The Banshee (8 page)

David started the car. “Maybe you're right but I should tell him anyway. I don't think he has any other leads.”

“He's going to lock you up as an insane hysteric,” she said, facing him. “It's only a story, a legend, a stupid horror tale. Why don't you drop it?”

“Why are you so upset?”

She returned to peering straight ahead. “I'm sorry. I just think you'll make a fool of yourself and get in trouble digging up graves because an old senile woman tells you it's the thing to do.”

“Let's leave it up to the Chief,” David offered. “If he thinks I'm crazy I'll drop it, okay? I just feel this is a real danger, not some neurotic threat from a senile woman's imagination.”

She placed her hand into his hair and shook his head, smiling. “Okay, crazy man, take me home. Will I see you tonight at Kelly's or will you need bail money?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he said.

When David entered the office, Keith was at his desk reading the doctor's official death reports. He held them up. “Your Uncle's preliminary reports…ugly business.”

David nodded in agreement. “Is the Chief around? I'd like a word with him.”

“He's at the cemetery attending Cathy Collins's funeral.” Keith exhaled deeply. “Andy's is tomorrow.”

“You and Andy were close?” David asked.

“He was a good pal, there when you needed him. Wish I could have been there for him.”

There was an uneasy silence for a moment as Keith reflected over his friendship with Andy. He sighed heavily again. “You can wait for the Chief here if you like?”

David knew he was pretending to search for a file to hide the tear rolling across his cheek.

“I'll drive out to the cemetery and see if I can catch him there,” David replied, knowing what he had to say was ridiculous and he would rather just have the Chief laughing at him.

“Suit yourself,” answered Keith, not looking as David closed the door quietly behind him.

David was nervous driving toward the cemetery. He kept repeating the scenario over in his mind, the strange explanation he was going to use for the murders caused by a three hundred year old witch.

He hoped the Chief would at least allow him to finish before ordering him to go home and sleep it off. If his theory were true, he would feel terrible if more deaths happened and he had not said anything, no matter how it made him look.

He turned onto a short paved driveway leading to the parking area next to the white church. The lot was full to capacity with vehicles. The horrible death of a young child brought out the town to say goodbye. The service was nearing an end as David parked alongside the church.

He walked past the rectory and an area where old headstones, chipped and cracked, some tipped or split in half were contained; an ancient burial ground of citizens past. A large stone near the rear had the impression of a crucifix etched into it, and the faint inscription denoting the resting place of Deacon Jonathan O'Connell.

Cathy Collins's service was in the newer area, on the opposite side of the rectory. David walked along the crushed stone walkway lined with weeds and entered the new section just as the service ended. Mike Collins stood with his arm around his wife, consoling her. Tears flowed freely from their eyes. Mark stood by their side, watching the progress of the funeral with a far away stare. He took his mother's hand and cried uncontrollably when Father Ahern sprinkled a handful of dirt onto the casket.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Let us pray…”

A low murmur filtered over the burial ground as the gathered group prayed in whispered unison. David found the Chief and stood beside him. He noticed how pale and tired Murphy was and began to have second thoughts about bothering this man with his foolishness.

The prayer ended. An electric motor hummed as it slowly lowered the coffin into the grave. Father Ahern continued to whisper prayers and sprinkle the coffin with holy water. He then escorted the family to their car, holding Mrs. Collins's arm, explaining how God works in mysterious ways.

Cathy was now safe away from evil on earth.

The service was over. The crowd solemnly began to leave; some looked one last time at the coffin, others tossed flowers onto it. Many wept, some shook their heads in disbelief. Chief Murphy noticed David next to him.

“Damn shame, young and innocent, her life taken away so brutally. Nothing left but a destroyed family.”

“Death is never an easy thing to understand or accept,” remarked David.

“No, it's not.” Murphy walked towards his car. “By the way, tell your Uncle thanks for the quick work on the reports.”

David spoke thinking it now or never. “I'd like to speak with you a moment if I could.”

“Can't it wait? I have a lead on whatever it was that killed the Collins girl and Andy. I'd like to try and find it before it kills again.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about, who committed those murders, but I'm afraid you'll lock me in a padded cell,” David blurted out.

The Chief stopped abruptly, looking straight ahead. David came to a halt behind him, not knowing what was next. He spoke softly.

“What I have to say is going to sound bizarre, out-of-this-world, crazy in the head. You're going to think I'm hallucinating.”

Murphy turned, his face serious, eyes searching. “What's going to sound crazy?”

“Well,” David began, coughing to clear his throat and waiting for the Chief to toss cuffs around his wrist. “You heard of the legend of Isabel Shea, the witch?”

“Who hasn't?” Murphy was not yet laughing or turning away.

“I think…I mean, do you think…maybe somehow…she has come back?”

There, he said it. It was out and now all he had to do was stop the Chief from laughing himself to death or arresting him for being a public fool in the daytime. Murphy looked down at the walkway.

“I spoke to Mrs. Toomey about the curse.” David felt he was pressing his luck. “She feels Isabel's spirit has been raised by Satan worshippers and controlling a beast from Hell. She advised me to look in Isabel's grave to make sure her remains are there and not those of a sacrificed person.”

Murphy remained silent. His thoughts whirled in the possibilities and of the absurdness of the suggestion, a three hundred year old witch back for vengeance.

He shook his head, trying to lose the bizarre notion from his mind but it remained, clinging by visions of the recent murders and the beast at the field. Their eyes finally met.

“You're not laughing?” David stated.

“It's not funny,” Murphy answered. “I thought you might be off your rocker until the part about the beast. I saw it last night.”

“You saw it!” David spoke loudly, realizing his theory had merit, the evidence of which was seen by the police Chief himself. “Where, what did it look like, where did it go?”

“Slow down,” Murphy said, making sure no one had heard. “We have to keep this under wraps, at least until it can be confirmed. We could both be put away for thinking like this.”

He told David about the creature he had seen and lost near the Oak tree on the field.

“The Oak tree, that's near the grave,” David stated.

“If I didn't see that thing, I wouldn't give you the time of day with this story. Let's have a look at that grave,” Murphy said.

The Chief went to his patrol car and sat inside. David went to the passenger side. Neither spoke as the car left the cemetery, headed for the grave of Wexford's urban legend.

* * * *

Murphy took a shovel from the trunk and began digging by the boulder David guessed as the marker, it was in the area of Mrs. Toomey's recollection of the graves location.

“The soil is loose, dug up recently.” Murphy easily pushed the shovel into the soft earth and piled it into a growing mound.

“I don't know if that's good or bad,” David stated, watching the Chief shovel.

“It strengthens your theory,” responded the Chief, now knee-deep in the shallow trench. He handed David the shovel. “Your turn.”

Taking the shovel, David replaced Murphy in the hole. After removing a few more inches of earth, he struck something.

“There's a body, but I don't think it's been here three days, never mind three hundred years, and no rope round the neck either.”

“Definitely a new corpse,” Murphy added, studying the apparent discovery of yet another victim. He did not notice the odor as David did. “It still has some flesh.”

“I think I'm going to barf.” David swallowed several times while still cleaning off the body as best he could with a shovel. Then he thought his heart would stop. The woman of his dreams lay at his feet in Isabel's grave. The gashed throat and strands of chestnut hair on the decomposing skull, it was her.

“My God, Chief. That's the woman I have seen several times in a reoccurring dream, she was trying to tell me…” David turned noticing Murphy pale and staggering, his eyes wide staring at the corpse. “What's the matter?”

He stepped from the grave, embracing the shaken Chief. Murphy watched a centipede slither from an empty eye socket.

“My…my wi…wife,” he stuttered then collapsed.

When Murphy awoke, his head rested on a pillow; his mind twirled. He heard a voice. “How are you feeling?”

Murphy squinted, focusing on the doctor standing nearby. “I feel lousy. Where am I?”

“My sofa,” Carl answered. “David brought you here after you collapsed. You had quite a shock. The condition you've let yourself get into lately hasn't helped.”

Murphy tried to sit up but the room began to rotate.

“You need some food. I'll make something,” Carl said.

Murphy heard the cling of dishes and glassware from the other side of the kitchen door. He studied the living room. There were photographs on the end table of a young David with another man and woman. On the wall across the room from the fireplace hung a trophy boar head the doctor had taken during an Arkansas hunting trip. Below it, the rifle which no doubt took its life.

The sun's brightness had left the sky and darkness was converging on the town. He had no idea of the time. His watch, wallet, and revolver were on a small table by the front door.

Carl re-entered the room with a tray containing sandwiches, clam chowder, and coffee. “Here we are.”

The two men quietly enjoyed the late lunch when David entered through the front door. “How are you feeling, Chief?” he asked.

“Better.”

David helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat on the recliner under the boar's head. “This may be a bad time to ask but how did you know that was your wife?”

“Do you have to know now?” asked his Uncle. “The man has been through a terrible ordeal.”

Murphy raised a hand as a signal David's inquiry was all right. “I don't blame him. I am loaded with questions too.”

“I'm sorry, Chief, your wife was in a dream I've had more than once. I think she was trying to tell me something but I never figured it out.”

“I saw the arrow shaped birthmark on her shoulder,” Murphy explained.

“Think it has anything to do with Isabel's spirit?” asked David.

Carl coughed, almost spitting out his coffee. “Isabel's spirit? Are you referring to the witch from that old wife's tale? What the hell are you saying, David?”

Murphy and David looked at each other, then filled Carl in on what they felt may be the cause of the murders around town.

“Are you two out of your minds?” Carl said sarcastically. “That's a myth for Chrissake. You actually think a ghost and her pet creature are ripping people apart?”

“So far the evidence would verify it,” Murphy stated.

Carl sat looking into his coffee, trying to come to grips with this revelation. The three of them remained quiet, reflecting on recent events and trying to find some factor that would prove their theory wrong. They could not find one. All three had the same conclusion: Isabel was back. The doorbell rang.

“What a nice surprise,” Carl said, allowing Father Ahern to enter.

“Gentlemen,” the priest said, entering.

“Here, Father.” David stood offering the priest his chair.

“Thank you,” he said, sinking into the comfortable recliner.

“What can I do for you, is everything all right?” asked Carl.

“The question should be what can I do for you? I was asked to stop in by David.”

Murphy and Carl both glanced at David who shrugged and said, “I didn't see the harm in seeking some spiritual guidance concerning the problem we're faced with. It is an evil entity so who better to ask for help? I also informed the Father of the discovery of your wife.”

“I am very sorry to hear of Colleen,” Father Ahern said, placing a hand on Murphy's arm, “I am also sorry to inform you of another questionable death; Bernie Davis at the gas station this morning. His assistant thought the lift had collapsed, crushing him, but it seems there was no car on the lift. Your officer, Keith, mentioned how the body was in the same condition as Andy.”

“Damn,” Murphy said, standing. “I better get over there.”

“Unnecessary.” Father Ahern held up his hand. “Keith is a very capable officer and knowing of your plight, has already taken care of everything.”

“Good man,” Murphy sighed, relieved to know his officer was on top of things while he grappled with Colleen's death. At this moment, his emotions and thoughts were a jumble of confusion.

“So, you know about this witch thing?” Carl asked the Father.

“I knew for some time there existed devotees to raising the spirit of Isabel Shea. I am also aware they meet within the forest but I have yet to learn where. Perhaps they move about, changing locations for fear of discovery.”

“You mean Satan worshippers?” Murphy asked.

“Yes, a form of witchcraft that encompasses white magic.”

“You knew this might happen and told no one?” Murphy appeared irate.

“I wasn't sure they could raise her spirit. Who would actually think someone could be raised from the dead?”

“My sentiments exactly,” mumbled Carl.

“I knew I had to locate and somehow destroy, or at least expose them, before they tried a sacrifice. Obviously I failed,” Father Ahern said, lowering his face.

“I think we should get some help. State Police maybe?” Carl suggested.

“This is a local problem, we'll handle it,” Murphy quickly announced.

“The local problem is killing all the locals,” Carl shot back.

David interjected before a shouting match ensued. “Think about it, what in the world would you tell the State Police? We have a witch on the loose with a big…
thing
with her destroying the town?”

“Exactly, doc, we have to find and destroy this thing before any more people die and do it quietly so not to cause panic,” Murphy's tone softened.

“Okay, okay,” sighed Carl, “if you're all so damn sure that this is what is causing the deaths and this is the course we have to take, then count me in. How do we stop it?”

The three men looked to the priest. Father Ahern felt their eyes searching his for an answer, at the least an explanation. He crossed his left leg over his right knee and folded both hands together on his lap, and tried to appease their warranted curiosity.

“The beast is a familiar, a demon sent with and controlled by Isabel's spirit. Neither can be destroyed by practical means, weapons are useless, but they can be sent back to where they came from.”

“Burn the body in Isabel's grave?” David interjected, remembering Mrs. Toomey's words.

Father Ahern smiled, “Exactly, and that means leaving Colleen where she is, Chief.”

Murphy did not look very happy. He wanted to retrieve Colleen's remains and prepare for her funeral, but he also did not like the idea of finding more bodies in town. “If that will help destroy this thing then so be it.”

“I'm sorry, Chief, it's the only way. The first thing to do is direct the beast to the grave,” Father Ahern said.

“Great,” moaned Carl.

“That shouldn't be too hard, doctor,” pointed out the priest. “If we lure the beast to it, she will follow if not there already.”

“Piece of cake,” Carl moaned again. “How do you deal with something that in reality isn't supposed to exist?”

“Those who have heard or met the beast will vouch for its authenticity,” Father Ahern replied.

“Heard, Father? You mean like a Banshee. In Irish folklore the wail of a Banshee is supposed to warn of impending death, isn't it?” David asked.

Father Ahern agreed. “In Gaelic folklore, the spirit of a female will wail at the door of someone who will die shortly.”

“That explains the dog the kids heard,” Murphy said.

“The hierarchy in Wicca is mother, maiden, and crone. I would venture that Isabel would surely be the crone. The rest I could not name,” the priest added.

“They are important?” Carl asked.

“The ring leaders,” Murphy assumed.

Father Ahern nodded silently in agreement. Carl asked another question. “You say we can destroy this Banshee and her friend?”

“Yes, but you have to remember to fight the Banshee is to confront Satan himself,” Father Ahern stated.

“At some point we still have to contend with the worshippers and their leaders,” stated Murphy, “and where do we find them?”

“They're hiding behind a mask of god fearing, hard working citizens but actually have unspeakable evil within their hearts. Your lovely Colleen succumbed to their need for a vehicle allowing the return of Isabel.”

The Chief, Carl and David sat quietly listening as Father Ahern revealed the state of evil within the town. They were stunned. David's theory was correct but he wished there was another answer to the horror that had returned to Wexford.

“I'll inform Keith about all this, but no one else should know,” warned Murphy. “We can begin our hunt in the morning.”

“Well that's that,” Father Ahern stood. “I won't be able to join you but please keep me posted of your progress.”

“Good night, Father,” everyone said in unison.

David headed for the door behind Father Ahern. “I'm off to Kelly's, I need a drink.”

“Remember, keep this quiet,” Murphy called out before the door closed.

“He's a good kid,” Carl said walking to the kitchen. Murphy went to the photos on the mantel.

“Are these David's parents in the photo?”

Murphy heard Carl sigh. “Yes, unfortunately both are deceased. I'm sure they would be proud of that boy, although I don't know where he cooked up an idea like this Banshee thing.”

“I'm glad he did. I saw that beast and if David had not put this together I never would have known what was going on, or if I had any sanity left.”

“You need to rest, Chief, and since you're already comfy on the sofa, why not stay right where you are tonight? It's getting late, the medication I gave you is working and I'm sure you want an early start in the morning,” Carl suggested.

“You read my mind, thanks,” Murphy said.

Carl locked the front door and switched off the lamp.

“Good night,” he said, making his way across the dimly lit room to the stairway. No answer, Murphy was already asleep.

* * * *

When he heard the noise, Murphy could not comprehend the direction it came from. His eyes fluttered open when the sound came again. He tried to observe the room by the meager moonlight that filtered through the bay window. Perhaps it was the doctor or David.

He wished he knew the time, but his watch was across the room by the door. He had no desire to leave the comfort of the sofa but curiosity got the better of him. Tossing the blanket aside, he stood, allowing his legs to stretch and blood to circulate. He moved toward the table then the noise came again.

Its sudden nearness, only feet away, caused him to bump the table sending the watch to the floor. Again it came, ripping across the door. He moved back to the sofa and heard the dog-like howl of the Banshee.

“Goddamn, it's here,” he said loudly.

The sound intensified as the familiar ripped into the heavy wood. Murphy looked about the room for a weapon and noticed the rifle under the boar's head. He raced to it then stopped. The boar's head was moving, trying to wriggle free of the wall. Murphy's heart pounded. The head watched him, twisting its large tusks back and forth, sucking in air for lungs that did not exist.

The boar's head continued its attempt to escape from the wall and join the attack on Murphy. The fireplace behind him burst to life in a searing blue blaze, forcing him back to the sofa just as the lights flashed on. Carl came swiftly down the stairway.

“Charles, what's wrong?”

Murphy gazed about the room. The boar's head was motionless, staring into space with dead glass eyes. The front door was silent and the fireplace barren and cold.

“Impossible,” he stated, standing. “Impossible. That thing was trying to get in. It was here, the fireplace was burning, the goddamn boar's head...it, it…”

“You look worse than before. Lie down, I'll get a sedative,” ordered Carl as he went to a cabinet and produced a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey. He filled a jigger and handed it to Murphy. The Chief quickly tossed it back, allowing the smooth burn to heat his throat as it flowed into his stomach. He held it out for a refill.

“You didn't hear it?” he asked.

“Not a thing.”

“I guess everything is catching up with me,” Murphy sighed, rubbing his head between both hands. David swung open the front door, startling both men.

“Goddamn it…” Murphy called out, still trembling.

“It was here, wasn't it?” David asked.

“How did you know?” Carl asked.

David swung the front door open displaying the zigzagging furrows ripped into the wood. Murphy went closer to inspect the splintered door.