Gothic
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The Wraith is a haunting storytelling podcast that brings to life the chilling tale of a presence that lingers in silence, waiting to be summoned.
Each episode draws you deeper into rural landscapes of secrets, missing children, and the echoes of old sins. With atmospheric narration, slow-burn dread, and immersive storytelling, this is not just a story—it’s an invitation.
In Chapter One of The Wraith, we begin with grief, loss, and memory. Rural isolation wraps around a family scarred by secrets, and a sense of unease begins to stir. Shadows whisper in silence, hinting at the presence of something more—something waiting, something watching. This is the start of a slow descent into horror, where every detail matters, and every secret has a price.
The Wraith is more than just a podcast—it’s an immersive horror audiobook experience available free here on YouTube. With high-quality narration and chapter-based storytelling, this channel is the perfect place for fans of dark tales, haunting mysteries, and slow-burn supernatural dread.
Every week, a new chapter of The Wraith will appear here, continuing the journey deeper into the mystery. As the story unfolds, you’ll encounter haunted landscapes, broken families, old sins, and a presence that cannot be ignored.
In the silence, something stirs. Shadows gather, waiting.
Once it arrives, nothing will be the same again.
Are you ready to listen… knowing the darkness is coming.
Tomorrow night it begins.
When the cellar finally falls silent, the echoes remain. The world above carries on — footsteps on streets, voices in kitchens, the rhythm of ordinary life — but beneath it all lies an absence too heavy to name. Rachael’s voice is gone, yet her fear lingers in the cracks of memory, in the uneasy hush that settles where a child should be. Those who knew her speak less as the years pass, though some cannot help but look over their shoulders when night falls. For the story is not finished. What was taken does not simply vanish. It waits.
The village rests in silence, but silence is never empty. It presses close, listening, waiting. Some shadows don’t simply fall with the night — they move, they breathe, and once you notice them, it is already too late to turn away.
The nights are quieter now. The only noise to disturb the dark air is the hoot of the owl or the blood-chilling cry of the vixen. Annie and Dora still sleep, and their grave is tended and watched over. The house reverted to Emily after Liam’s freak accident, and with the help of Cora, Marie, and an assortment of nursing staff; it is now a retirement home. Its occupants the inmates of Hillcrest enjoy a freedom denied to them for so long. Between them they have restored the gardens. Marble statues appeared, haphazardly dotting the ground, when the trailing vines were stripped back. Everything was cleaned and polished, giving a sense of renewal. The old take pleasure in Laura and Shelly’s childish chatter and they in turn, love their newly acquired grandparents. They sit together at night and swap news, the two young girls just beginning their life, the others contemplating the end, but safe and content at last.
Still, there are times, when the dark closes in and the house lays quiet, when Cora stands at her window and watches. She looks across the gardens at the statues glowing white in the moonlight and standing like silent sentinels over the grave and wonders how long the peace will last. The red band on her wrist, burnt there by Annie’s hand, shows stark against the whiteness of her skin, and is a constant reminder of the eternal battle she witnessed. She traces her finger along the mark and her mind strays back to the day of Liam’s funeral. Many dismissed her lack of emotion for shock and her sob one of anguish, on seeing Liam’s latest pillow friend. They tut-tutted and whispered about bad taste, but Cora cared nothing about social niceties. What caused her to cry out was the unmistakable bulge in the front of the woman’s coat?
Marie was at her desk earlier than usual next day. To take the afternoon off, she would have to get her work completed. The fact it was so early meant there was no phones to delay her sorting of the post. Rachael breezed in just after nine and was soon followed by Liam. Marie saw by his bleary eyes and hangdog expression; this was not to be one of his better days. She had arranged the post on his desk in neat piles and she heard him shuffling through it.
The next few hours passed in a flurry of phone calls and appointments. The usual sad panorama of his clients filed past her desk and disappeared into his office. They reappeared, either looking smug or dejected. None of them paid her any heed, other than giving their name. It was almost noon when a lull came. Cora would be waiting for her at 1 o clock as arranged, and she could not let her down. But just as she was about to rise, Liam came storming from his office.
“I’m going out.”
“I need the afternoon off,” Marie managed to get in.
He stopped and looked at her.
“I have a dental appointment.”
“Since when?”
“This morning. I’ve been up with toothache all night.”
“I’m surprised you have any teeth left at your age,” he smirked at Rachael, but she looked away.
“My appointment is for one thirty and it may take a couple of hours.”
“You’ll go when I come back, understand?”
“I’ll go at one.”
“Do that and you can stay away.”
They stood face to face, prize fighters squaring up.
“If that’s what you want, I quite understand.”
He looked across at Rachael who was gaping open mouthed at them. Though he hated to admit it, he needed the old witch.
“Very well,” he gritted his teeth. “Go at one, but don’t make a habit of it. And you,” he turned to Rachael. “Don’t screw anything up.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
He glared at her and slammed the door behind him so hard, they thought the glass would break.
Cora spent much of the morning sitting by the window watching the driveway. The night was uneventful with no unwelcome footsteps or strange sounds. Laura seemed more subdued at breakfast, or was she imagining that? Her mind was in so much turmoil she did not know what to think.
Annie sat opposite her, but Cora was unaware of her presence. The only sounds came from the grandfather clock in the hallway, as it ticked away the minutes. All around them the house sighed and settled. As the morning wore on, Cora became more anguished. She would not rest until she found out the house’s secret.
It was well after noon when she saw his car appear. She ran to the kitchen and stood with her back to the knife block, waiting. He did not come straight in or even call her name. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, and it was a few moments before he came looking for her.
“Ah, there you are.”
Cora gripped the edge of the worktop.
“I want you to change my bed linen.”
“Your bed linen?”
“Yes, wash and dry the same linen that’s on it.”
She stood looking at him for a moment before answering.
“I have other linen.”
“For fuck sake will you do as I ask? Strip off the old linen, wash it and replace it. It’s hardly rocket science.”
“All right,” Cora dodged by him, and Annie followed.
Cora pulled the quilt from its cover and gathered up the sheets and pillowcases. Neither of them realised Liam had crept up behind them. Cora was struggling along the gallery towards the stairs; the linen bundled up in her arms when she heard the noise. She stopped and listened. It sounded like breaking glass, then…
“Cora, help. For God’s sake help me, I’m hurt.”
She dropped the linen and ran towards the stairs. Annie realised too late, what was about to happen. In the seconds it took for her to register the cord pulled taunt across the stairs, Cora’s ankle met it and she fell. Her back, her side, her stomach bounced hard off each step, until she landed on the marble floor. Annie looked down in disbelief at the battered figure. She smelt the blood that was yet to show seeping from between Cora’s legs. Annie heard him speaking but couldn’t see to whom he spoke. She was clutching the banisters so hard her fingerprints scorched and blackened the wood. Once again, she had failed; another child died. The rage within her roared, and she felt herself change as she charged down the stairs.
Liam was looking down at his wife’s still form as Annie came towards him, her blackened hands reaching for his throat. A scream from the doorway stopped her, and she turned to find Laura and Shelly standing there. Shelly ran to her mother sobbing and calling to her, but Laura stood with her hand clasped over her mouth. She saw what the others could not, the burnt skeleton with its tendrils of hair sticking to its bones. The gaping mouth and hollow, cobwebby eyes though sightless, could still see her.
“What did you do?” She whispered.
“I did nothing,” her father answered. “Your mother had a fall. An ambulance is on its way. Take Shelly and wait in there.”
He ushered them towards the sitting room. As soon as they were inside, he ran to the top of the stairs. Taking the claw hammer from its hiding place, he pulled the nail from the skirting board and tucked it and the wire into his pocket. The scattered bed linen was thrown to the bottom of the stairs.
“Such a silly thing to happen,” he muttered.
From close by he heard the wail of sirens and ran back down to play his role of concerned husband.
They were loading Cora into the ambulance when Marie drove up. Liam rung and asked her to call, saying there had been an accident.
“What happened?”
Liam ran his hand through his hair.
“She was coming down the stairs with some sheets. She must have snagged her foot on them. I warned her not to do heavy work in her condition.”
Had she not known of his treatment of his wife and his desire to be rid of the child, she might have believed him. Instead, she looked towards the window and the two tear stained faces framed there.
“I’ll have to follow the ambulance,” Liam said. “Will you take care of the children for me?”
“I have an appointment, but I’ll take them with me. I’ll keep them overnight if need be.”
“Good, yes, do that.”
“We have to hurry,” the paramedic called.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Liam ran to his car.
Marie shivered as the paramedic climbed inside and sat beside the white, still form of Cora.
The house smelt sickly sweet when she entered the hall, like flowers that had lost their bloom. The children were squashed together in one small chair, their fingers entwined.
“Will my Mam be all right,” Laura asked.
“I hope so, dear,” Marie held out her arms and Shelly slipped from her seat and ran to her. Laura remained seated, though her lower lip trembled. They both knew who Marie was, having met her on their rare trips to their father’s office. Laura liked her on sight. She smelled sweet like a baby, and she talked in a funny way.
“Your Dad wants you to stay with me overnight, so we’ll need some things from your rooms.”
“No,” Laura jumped up. “Don’t go upstairs.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” Marie promised. “Just while I get your pyjamas.”
“I’ll show you,” Shelly offered.
“No,” Laura screamed, throwing her arms around her sister.
“Very well; I’ll go up alone. Just tell me where your room is.”
“We can sleep in our undies.”
“I can’t sleep without teddy,” Shelly whimpered, and before Laura could offer any more resistance, Marie walked from the room.
That child is really frightened she thought, but when she saw the pool of blood at the end of the stairs she could understand why.
Annie was sat huddled in a corner of the children’s room; her features normal again, now the hatred had subsided. She watched as the old lady rummaged around, pulling open drawers, and taking clothes from them. Annie sensed the woman’s goodness, and she cried out. Marie froze, as the shuddering, sobbing, pain-filled cry echoed around her. She turned and looked around the room. Her first instinct was to run, but when it came again, its pain touched her.
“I’m lost and I’m frightened,” it cried.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Marie heard the words clearly. Picking up the teddy bear, she ran from the room and bundled the children into her car.
“I have to visit with someone,” Marie explained. “And I need you to come with me. “It’s a nice old lady I promised to call on. It’s not far away.”
“I’d rather go to the hospital,” Laura said.
“This is important. It’s something I’m doing for your mother.”
“Oh, OK.” Laura sat back and watched the bushes on the roadside flash by.
“Why were you home from school so early?” Marie asked.
“The heating broke down and everyone was complaining about the cold, so we were sent home.”
“Disgraceful,” Marie snorted. “And they didn’t have the decency to let your mother know.”
“It’s only down the road,” Laura sighed. “We often walk home.”
“Still in this day and age.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Marie had no idea if this was a smart answer, but it sounded decidedly so.
Hillcrest Rest Home was not on a hill, neither did it have any hills around it. It stood, quietly decaying behind rusted gates, that creaked and groaned as they drove past. Even the few trees surrounding it appeared jaded. They hunched and stooped; their branches stripped clean by the late autumn wind. Ivy trailed down the walls and dark roots sprung from the earth and grasped at the building, as though the land wanted to reclaim it; to suck it down so it was no longer an eyesore. The Home itself had seen better centuries. The paint was picked clean from the windows, and the door was so damp, the rotten wood showed through. All the front windows were misted over. There was no answer to Marie’s hesitant knock and the door swung open when Laura pushed against it.
“Phew,” the children cried in unison.
Marie had to agree. It smelt of mould, boiled cabbage, and something much more overpowering.
“It smells of pee,” Laura concluded.
“Is that any way for a young lady to speak,” Marie hushed her, but she had to agree it did smell of urine. It emanated from the faded carpet.
“Hello, is there anyone there?” Marie was bristling now. There was not even a reception desk.
“Paging nurse pissy pants.”
“Will you behave?”
But it was no use Laura and Shelly were too caught up in the joke.
“Hello,” they moved towards a door at the bottom of the stairs. The latch no longer worked, and it swung noiselessly open. They stepped into what was once a sitting room. Although it was early afternoon the light was already starting to fade, and only the embers of a fire lit the room. Chairs were arranged to form a circle and a hunched figure sat on each one.
“I’m frightened,” Shelly whispered.
Marie had to admit the scene before them was surreal. No one moved or spoke. She felt along the wall for a light switch. Even the wallpaper felt damp on her fingers, and relief surged through her, when she felt the cold switch and flicked it down. The light in the centre of the ceiling came on, but the bulb was much too low for such a large area and threw the room into shadow. Still no one moved. It was if they were unaware of the change. Marie looked around at the men and women sitting there and her heart ached, because she saw the despair etched in each face. These were the unwanted people, the ones considered no longer useful to society or their family. They had been sent to this place, this elephant’s graveyard to await their death. She saw the neglect they suffered. Dried food clung to the clothes of the feeblest and stained their faces. Hastily spooned by impatient hands into mouths unable for the load, it was allowed to spill over and lie wherever it landed. Her eyes travelled downwards, and she touched the papery dry skin on the hand nearest to her. It felt dry and cold, but her touch sparked something in its owner, and the old woman looked up and smiled. Then, noticing the two girls hiding behind Marie, she whispered, “children.”
Instantly the others came to life. Those who could heaved themselves up from their chairs and came towards them. Others held out their arms in longing for the softness of a child once more. Marie wanted to ask them where their children were, or what they had done to warrant such a sentence in this awful place. Instead, she urged the girls to speak to the old people, whispering they were lonely and needed someone to talk to. Soon Laura and Shelly overcame their reserve and were telling everyone about their school and their friends, and were no longer afraid of the fingers touching their hair or holding them close.
Marie bent down to the old woman, who was still holding on to her hand as though it was a lifeline and asked. “Do you know which of these women is Miss James?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anybody’s name, my dear.”
“Are you new here?”
“I’ve lost count of the years I’ve been here. I think it’s about ten or more.”
Marie shook her head in disbelief. Ten years and she did not know anyone’s name. This place was surely the nearest thing to Hell.
None of them heard the footsteps on the corridor outside. The door was thrown open and an angry voice asked. “Who turned on the light?”
“I did,” Marie turned to find a grim-faced nurse framed in the doorway.
“Oh, yes, I see,” she became flustered and ran her hands down her stained uniform, trying to brush the filth away. “I don’t like any of the guests to move in case they fall. I’m never far away and they only have to call.”
“I’ve been here for over…” Marie looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes and I’ve tried to attract someone’s attention a number of times.”
“Well, I was probably down in the kitchen preparing supper,” she was growing angry now. No one ever answered her back.
“Are there no other members of staff?”
“I really don’t see why it concerns you, or what business you have here.”
“I am here to see an old friend of my family’s, a Miss James, Emily James.”
“Well, you won’t find her in here.”
“That,” Marie said. “Is blatantly obvious. Where is she?”
For a moment she was afraid Miss James was dead until the nurse, deciding she was obviously trouble and it was best to let her have her way, gestured towards the ceiling.
“She’s upstairs. She has become very weak over the past few weeks, so she spends most of her time in bed. If you follow me, I will take you to her room, but I have to say I’m not one bit happy about this intrusion. I do not even know you and have only your word as to who you are. After all, you could be anyone.”
“Yes, your right. I could be anyone; even the health inspector.”
“Are you threatening me? I run this place in accordance with nursing home regulations.”
“Then believe me those so-called regulations need to be revised. But, since I have business elsewhere and have neither the time nor the inclination to bandy words with you, I would appreciate seeing Miss James.”
“Follow me,” she turned, then stopped and glared at the girls. “And another thing. I don’t like children running all over the place.”
“We’re not running,” Laura stood with hands on hips. “We’re just standing here, talking.”
“See that you stay that way. I don’t want you tripping up one of the guests.”
Laura threw her eyes to heaven and answered with the customary, “Whatever.”
Marie put her finger to her lips and Laura shrugged, resigned to having to do as she was told.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marie said. “Stay here.”
As she followed the nurse outside and closed the door as well as the faulty catch allowed, she became aware of the buzz of conversation inside. In dawned on her, as she climbed the stairs, her feet making squelching noises on the dirty, sticky carpet, there was total silence once the nurse appeared. The old people were afraid of her. Well, she would see about that later. She had made many useful contacts in her years as a legal secretary and the health board would hear about this place.
The upstairs was colder than below, and the low lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of the long, door lined corridor.
“In here,” the nurse threw open a door and stood aside to allow Marie to pass. “There’s a lamp beside the bed,” was her parting shot, as she slammed the door and the room was plunged into darkness.
For a moment, the only sound was the beating of her heart, then a small voice asked.
“Is someone there?”
“It’s all right, Miss. James,” she started to edge her way across the room. “I’m a friend. I’ve come to visit you.”
The outline of a bed appeared, and she felt her way along it.
“But I haven’t any friends,” the voice had an edge of fear.
“It’s all right. I promise. I have come from your old home. Can you turn on the light for me?”
“I can’t reach that far.”
Marie knew if she did not locate the lamp soon the old woman would start to cry. Her hand knocked against a glass and a couple of things fell from the overcrowded bedside cabinet. Like the rest of the lights in the Home the wattage in the bulb was extremely low, but it was enough for her to see the old woman who lay propped up on a nest of stained pillows. Tiny care worn hands clutched the faded bedclothes and her eyes, like all the other prisoners in this place, had the same hopeless look.
“It’s all right,” Marie whispered. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I’ll help if I can, my dear.”
To her horror Marie realised the woman’s breath made small white clouds as she spoke. The adrenaline rush from the fright of being left in the darkness made her oblivious to the cold, but now she shivered in the damp air.
“It gets very cold here in the evenings,” the old woman noticed her discomfort.
“I expect it’s cold here most of the time?”
Marie looked around the room at the faded carpet, the peeling wallpaper, and the patches of damp on the ceiling.
“Of course, you’re right. This really is the most dreadful place.”
Realising she hadn’t introduced herself; Marie told the woman her name and was rewarded with an outstretched hand so small and delicate that she was afraid it would break at her touch. But the grasp as she folded her fingers over it, was surprisingly strong and the smile the old woman gave her as she insisted, she call her Emily, took the anguish from her face making her appear younger. Marie explained the reason she was there.
“Do you have any idea what’s happening? I thought you might know something of the house’s history. Can you remember anything?”
Emily’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and Marie was worried she’d upset her; so reaching out she patted the old woman’s hand.
“So, she is back, is she? Poor child.”
The fine hairs on Marie’s neck prickled.
“Who, who’s back?”
As though she had not heard, Emily asked. “Is it that cur, O Brien that’s living there?”
“Yes, the family name is O Brien. Liam was your solicitor.”
“Yes, I remember him well enough. He cheated me you know. But he will get his comeuppance now, by God he will.”
“Who is she? She asked again. “Why is she here; can you remember?”
Emily answered in a tired, sad voice.
“Many things blur over a lifetime and get forgotten. But there are some tales belong to you. They stand out in your mind and are so powerful they chill the blood and wake you screaming in the darkness.”
With this she started her story. Told Marie the history of the house. How it started out as a humble cottage and was added on to as the family fortunes improved. Marie listened enthralled as Emily told her of Annie’s fate and the curse, she had placed on the O Brien’s.
“We have all heard the legend of the Banshee. There’s not one true Irish man who hasn’t.”
Marie nodded and waited for her to continue.
“Well that’s what O Brien has, his own private Banshee who’s wandered throughout the centuries trying to find peace. The O Brien’s were rogues back then and they are still the same today. I take it he’s without heir?”
“There are two children, girls. They’re downstairs now,” she explained about Cora’s accident and how the children came to be in her care.
“That’s what’s causing her to rise. A son would’ve saved him.”
“My God,” Marie was horrified. “Then she’ll kill him?”
“It’s the only way she’ll ever rest, but in doing so she’ll destroy any hope of salvation. If she takes his life, then she loses her soul. But she’s wise, and I pray that during her long years she’s learned to forgive and will let him live out his allotted time.”
“Was she an ancestor?”
“I’m descended from Rose, her sister.”
“What am I to do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. To warn him would be a waste of time. She is not tied to the house. She can rise in the air and be carried on the breeze. So, you see it is useless, she’ll seek him out.”
A noise at the door made them turn. Laura, who had grown tired of waiting crept up in search of Marie.
“Laura, come here.”
“Were you talking about Annie,” Laura asked.
“Have you seen her, child?” Emily sat up straight in the bed.
“Yes, I’ve seen her when she’s pretty, and I’ve seen her when she’s ugly.”
“She changes? Marie asked.
“Yes, when she gets angry, she looks like a monster. She was like that when Mam fell down the stairs. I saw her and she saw me.”
“Then nothing’s changed,” Emily sighed. “The hatred she felt is still there.”
The clattering of a trolley on the corridor outside announced the arrival of Emily’s supper. A blowsy, hard-faced woman came through the door with a tray. This she dumped on Emily’s lap and without a word to her or her visitors walked away. All three of them stared in disgust at the food on the plate. A cremated sausage, two pale, fat slices of bacon and a half-buttered slice of brown bread, to be washed down with milky tea from a chipped mug.
“Are you very ill?” Laura asked.
“I’m not ill at all, just heartbroken. I took care of the big house you are living in on my own up to a few months ago. You’ve seen the others downstairs?”
“Yes, they’re a bit creepy,” Laura pretended to shiver.
“The walking dead I call them. I pretend I am ill, so I don’t have to sit there and stare into space. I’ve no time for the old.”
“But you are old. You must be a hundred.”
“Laura, please,” Marie scolded.
“Out of the mouths of babes, eh,” Emily laughed.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “My teacher says I have the most annoying habit of saying exactly what I think. It gets me in terrible trouble.”
“I should think it does,” Emily smiled. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Laura hugged her. She liked this small, old woman with the white hair and crinkly smile.
Oh, you’re still here,” they hadn’t heard the nurse come in.
She looked down at the tray of uneaten food.
“Not hungry Miss. James?” Without waiting for an answer, she scooped up the tray and started to walk away. “Please don’t be much longer,” she said to Marie. “I don’t want you tiring Miss James.”
“What she means is she doesn’t want you poking your nose in here,” Emily whispered. “And supper will be kept for my breakfast.”
“Oh, gross,” Laura pulled a face. “I’d die if I lived here.”
“That is what will happen, I afraid. I’ll fade away and die.”
“No, I won’t allow it,” Marie walked to the wardrobe and started to rifle through it. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, dear, but…”
“Get dressed,” Marie tossed some clothes on the bed,” I’ll pack your things.”
The agility at which Emily sprang from the bed was amazing.
“You’ll come home with me,” Marie told her, as she folded and stacked the woman’s few personal belongings into a suitcase she found on top of the wardrobe. “We’ll figure something out. Come along Laura. Let us leave Miss. James to dress in peace.”
“I’ll go and get Shelly,” Laura ran ahead, and Marie followed carrying the suitcase.
“What have you got in that suitcase?” The nurse stood at the end of the stairs.
“Miss. James’s clothes. She’s coming home with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“If need be.”
“She was placed in my care because she was unable to look after herself.”
“I’ll be looking after her from now on. Move aside,” Marie nudged her with the suitcase, but she stood firm.
“I mean it. She is not leaving here. I’ll call the police.”
“Marie, dear, “Emily was standing at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps it’s best to leave me here.”
“You’re not staying in this awful place. Do not worry. I have seen the papers that committed you. They won’t stand up in court,” turning back to the nurse she ordered. “Get out of my way.”
“You’re not taking her.”
Marie handed the suitcase to Laura. Though she had never in her life been involved in any physical confrontations, she was ready to do battle with the woman. She walked down the last two steps and stood facing her, so close their noses almost touched.
“Kick her ass,” Laura cheered.
“Not only will I do as the child asked,” Marie warned her adversary. “But when I’m finished, I’ll drag you through every court in the land.”
Shelly, who was drawn out by the argument added. “My Dad’s a solicitor. He’ll put you in jail.”
This weakened the nurse’s resolve.
“Very well,” she stepped away. “But you’ll sign for her. I’ll not be responsible once she steps foot outside.”
“Help Miss James to the car,” Marie told the girls. “I’ll be right out.”
The nurse’s office consisted of a desk and a filing cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. The stench was worse here, a dirty butcher shop smell.
“Sign this and she’s yours,” this was said as though Emily was a piece of lost luggage
Marie filled in the appropriate details and walked away. Out in the hallway an old woman leaning on a Zimmer frame came hobbling towards her.
“Are you taking her home?”
“Yes,” Marie answered. “I’m taking her home.”
“I’m glad,” the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “No one should have to die in a place like this.”
Marie leaned down, stroked her cheek, and watched her eyes light up as she said.
“I’m coming back. I promise you that much. Things are going to change.”
It was pitch black when she stepped outside. The wind whipped up and leaves whirled around her as she ran to the car. It looked as though it was going to be a bad night. She turned the key and the engine sprang to life. Switching the car heater to its highest setting, she leaned across and patted Emily’s hands. “You’ll soon be warm.”
“Thank you, my dear. I was feeling a little cold.”
“And we’re starving to death,” Laura’s voice came from behind.
“My apartment’s nearby. We’ll soon be there, and I’ll fix dinner. A proper dinner,” Marie winked at Emily.
The car headlights cut the dark as Marie guided it over the rumbling cattle grid and out through the gates of Hillcrest. The first splatters of rain hit the windscreen as she turned onto the main road and headed for home.
The piece of ceramic was stuck to Cora’s fingers, so she had to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. It was useless, shattered beyond repair. She gathered the pieces into her cupped hand and dropped them into the kitchen bin. The blue of the Virgin’s veil was still visible, even in the dark recess of the black, plastic liner. The glue made webs of her fingers, and she walked to the sink. The warm water and liquid soap did little to remove it, and she knew it would take days before she managed to pick it free. Even the cloth she used to wipe the table down stuck to her fingers.
“Stupid thing,” she pulled it free, but it left pieces of cotton behind.
She sat at the table and slowly lifted the material from her skin. The tears splashing on her hand surprised her. She had not realised she was crying again. But then, she was always crying. It was a sort of sick hobby and gave her something to do during the long nights when her children lay asleep, and her husband lay, God knows where.
It took little to put him in bad humour, and since they moved into the new house, his temper was worse. She knew the renovations were costing him a fortune, but she played no part in his decisions. He chose the house and uprooted them from everyone they knew. Now they would be made to pay if anything went wrong. It was so unfair. She tried to be a good wife, a good mother, but nothing she did ever pleased him. Her stomach rumbled and she brought her hand down to soothe it. She had not eaten since breakfast and she gone without dinner the night before, as she hated to eat in front of him. It only gave him an excuse to mock her.
“Still going to your fat class?” He would say, scorning her attempts at slimming.
Her eyes strayed to the bin in the corner. Tonight, she really upset him. The holy water font was a farewell present from her neighbours, who all knew of her commitment to her faith and she hung it inside the front door. The sight of it sent Liam into a rage, and she had to block her ears and thank God the children were asleep. He cursed her for her bad taste, as he hurled the font onto the marble floor, and she groaned aloud, as the images of mother and child exploded at her feet. Not done with cursing her, he cursed her religion, the day he met her and the ideals of a judgemental society that kept him tied to her.
Then he stormed off and left her crouched on the hall floor, picking up the pieces.
It was late now; well past midnight, and she was weary. The kitchen, yet untouched, grew colder. Outside the autumn wind sent leaves scuttling across the windows and she shivered. The lighting was much too low for a room that size, and threw the corners into trembling, threatening shadows. She frightened herself with images of dark cowled figures lurking there. It was time for bed. She rose and switched off the light, not daring to look back into the darkness. The grand chandelier in the hall was restored to its former glory and its crystals cast diamond shapes on the floor beneath. Small replicas hung from the walls and it was these lighted the stairs. They would be left burning until Liam returned home if he returned.
The stained-glass window was cleaned, and she stopped at the gallery rail and looked at it. They had been in the house for over a month and she was still in awe of the scene it depicted. A young girl with flowing dark hair who held out her hands before her in what Cora imagined, was a vain attempt to ward off the great advancing beast.
“Poor child,” she whispered and brought her hand once again to her stomach, nauseous now from lack of food.
It was past eight when she woke the next morning. Liam’s side of the bed lay smooth and untouched. She groaned and rolled onto her side. It was another Saturday and at least there was no school run, and no hoards of workmen around the place. Running her fingers through her hair, she kicked off the covers and went to rise. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, and she ran for the bathroom with a hand clasped over her mouth. There was little in her stomach, and her body shook as she retched. Her quivering fingers sought out the washbasin, and she managed to locate a face towel. She wiped the bile from her lips and sat shivering on the bare floor.
“Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”
“Who’ll kill you, Mam?” Laura stood in the doorway.
Cora eased her way up and held onto the washbasin for support.
“It’s nothing. I am just being silly. I’ve been sick on the new paintwork.”
“He can’t kill you for that.”
“No, I told you I was being silly.”
They walked back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Cora was still shaking from the shock and glad of the warmth of her daughter’s body. The girls were going to a birthday party this afternoon, so she could rest then. Although she hadn’t had a period in over five months, she assumed herself her swollen stomach was because of her strict diet or fluid retention and the slight fluttering within, nerves Anyway, she was probably blowing it all out of proportion. It was a bug of some sort. It had to be.
The house was quiet when she returned from dropping the girls off. Liam had obviously gone on one of his binges, so it could be days before he returned home. She secretly enjoyed these times. When he was away, they had more fun, more freedom and she did not feel as uptight. Her thoughts strayed to the paper bag in her purse.
The white plastic cylinder of the pregnancy test lay on the sink top. She stood and walked to the basin but avoided looking down in case the blue line showed. Was it just the light she wondered, as she studied her reflection in the mirror; made her look old and the circles under her eyes so dark? She glanced down towards the test kit. The blue line showed clear against the white background. The realisation made her stomach turn, and she had to take deep breaths to still the nausea. Beyond tears, she dumped the cylinder in the waste bin and staggered towards the bedroom. She felt trapped, and pulled at the neck of her jumper, gasping for air. She had to get out.
It had grown colder. A biting wind hurried clouds, swollen with the promise of rain, across a darkening sky. The garden lay grey and wind-swept before her. This was the first time she had walked there. The plot of land on either side of the house was huge, but it was impossible to judge the size of the back garden, even from the upstairs windows. It was so overgrown, and, in a way, she was glad of this. At least Liam had not infected it with any of his ideas. Large thorn bushes blocked her way and she tugged the branches aside, pricking and scratching her hands in the process. Some caught in her hair, and she pulled them free uncaring of the tufts left behind in the struggle. She made her way towards the trees at the end of the garden. Something told her she would be safe there, and free from prying eyes. Once through the tangle of branches she found herself in a clearing. The grass was waist high, but there was a small, uneven footpath, so she picked her way along the large stones. She was sweating, despite the cold and her heart thudded painfully. She felt hunted and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following.
The land continued onwards for she guessed about four acres. Her legs shook and a couple of times she thought she would collapse. Now, on the border of the garden and the wood, she stopped and rested her forehead against a stout tree trunk.
“Oh, thank you,” she whispered to the wood, glad of its firmness in a day that was fast becoming surreal.
There was no sound other than the sighing of the breeze. Deep shadows cloaked the woods, and she knew it would be foolish to venture further. The light was fading, but she felt safe here hidden by the trees. Her thoughts were interrupted as a light was switched on upstairs in the house. Its beam cut a pathway through the gloom, and she knew Liam was home.
“What will I do?” she asked.
She looked around, searching for the answer on the darkening air. Sentinel spirits, who had watched throughout time, heard her anguished question and whispered to one another. The wind suddenly whipped up again and skimmed across the grass parting it before her. It was then she noticed the top of the tombstone. The wind blew stronger catching at her clothes and pushing her towards it. The stone, what she could see of it, was blackened and scarred. The writing if there was an inscription, was hidden. Her movements were dreamlike as she knelt and pulled aside centuries of leaf mould. There was something carved there, but it was faded and hard to read in the dim light. She used a twig to poke away old spider cocoons and bits of dried mud. When the carvings were clear, she traced her fingers across each letter and spelled out the words. “Annie Ryan aged 17. Dora Ryan aged 6. September 1653. In restless sleep.
“So young,” Cora whispered
She glanced across the garden towards the house where Liam would be waiting, and her hand went instantly to her stomach.
“What’s this?” Liam held the test tube in front of her.
It was so close she smelt the chemicals and urine inside it. Her stomach lurched, her throat contracted, as she answered.
“I had to do a pregnancy test.”
“Why?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“How the fuck can you be pregnant?”
She did not bother to answer.
“I mean, when?” He dropped the tube into the bin and ran his hands through his hair.
“About five months, I think.”
“Really, he smirked, “And how drunk was I at the time?”
“Please, Liam,” she tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.
“Get rid of it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get rid of it.”
“This is a child, your child.”
“I don’t care. I told you I didn’t want any more children.”
“It might be a boy,” she pleaded.
“It might also be a girl. I do not really care what it is. Get rid of it.”
“No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”
She tried to run, but he caught her hair and dragged her back.
“You had better do as I say or God himself won’t save you.”
“I won’t kill my child,” she stabbed at his hand and felt her nails slice into his skin.
“Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.
She stumbled, but managed to keep upright and then she ran, down the stairs out the main door and back through the thicket of branches, uncaring of the thorns reefing her face. The trees in the wood seemed to be spreading their branches wider, willing her to come to them. She stopped when she reached them and hid. So far there was no sign of Liam. Her face stung and she winched when she felt the puckered skin. She knew she had no choice but to return to the house. The girls were being brought home by their friend’s mother, and she would have to be there to shield them from their father’s temper. Still, there was plenty of time, so she walked a little further. She had not intended to return to the tombstone, but now she was beside it. Her heart ached when she remembered the ages of the girls’ buried there, and she sank to the ground.
“What will I do,” she whispered. “He wants me to kill my child.”
She thought of her aged parents and decided against troubling them. There was no one else. Though she had always been frightened of Liam, that fear was tangible. This new terror took her breath away.
“But I won’t do it. No matter what he says or does. I won’t let anything happen to this child.”
The tears that were threatening spilled over, and she laid her head against the tombstone.
“I’m frightened,” she sobbed. “God help me, I’m so frightened.”
The loud laughter of children drifted towards her on the quiet air and she knew her daughters had returned. Wiping the tears from her face, she forced a smile and walked back to the house. This time she was ready to do battle.
The children were full of stories about the party. They were over stimulated, and it was difficult to get them to settle that night. Even Laura, who was caught up with news of her friends, failed to notice her mother’s pale, tear-streaked face. Cora was glad when they finally drifted off to sleep. Liam locked himself in the study and she was spared his anger for now. She showered and got ready for bed. With a little luck he would sleep elsewhere. The moon was shining bright enough to light the room, so she left the curtains open. She lay huddled beneath the covers and prayed harder than she had ever done. From far away she heard the creaking of floorboards and the heavy footfalls on the stairs.
Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“I’ll be sleeping in the spare room from now on,” he said, then unsure if she was awake. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good and I meant what I said. Get rid of it.”
Cora started to cry once the door closed.
Liam pulled a duvet and pillows from the linen cupboard. He would have a makeshift bed that night but, in the morning, she could make up the room properly. He was sick of his wife, sick of her holier than thou attitude.
Later, when the night grew deeper and the things belonging to the dark were about, something stirred. Deep beneath the earth an ancient soul heard Cora’s tears for her unborn child and started digging its way towards the surface.
Her body continued to burn throughout the day. The sight of her smouldering corpse met Meg and Pat when they rode into the village that evening, and it was one, they would never forget. Annie’s blackened figure hung amid the embers of the fire. The spear held it in place.
The children were asleep in the back of the cart and spared the terrible sight, but Meg and Pat were inconsolable. A shadowy figure moved from the shelter of the mill and stumbled towards them.
“I threw the spear,” the young guard sobbed.
“You…” Pat cried, catching him by the throat.
“I had to; she was cursed to feel each flame.”
Pat looked at him uncomprehending, and it was only when Meg pulled at his arm, he released the boy.
“Let him be, Pat. He put her out of her agony.”
The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.
“I worked all day putting the fire out.”
“Where is he,” Pat asked. “This man, Tanas?”
“He disappeared before she died.”
“And the O Brien’s and the rest of the village?”
“They fled in terror.”
“They will have more to fear than the Devil when I find them.”
The sound of Meg retching made them run to her aid. She could no longer bear the sight of the burnt corpse, or the smell of cooked meat pervading the air.
“Take us home,” she beseeched Pat. “Take us to Annie’s cottage.”
“She will need a Christian burial.”
“You can come back when the cart’s unloaded and bring her home. The embers are still too hot and there is no hurry now. Just take us away.”
She had to be lifted onto the cart. The very life seemed to have drained from her, and she sat in a stupor for the rest of their journey.
The cottage looked dark and deserted. A melancholic breeze sighed among the trees. Even the little pool beside the cottage was covered with green slime. Nature itself mourned the passing of one so good.
The sleeping children were carried inside and put to bed. Meg took some wood from the stack beside the hearth and lit a fire. Even its comforting light did nothing to dispel the gloom. Pat brought water from the well, filled the kettle and swung the arm over the fire.
“I will make you some tea.”
Meg slumped into a chair and watched the leaping flames. Pat realised, for the first time, how old and frail she really was. They sat in silence until steam hissed from the spout, and the water threatened to boil over.
“My God, my God, why hath thou forsaken me?”
The hair on Pat’s neck rose at her whispered question, and he gulped back the tears. This was his fault; he knew something was brewing.
“You are not to blame.”
Her words startled him.
“Sit down,” she pointed to the chair opposite hers.
Pat handed her the tea and sat down. He was glad of the solidness of the wood beneath him. It was the only thing that seemed real. He held the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips, and he noticed how Meg’s hand trembled also.
“This is not a time for blame,” her eyes seemed to bore into him. “Nor a time for revenge.”
“I do not understand. What happened?”
“Annie, Lord rest her soul,” Meg continued, then stopped suddenly as the sound of the familiar name pierced her heart. She allowed the cup to slide from her grasp and it shattered on the stone floor.
Pat could do nothing to help. The tears that were threatening spilled over, and he was forced to hold a hand over his mouth, least the sound of his anguish wake the children.
“Come now,” Meg managed to rouse herself. “There is much to be done and plenty of time for grieving in the months ahead.”
Pat wiped the tears from his face.
“Take your cart to the store and unload it, then bring Annie and Dora home.”
“Dora?”
“Dora is dead. I felt her spark die before Annie’s.”
She rose and motioned him to do the same. He was afraid to leave her alone and told her so, but she knew the danger was past. The Dark One was vanquished. There was nothing left for him there.
The young guard was keeping watch over Annie’s body, and it was with his help, Pat managed to take her down. She felt warm to touch, and he moaned when he realised the pieces of ash falling from her was skin. They placed her in a blanket and loaded her onto the cart. Still the village lay in silence. No dogs barked; no lights showed in any of the windows.
“There was a child, a little girl…”
“They buried her outside the chapel wall,” the guard told him. “I can show you where.”
Pat led the horse along the village street. The sound of its hoofs shattered the quiet. Clip—clop, they rang through the silent night.
It was easy to find the small, unmarked grave. Burial outside the chapel walls was a fate reserved only for suicides, witches, and stillborn babies. The guard went inside and returned with two spades, the property of the gravediggers. Dora was not buried very deep, and the earth was dry and easy to dig. She was wrapped only in a blanket. Pat threw this aside and cried out when he saw the condition of her body. The stench made him draw back and he gagged at the raw, rotten smell of her decay. When he lifted her from the dank earth, her hair that was hiding her face, fell back, the moon lighted upon her, and he gasped at the beauty and serenity of her features. Despite the marks on her body, death left no sign of suffering.
The young guard, who introduced himself as Tom O Shea, offered to make the coffins and help with the grave digging. Pat accepted with a nod, and Tom climbed up onto the seat beside him. Meg came out to meet the cart. Pat stopped her from pulling back the blankets shrouding Annie and Dora.
“It is best to remember them as they were.”
They spent the rest of the night in the woodshed fashioning makeshift coffins from pieces of timber.
At dawn they buried Annie and Dora side by side, in the farthest corner of the property. A light rain fell as Pat and Tom filled the hole. A wind blew up, and it seemed as though the trees were bowing over the grave; paying homage to one who was a part of the forest.
“Should they be in consecrated ground?” Pat looked at the mound.
“Anywhere she lies is blessed,” Meg wiped her tears and turned to go. “The children will be awake soon and there is a lot of explaining to do.”
It was a solemn procession that walked back to the cottage that morning.
Meg, Pat, and the children stayed on at Annie’s cottage. More rooms were added to make way for the growing children. Pat’s business prospered, though it was whispered he was never the same after Annie died. Meg did her best at being mother to Rose, Paul, and Lily, but the loss of her loved ones took their toll. She spent hours beside the grave each day talking and whispering about old times. Flowers grew in abundance and covered the mound watered by Meg and Pat’s tears.
Slowly the seasons passed, and it was soon winter again. The sky was dark with the promise of snow when Meg set off to collect kindling from within the forest. There was no need for her to do this, as Pat had a woman come in and help with the housework, but it kept her busy and her mind from tormented thoughts. It was reported Mary O Brien was dying. Some said it was from a broken heart, but Meg knew it was from vexation.
The holly bushes were heavy with berries, a sure sign of a hard winter. Lord, I am tired Meg thought, as she stooped to pick up a stick. A cold wind stirred the trees above her, and she gathered her shawl tighter and was about to turn for home, when she heard it, a long, mournful cry that froze her blood. Meg listened as its volume increases and tore at her heart.
She allowed the sticks to fall, as she followed the sound. It took her way beyond the forest and into the village. Every window and door were locked, as the villagers tried to escape the cry. Her search took her to the O Brien’s house, where Hugh’s ashen face appeared at the window. Annie stood in the garden; Annie as beautiful as she had once been. The wind whipped her hair around her and carried her cries with it. Those who heard it would describe it as a keening, a ghostly lament for the dead.
Annie, Annie child,” Meg leant on the gatepost, her eyes blinded by tears.
“Do not come near me, Meg,” Annie sobbed, her cries rising and falling. “I am cursed to walk the earth until the end of his line.”
“I will find a way to help you, child,” Meg walked towards her. “Let me take you in my arms.”
“You cannot, Meg. You will die. I am death to all who touch me.” Annie floated towards the house and sat upon the windowsill.
Her crying continued unabated until dawn. Meg sat on the steps to the house praying and never taking her eyes from Annie’s face. The sounds she made were frightening, and Meg prayed, asking God for some relief for the child. Snow began to fall at first light. Soft flakes at first, but it soon came faster swirling about the village, covering everything.
“I have to go,” Annie called to Meg. “She is dead.”
“Where will you go?”
Annie’s eyes opened wide in terror. “I belong to the night. I lie shrouded in darkness. Help me, Meg.”
Sheets of snow blinded Meg, as she fought her way towards where Annie sat. But she was gone, fading into the air. The last thing Meg heard was her crying. “It is not fair; I am so frightened. Help me, Meg.”
gemmamawdsley 