Strange Perceptions (20 page)

Then Shamus and Ryan fell to the ground and moved no longer.

The horrible apparition had remained motionless through the men’s struggles, keeping them trapped inside, but after the men fell to the ground it floated into the air above them, forming into a giant, hideous face. The face hovered over the men, grinning. I opened my mouth and a scream stuck in my throat.

The horrible face turned and looked directly at me. Quick as a lightning flash, it moved to me and formed itself back into the old woman in the ragged white dress.

Now I was truly unable to move. I tried, but my legs wouldn’t obey.

Her face moved to within inches of mine. “You are not for me.”

She moved even closer. Her lips touched my forehead.

I passed out.

I awoke back in the village, at the edge of the woods. Overhead the moon still shined. How did I get here? Did the Banshee bring me? What did she mean I was not for her?

I struggled to my feet, hardly able to believe I was still alive. I should report this to Campbell. As much as I disliked him, he was in charge. Well, Sheriff McGrath was supposed to be in charge but everyone knew Campbell was really in control.

Campbell lived in the biggest house in the village. It was also one of the few buildings made of stone. Most structures were built from the lodge pole pines so plentiful in the woods. I sprinted to the cobblestone path and then toward his house, not stopping until reaching his steps.

On Campbell’s front steps I hesitated, gathering my courage. Campbell was the town’s boogieman, second only to the Banshee. Parents told their children “Better eat your vegetables or I’ll report you to Campbell.” Or “If you don’t stop fooling around and get to sleep, I’ll tell Campbell.”

I knocked on the massive, wooden door. The rap of my knuckles somehow seemed both quiet and loud, quiet against the door of this immense house, and loud against the nighttime quiet of the village.

Immediately, the great door opened and Campbell’s manservant, a short, stout, neckless man named Garth, stepped into the frame. He wore a nightdress and carried a lantern. “Yes?” he asked.

“I must speak to Campbell,” I said.

“Mr. Campbell has retired for the evening. Please come back in the morning.”

Mr. Campbell? I had only heard him referred to as Campbell. I stared at Garth, unsure what to do next.

“It’s okay, Garth.” Campbell stepped around him.

“Camp-uh, Mr. Campbell,” I said. “I was in the woods and saw the Banshee attack Shamus Brennan and Ryan Doyle.”

“Oh dear,” he said. “Do come in Sean Collins. Could I get you something to drink? Hot cocoa perhaps?”

“Nay. I’m good.”

Campbell herded me into a large room with a fireplace. Candles, in holders either side of the door, cast eerie shadows on the walls. Campbell lit a lamp on the table and pulled a chair to the fireplace. “You’re shivering. Sit here and warm up. I’ll be back in a moment.” He left.

I looked around the room, amazed at the lavishness. I had never been in such a fancy place. A giant bookshelf covered an entire wall. Paintings with ornate frames decorated the other walls. Campbell appeared in a series of portraits along one wall, six of them. In each he wore strange clothing. I got up from the chair and examined the paintings.

“Ah,” Campbell said, coming back into the room. “You’re admiring me ancestors.”

Ancestors? I looked at the paintings and back at him. Each portrait looked exactly like him.

“We Campbells have a strong resemblance.”

I would never have guessed the paintings were his ancestors, not him.

“Now,” Campbell said. “Come back to the fireplace. Tell me what you saw.”

I sat back in the chair, feeling the fireplace’s warmth. He sat on the fireplace’s hearth.

I told Campbell about the men and the Banshee, how she had engulfed them, their screams and attempts to escape, before finally falling dead. Of her floating in the air and changing into a giant face as hideous as death itself.

“You are foolish, Sean Collins. Had she seen you, you’d be dead too.”

“She did see me,” I said. “She came close to me and said ‘you are not for me.’ Then I passed out and woke in the village.”

“You are lucky as well as foolish.” He stood and scratched his chin. “Garth,” he called.

The short man appeared and handed Campbell a pipe. Campbell stuck a match on the stone hearth, lit his pipe, and tossed the match into the fireplace. He wandered the room, pulling deeply from his pipe.

“Okay,” Campbell said. “Go home. Go to bed. I will send out a search party at first light.”

I started to argue but a screech cut me short—the wail of the Banshee. A long, low moan which seemed to go on forever, slowly increasing in pitch until the moan became a shriek. The sound gelled my blood. It sounded like a cry of anguish, the result of the most horrible torture imaginable.

Last night the cry had woke me up, but I had missed its full intensity.

“Go Sean,” Campbell said. “Nothing you can do here.”

I left Campbell’s house. Outside a crowd had gathered.

“Sean.” Brady Sweeney, my best friend, rushed over. “You hear it?”

“Aye. How could I not? And I saw the demon.”

“For real?”

“Aye,” I said. “I followed Shamus and Ryan and seen it kill them.” I shuddered. “Horrible.”

Brady punched my shoulder. “You’re doing a bonzo.”

“Get off.” I punched him back. “I speak true. I seen the Banshee with me own two eyes.”

Ollie Brennan, Shamus’s brother, stomped over to us. He stood, towering over me for a moment, then grabbed me with his meaty hands. “What you seen boy? Tell me.”

I struggled to free myself.

“Lad, you tell me what you seen or I swear I’ll thrown you down the well. Headfirst.”

I gave up trying to free myself and explained how I had followed the men into the woods, how the Banshee stretched itself around them, trapping them until they died. As I told the tale his grasp loosened. I rubbed my arms where he had held them, already feeling bruises.

“Oh lord,” he said. “You watched and didn’t help?”

Before I could answer the Banshee cried again. Outside, the shriek seemed louder. It came from everywhere at once, as if the entire woods screamed. Some in the crowd gasped. Plymith Brennan, Ollie’s wife, screamed.

What did two Banshee cries in one night mean?

Ollie grabbed my arms again. He started to say something, his mouth working, but no sound came out. He shoved me backward. I crashed into Brady and both of us fell to the ground. By the time I scrambled to my feet, Ollie had run into the woods.

“Ollie, don’t,” Plymith yelled, running after him, but Ollie was gone. She ran to me and pointed. “This is your fault.”

How was this me fault?

Campbell put his arm around Plymith’s shoulder. “Come now dear. You must be goan home. Who’s minding the baby?”

“Crazy,” Brady said.

“Aye,” I said.

“Everyone go home,” Campbell yelled. “Can’t do a thing tonight. We’ll sort this mess in the morning.”

A few people peeled away from the crowd, but most continued discussing the Banshee.

“I said go home,” Campbell said. “Now.”

That ended the discussions. The crowd scattered.

Back home I lit a lamp and checked on my mom. She lay in bed, curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. She didn’t even acknowledge the lamp’s light hitting her room. I closed her door and went to my room. I didn’t know how to comfort her.

Mom changed when my dad died. I was too young to recognize it, but she lost all humor. Each year she got worse, sleeping most the time, hardly functioning. She stopped going to church. Pastor Lyons tried to get her to come back but couldn’t. After a few months he stopped trying.

Since the Banshee’s wail last night she hadn’t left her room. I tried bringing her tea and soup, but she didn’t touch them. I needed to find someone to help her tomorrow. Maybe Brady’s mom.

I got in bed, turned off the lamp, and stared at the darkness for a long time before falling asleep.

The next morning loud banging on the front door woke me. I dragged myself from bed, pulled on my britches, and answered the door.

Sheriff McGrath stood outside the door, scratching his red beard. “You need to come with me, Sean.”

A few yards past the sheriff a crowd watched me. I stood there not understanding what was happening.

“Go get on a shirt,” Sheriff McGrath said. “Then we’ll go.”

I nodded and went back to my room to fetch a shirt, checking my mom on the way. She had slept through the commotion.

I returned to the sheriff, buttoning my shirt as I went “What’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk at me office. You need someone to look after your mom?”

“No she’s—no.”

Sheriff McGrath grabbed my wrist and led me along the cobblestone path toward his office. He kept a firm grip on me like I was his prisoner. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

The crowd followed us, more people joined it as we went. When we reached his office the crowd had doubled in size.

Sheriff McGrath open the door ushered me into his office. He followed. “Have a seat, Sean.” He motioned to the seat alongside his desk and went around to his chair and sat.

“Can you tell me what happened last night?” he said.

I sighed. This is about the Banshee. How stupid to think I had been in trouble. “Well, I overheard Shamus and Ryan were goan after the Banshee. So I followed them and seen it kill them.”

He nodded. “Then what happened?”

“I fainted and woke up at the edge of the woods and ran and told Campbell.”

“Then what?”

“Then we went outside and there was a crowd and the Banshee cried for the second time. What do two cries mean?”

“Keep goan Sean. Tell me what happened.”

“Then Campbell told everyone to go home and—”

“—What about Ollie?”

“Right. Ollie Brennan grabbed me and shoved me around and then he ran into the woods and Plymith was screaming after him something fierce.”

He sat back in his chair, arms across his chest. “I have reports that you and Ollie Brennan were fighting.”

“Nay, sir. It weren’t like that. Ollie was worried about his brother is all.”

Sheriff McGrath studied me. “Then what happened?”

“Then I went home and to bed.”

“Then what?”

“Then nothing till you come around this morn.”

He leaned closer to me, eyes boring into mine. “Sean Collins, where is your iron knife?”

I had forgot about my knife. “I don’t know. Must have dropped it in the woods.”

He focused his eyes on mine. I forced myself to not look away.

“This morning your knife was found in Ollie Brennan’s corpse.”