests they had a chill, Annie washed down each one of the sweating children. Iris, the youngest child, seemed the most stricken and after mixing the herbs with water Annie spoon-fed her. The child fussed and tried to pull away, but Annie managed to get the spoon between the chattering teeth, and the child was forced to swallow. Each of the children was dosed in the same way and Jane accepted the liquid gladly. Pools of dried vomit stained the blankets, so picking up the children, Annie carried them, one by one, upstairs to their own room. Jane was helped to sit in a chair beside the fire, and Annie gathered up the soiled blankets and threw them outside.

   “God bless you, Annie,” Jane caught her hand. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

   “I’m glad to help, but I wish I’d know sooner.”

   “You had your own troubles; child and I didn’t want to add to them.”

   “Well, I’m here now, and here I’ll stay, until you’re better.”

   “Thank you, child. You’ve no idea what it has been like here. I have not had the strength to walk as far as the well. We would’ve died without you.”

   “There now, don’t take on so,” Annie patted her back. “You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten something.”

   “There’s not a scrap of food in the house. I haven’t been able to do a decent day’s work in months, and to tell the truth, child, there’s not much call for my services now.”

Jane was a seamstress and people were more concerned with saving their money for doctors and medicine, than worrying about their appearance.

   “Never mind,” Annie assured her. “I have some money. I’ll go and buy food.”

This small act of kindness made Jane cry, and Annie was glad when she was once again outside in the fresh air and away from the cloying atmosphere in the house. She bit her lip as she walked towards the only shop in the village. The seven shillings in her pocket was all the money she had in the world. She was well able to farm the land, but without her father’s income from the woodcutting, they would be penniless. Her father was so proud he was not tied to any landlord and his land was his own. He had sworn none of his children would be bonded into service. But that prospect seemed possible now, and Annie was thinking of looking for work in one of the big houses in the area. A position of governess would suit her, having been taught to read and write by her mother. Her education though limited, was enough to secure such a position in this wild area of the country. The only thing holding her back was the fact she was catholic, and anyone rich enough to employ a governess would surely want someone of the protestant religion. Still you never know, she thought, as she swept into the shop, stranger things have happened.

   “Good day to you, Miss. Ryan,” Pat O Malley, the shopkeeper smiled.

Annie felt herself blush. Pat O Malley was always winking at her, when they passed in the street, and she tried to gather her thoughts and ignore his cheeky grin, as she ordered only the basic ingredients she needed. Flour, milk, and some scraps of mutton. The potatoes, carrots, and eggs she could fetch from her own store at home. She would have to go back to Meg’s anyway and ask her to care for her sisters until Jane was well enough to cope. Although she hated leaving them alone so soon, Jane’s need was greater than theirs.

   “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she blushed again, as she realised Pat was speaking to her. “I was miles away.”

   “I said I was sorry to hear about your loss.”

   “Thank you. You are truly kind,” she started to load her purchases into her basket. “How much do I owe you?”

His cheeky grin had returned, as he answered.

   “I’m afraid the prices have gone up a lot. I’ll have to charge you…” he mused. “One kiss.”

   “Why, Mr O Malley,” she pretended to be shocked. “Nothing could be that expensive.”

He laughed at her reply and putting her hands on her hips, she stamped her foot.

   “Pat O Malley be serious for a moment and tell me what I owe you.”

   “Miss Ryan, the very sight of you has made all such thoughts vanish from my head.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he held up a hand to still her protests.

   “Take it, with my blessing.”

   “I take nothing for nothing.”

 Annie Ryan had the same proud streak as her parents.

   “Well, bring me half a dozen eggs the next time you’re passing.”

   “A half dozen eggs for all this?”

   “What can I say?” he held up his hands in mock horror. “Eggs are as rare as fairy dust around here.”

Snatching the basket from off the counter, she retorted.

   “I’ll bring them in tomorrow morning. I’d not like to be beholden to you.”

   Aw, now,” his laughter followed her. “Is that anyway to talk to your future husband.”

She knew he had walked to the door and was watching her. Her mother always teased her about Pat, and Annie knew despite the fact he was incredibly old at twenty-eight, that her mother hoped they would make a match. She was still grinning when the voice startled her.

   Good day, cousin. It’s nice to see you and in such good spirits.”

Mary O Brien smiled at Annie’s stunned expression.

   “Why, child, you’d think you’d just seen the Devil himself rather then your own cousin.”

   “Sorry,” Annie managed to stutter. Mary O Brien never passed her the time of day and here she was calling her cousin!

   “I was so sorry to hear about your poor parents passing,” Mary bristled. “And I’d have come to the funeral I assure you. But I have been quite ill myself, and dear Hugh has been such a comfort to me. Why,” her grin was wolfish. “I wouldn’t allow him out of my sight. You understand I’m sure.”

   “Yes, Mrs. O Brien. I understand.”

   “Now, now, dear. You must call me cousin. After all Hugh and I are all the family you have left.”

   “If you’ll excuse me,” Annie tried to walk past her.

   “Yes, of course, my dear.”

Annie could see she had insulted the woman, and she knew Mary O Brien made a very bad enemy. She had heard many tales of her trouble causing in the village.

   “I have to attend to Jane O Regan,” she offered as a token of appeasement. “She and her children are very ill.”

   “Very well,” she seemed to accept this “But I’ll call on you soon.”

Annie nodded; she was glad of the chance to get away. Mary O Brien frightened her, and her dreadful son was even worse. 

Pat O Malley was still watching Annie and saw what happened. He knew what a dangerous woman Mary O Brien was. He had seen many of her acts of cruelty. Always the first to point the finger, and any woman prettier than she was became a likely target. She had caused more rifts in marriages than adultery ever had. With a tongue worthy of the most poisonous snake, she spread her venom across the village. No one could escape her vengeance once she’d set her sights on them. It was rumoured her late husband only died so he could get away from her nagging. Recently she had been complaining about the gypsies who were camped in the woods.

   “They are filthy,” she told anyone who would listen “And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were the cause of the sickness.”

Everyone agreed with her except Pat, who pointed out the gypsies arrived well after the sickness started. His observations were answered with an angry glower. Still, she would never go against him. He was too well off. It was easier for her to pick on the poor and the lonely. Her husband had left her well provided for and with too much time on her hands. Rather than use her hours in more productive ways, she chose to cause trouble, and excelled at her chosen profession. She even converted to the protestant religion in order to curry favour with the gentry in the area. It also made life easier for her son. Pat felt a stab of dread at the thought. If anything were to happen to Annie, Hugh stood in line to inherit. Everyone in the village knew Annie’s father willed the cottage and land to her. What was that woman up to; she had never shown an interest in her relationship with the family before? Surely, she was not thinking of making a match with Hugh and Annie? He would never allow such a thing to happen. Hugh had the same streak of cruelty as his mother, and Annie would never survive as his wife. If he were honest, he would have to admit to the stirring of jealousy. He had always loved Annie. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and he was aware that there were many with their eye on her. He would marry her in an instant, but he knew she was not interested in him. It would take someone incredibly special to capture Annie Ryan’s heart.

After dropping off her purchases in Jane’s house and putting the meat on to boil, Annie set off for Meg’s cottage. There were protests from her sisters, but they were half-hearted, as they were happy enough to stay with Meg, especially when she promised to make fudge after Annie left. Meg was sad to hear about Jane’s suffering and plied Annie with more of the medicine, and a list of things to do to speed up its effects. Stopping off at her own cottage, she collected the things she would need for the coming vigil. She also carried as much as she could of the potatoes, carrots and the six eggs for Pat. The shop was closed and shuttered when she arrived back in the village, so she left the eggs wrapped in cloth, outside the door.

Jane’s kitchen was filled with the smell of cooking. Peeling the carrots and potatoes, Annie added them to the bubbling meat and some herbs to flavour the stew. When it was ready, she handed Jane a bowl. Taking a crude wooden tray from off the dresser, she put four more bowls onto it and carried it upstairs. The three older children were already showing signs of recovery and had cooled down. After helping them to sit up, they were able to feed themselves, but little Iris showed no sign of wanting to eat. She lay as though drained of all energy and burning hot. Annie once again, washed her down and gave her more of the mixture to drink, but she was frightened. Her parents had looked the same way as Iris did before they died. Perhaps, the sound of her mother’s voice would encourage the child to eat. Jane had to be helped up the stairs. Annie sat on the side of the bed and Jane lay down beside her child, fussing and talking to her. She begged Iris to try and eat, but it was hopeless. Her little body had suffered much and though she loved her mother and wanted to please her, she could not fight the sickness. Annie tried to still the fire burning inside the child. She spent the night washing her down and making her drink the mixture, but it was hopeless. By morning, the fire died along with the child. It was left to a heart-broken Annie to wake the mother and tell her of the tragedy. It was also Annie’s job to carry the blanket-wrapped bundle to the graveyard, as Jane was too weak and grief-stricken to carry out the task herself.

   Once more Annie’s money dropped into the gravedigger’s outstretched hand. There were still four more patients requiring her care, and she had to be strong for their sakes, but she was weary. She wanted to lie down in the soft grass and sleep. To wake to find it was a bad dream and hear her mother calling to her from the kitchen. Hear the saw and smell the wood as her father worked beside the cottage. She suddenly felt old, old, tired, beaten, and resenting the walk to the village. The houses looked grey in the harsh pink white of the morning light. The streets were silent, and her footsteps resounded in the quiet. The air was much colder, and Annie hoped this would end the sickness. A good few day of frost would kill it off, after that everything would be much better.

Death Cry

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 22, 2020
Posted in: banshee, birdsong, hope faith God whispers heaven, books, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, folklore, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, Haunted Houses, horror, legend, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, sleeplessness, thoughts, wailing cry, Witchcraft, Witches, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Chapter One

Her mother named her after a saint, but in truth Annie was not a saint; neither was she a devil. She was just…different, in a time when it was dangerous to be so. The year was 1653, a time of great unrest, when the shadow of Cromwell’s forces moved over the land leaving death and destruction in their wake and bringing untold suffering to a once peaceful nation.

   Annie Ryan knew all about suffering, though hers was of a different kind. Her home was in the hill country, and too wild and desolate to attract the invaders. Still, her pain was intense.

   The wind whipped about her, and she gathered her two sisters closer to shield them from its touch. A shuffling beside her made her reach into a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirts, and she withdrew two coins. These were dropped into the dirty, outstretched hand of the gravedigger. Grunting his thanks, he pocketed the money and walked away. She never looked at him; as her eyes were fixed on the twin mounds in the earth, the place where they had just buried her mother and father. Annie, despite her knowledge of herbs and healing was not able to save them, and they died within hours of one another, victims of a plague that was raging in the village. It had claimed many lives up to now. The elders spoke of witchcraft, of a curse being put on them, but Annie knew it was not so. It came from the earth and from the rats and other vermin that abounded on it. There was nothing sinister about what was happening. The summer was long and hot. The meat grew putrid in hours, the milk soured, and the air was filled with flies that landed on the food leaving disease behind. She had no idea how she knew of such things, but she did. She had the power to see things others could not. Her sense of hearing and smell was more heightened than others, and she could hear the flapping of bee’s wings or smell the blood of a trapped rabbit, as it struggled to get free from its snare. Of course, her mother warned her never to speak about it, but word got around, and it was whispered she was a witch and in league with the Devil. She had been amused by the stupid talk and the women who made the sign against the evil eye, when she passed, but it was no longer funny. She had to be both mother and father to her sisters. Dora, the baby of the family had turned six and Rose, just three-years-older at nine, were all she had left in the world.

   Annie was seventeen and used to her job as big sister, but it was under the guidance of her mother. Now she must stand alone, raise them as best she could and keep the promise she made to her mother on her deathbed.

Ushering the weeping girls away from the graves, she started towards home. Their cottage was on the outskirts of the village. It was hidden by the tall trees surrounding it and she liked it that way, it felt safe. A dark, thatched roof covered walls made from stone and mud. From a distance it looked quite picturesque and enchanting, but the truth was something else. It was cold and damp inside, moss and weeds grew between the cracks and crevices, and no amount of cleaning could keep it away. The few clothes they had felt wet against the skin, even though they hung from a rope stretched over the fire. The cold seeped into the bone, and it was easier to work outside than in. Her father farmed the large plot of land beside the cottage and this kept them in vegetables throughout the year. He was also a woodcutter and as well as supplying half the village with firewood, his carvings were everywhere. From the ornate arms of chairs, that would not have looked out of place in a manor house, to the small wooden dolls he made for his girls. He was truly gifted, everyone said so, but not in the way Annie was.

There were few enlightened souls in that dark time. Religious practices were frowned upon. It was a time of mistrust and grave superstition. When the dark deities who walked the land and circled the air found it easy to gain power

Annie sighed, as she sank into a chair, exhausted in both mind and body. Her sisters stood before her, frightened and unsure, so she held out her arms and they rushed into them. They felt warm, their touch familiar against her skin. They sniffled and burrowed even closer and she wanted to cry with them. The cottage was quiet. It was an after the funeral quiet, when one is alone with one’s thoughts, and the grief, the sense of overwhelming loss hits.

   “Come now,” she roused them. “We’ll have something to eat. It’ll make us feel better.”

They nodded, and while Annie set about preparing the meal, they laid the table. She had already made a stew of beef, carrots, and potatoes, and this only needed to be reheated. The comforting, mouth-watering smell soon invaded the small kitchen, but she had no appetite. She stirred the food, glad of having something to do, and not wanting to turn and see the look on her sisters’ faces. The clatter of spoons and plates being put on the table seemed hollow and unnatural. Even the soft birdsong drifting in angered her.

   She wrapped a cloth around the handles of the stew pot and brought it to the table. Taking a wooden ladle off its peg, she dished the steaming food onto the three plates. Her father carved this for her mother. Its large, deep curve narrowed up into a handle with the most intricate and delicate shapes of the trees growing in abundance outside the cottage. She fingered the wood for a moment and realizing her sisters were watching her, hurried the pot back to its place by the fire. They had their hands joined and their heads bowed when she sat down and were waiting for her to give thanks. Thanks for what; for being left frightened and alone with two small children? She could not bear to offer up a prayer. She was angry with both God and man.

   “Will you say the blessing, pet?” She asked Rose.

   “Please, God,” Rose whispered. “Please keep my Mam and Dad safe in Heaven. Bless me and Dora, but especially Annie. Do not let her get the sickness and die as well. Amen.”

The sobs Annie tried so hard to contain bubbled free, as she listened to the child’s prayer. Pushing her plate away, she put her head down on the table and howled. The days and nights of careful nursing had left her exhausted. There were a few times, when one or the other of her parents showed signs of rallying and her heart soared. But her hopes were dashed again and again, until finally they succumbed. She cried until she felt sick; big tears ran into the grooves and notches in the table wood forming tiny pools. She did not hear the soft crying of her sisters as they stroked her back, or the opening of the cottage door.

   “Annie Ryan, you stop sniffling this minute.”

She wiped her eyes and stared at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. Meg Matthews stood leaning on her walking stick, her face stern beneath the hood of her black cape. Meg had been in her life as far back as she could remember. She was honorary grandmother to the three girls and Annie’s teacher. Meg had the gift, but hers was not as strong as Annie’s. As soon as she was old enough to talk, Meg took her under her wing and taught her the names of plants and roots. The art of healing came easily to Annie. The art of combining herbs and roots and discovering which ones were poisonous and harmful and could bring about death if not properly handled, was learned with amazing speed. Annie watched, still sniffling, as the old woman hobbled her way towards the fire, her stick tapping on the stone floor.

   “Come here, child,” she ordered when she was comfortable in a chair.

Annie stayed where she was. She was numb with grief and her eyes felt sore from crying. With her free hand, Meg withdrew something from beneath her cape and the two younger girls ran to her with exclamations of delight. Annie got up to see what all the fuss was about. A small black kitten stood on the old woman’s lap. It purred and arched its back towards the gentle stroking of the children’s hands.

   “Is he ours, Meg?” Dora asked. “Can we keep him?”

   “What do you say, Annie?” Meg smiled.

Annie ran the back of her hands across her cheeks, wiping away the last few tears. She looked down into the hopeful, upturned faces of her sisters, and realized for the first time that day, there was no sign of their loss.

   “I dare say he’ll not eat us out of house and home.”

   “He’ll not be long in growing and filling out,” Meg handed the kitten to the girls. “Take him outside and play.”

They went out, squabbling over who owned the kitten, and what his name was. When they were out of earshot, Meg turned to Annie.

   “Sit by me child and listen well. It will do you no good to grieve so. Those little ones need you to be strong. Your parents, God rest their souls,” she crossed herself. “Are safe and in God’s hands. They’d not want you to go on like this, now would they?”

   “No,” Annie mumbled.

   “It’s not that my heart doesn’t bleed for you and your loss, child. But it is your health I’m thinking of. Grief makes you weak, and in times such as these any weakness can be fatal.”

 She knew Meg was right, but she had a right to be sad. The old woman seemed to read her thoughts.

   “Of course, you’ve a right to grieve, and they’ll be many times in the days ahead when you’ll want to cry, but all I’m saying is don’t let it overwhelm you, understand?”

   “Yes,” Annie rose from her chair and knelt beside the old woman.

The thin arms encircling her were strong and the heavy woollen cape smelt of the woods. Of evergreens and hollyhock, even the warmth of the sun seemed trapped within its fibres.

   “I’d have come with you today, child. But my old legs are playing me up again, and I find the walking hard.”

   “I know you would.”

   “Was there anyone else there?”

   “No, no one, just me and the girls.”

   “Not even old Mary O Brien and her scrawny son?”

   “No one.”

   “Well, the curse of God on them and they related by blood to you. The least they could’ve done was show their faces.”

   “They might be sick.”

   “Sick indeed,” the old woman snorted. “Not even the sickness would touch those two. “Why, they’d skin a flea for its hide. The grasping, miserly pair of them that’s in it.”

   “Am I to take it you don’t like them, Meg?”

The old woman laughed.

   “I suppose you could say that,” then serious. “Your father took care of everything?”

   “Yes, everything,” Annie knew what she meant.

Her father called one of the elders to him when he realized how sick he had become. The cottage and the two acres with it, he willed to Annie, an unthinkable thing in a time when land was passed to the male heir. Women rarely owned anything, and if it had not been for her father’s hindsight, they would be homeless, and the cottage and property in the hands of his distant cousin, Hugh O Brien.

   “That’s good,” Meg was relieved. “That keeps you safe for now.”

   “Why for now?”

   “Ach, don’t mind me child and my old ramblings. Here, help me stand.”

Annie got up and held out her arm. Meg, leaning on it, groaned her way up.

   “I’ll need your help come morning. They’re coming to me in droves looking for medicines to ease their suffering,” she stopped on the threshold. “You’ll collect the herbs and roots I need?”

   “Of course.”

   “Good girl,” Meg patted her hand. “We have a hard-few weeks before us. The sickness grows stronger and the need for help greater. You’ll have to take it to those too ill to leave their beds.”

   “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

   “I know you will.”

Annie watched her until she was lost from sight. She heard her sisters’ shouts of farewell echoing from within the forest, and the old woman stopped long enough to wave to them. Annie had no way of knowing, as she went inside to reheat the food, how troubled Meg was.

Two acres of land and a cottage might not seem much, but people have killed for less. Acquiring such left Annie open to the fortune hunters, who would do anything to get their hands on them. There was one, Meg thought, as she walked along, that no-good Hugh O Brien. He had never worked an honest day in his life, despite the fact he lived in one of the best houses in the village. Well under the thumb of his scheming mother and apt to do anything on her say so, he posed a very real threat to Annie. She saw the way he looked at the girl. Meg beat at the ferns in her path with her stick and wished all the while each one was Hugh. Still, who could blame him? Annie was the most beautiful woman in these parts. There were few who failed to notice her, with her waist-length auburn hair hanging about her like a thick cloak, and the green, searching eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. But he was no good and his feelings for Annie were nothing but lust. He was not capable of loving her or anyone else. He was best avoided, and she’d see he was kept away from the child, one-way or the other. She shivered remembering the dreams. They came regularly now, disturbing her sleep and making her days as restless as her nights; always the same, never deviating in any way. That was what frightened her the most, they were so real. Each one starting with a low chanting, rising to a scream, and the crackling of burning timber, and red flames leaping high into the darkness surrounding them. She smelt the smoke, even now in the clear air. It was a bad omen. There was something evil in the air. There was talk of a curse being placed on the village, but she had dismissed this as superstitious nonsense. The ignorant folk were always looking for someone to blame for life’s tragedies. It was a puzzle, and as she walked homewards, she prayed her sleep would be undisturbed that night.

Death Cry

Posted by Gemma Mawdsley Blog on May 21, 2020
Posted in: banshee, Can a heart be strong enough to survive the grave?, Death Cry, Eerie Places, Fairies, Fantasy, fiction, Ghost, ghost hunting, gloom, Gothic, Gothic novel, graves, graveyards, harbinger of death, horror, memories, Paranormal, passion, revenge, scary, screams, sleeplessness, wailing cry, wraiths, writers, writing. Tagged: , , , , , , . Leave a comment

PROLOGUE

The sun had set on what was a very warm midsummer’s day in Ireland. It no sooner disappeared below the horizon, than it was replaced by the full moon. The glowing red clouds left behind with the promise of a warmer day to come, reached out caressed the moon and turned it to blood. An uneasy quiet shrouded the countryside. Night creatures rose from slumbering to begin their nocturnal foraging, tiny grey bats swooped through the still air and the call of the night owl was heard from deep within the forests. It was a night like any other, until the wailing started.

   The animals heard it first, picking up their ears and sniffing the air. The sound caused both fur and feather to rise. None of them waited to hear it reach a crescendo preferring to take cover in their dens, warrens, and tree trunks. It was a sound to chill the blood of any listener. Starting with a sigh and rising to a mournful keen that cut into the soul. It was the lament of someone who had known great sorrow and loss.

   The people who heard its warning crossed themselves in fear. Some muttered a silent prayer for its intended victim before locking any open window and pulling the curtains closed, despite the cloying heat. Children tossed fitfully in their sleep sensing the cry. Farmers, who were still at work in the fields, left what they were doing and hurried home.

Those who understood its meaning dared not speak of it. Fearful glances were exchanged, televisions were turned up as loud as possible, but nothing could mask the cry. It invaded the air, crept through cracks and keyholes, it would be heard. There was nothing to stop it. Man, despite all his modern technology, was not adept to deal with such a thing.

   Its voice had haunted countless generations of the O Brien family, warning them of a coming death, but it had not been heard for many years. Now, it was back, and with a vengeance. It continued all through the night only quieting with the coming of dawn. The old, who understood too well its voice, lay awake until the last notes faded in the lightening air. Never had they heard its cry last for so long or be more powerful. Instinct told them this was to be no ordinary passing for its prey. The voice they heard wanted more.

 She was finally awake. The Dark One’s curse was almost at an end. Gathering her waist length hair about her, she raked her fingers through it picking out dead leaves and bits of twigs. She had lain in limbo throughout the centuries and was only allowed on the earth for a short time, to herald each death of that accursed family. This was what she had waited for. He was the last male in his line and soon he would be no more. All the evil and wickedness would be ended, and she could rest in peace. Her crying would cease once he was dead. She would wrap herself around him, her arms the embrace of a cold lover and they would return to the dark earth together. He would have no other choice; he was powerless to resist her. There is no escaping the cry of the Banshee