Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016

by Claire Plaisted

“A thin place is a place of energy; a place where the veil between this world and the eternal world is thin. A thin place is where one can walk in two worlds-the worlds are fused together, knitted loosely where the differences can be discerned or tightly where the two worlds become one.”

  Moira gazed out at the mist curling like a long gray cat’s tail around the bottoms of trees and the bases of fence posts. The entire day had been strange, the air charged with electric energy. As the sun set and the odor of supper cooking wafted through the house, Moira found herself looking anxiously at the clock. Sean had promised to be home early so they could get to the wake. He was already half an hour past the time he usually got home. Dark had crept upon the house until the light within struggled against the pressing night outside.

  For the tenth time in less than ten minutes Moira pushed aside the lace curtains and stared into the darkness beyond. Thinking she saw movement in the thickening fog she squinted. It was only her reflection in the glass, the lights of the warm room behind her illuminating the concern in her eyes.

  Once more she went to the stove and stirred the pot of stew that bubbled warmly, the thick brown gravy clinging to the meat and vegetables. The inviting scent permeated the room mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread. It was Sean’s favorite meal on a cold night and he would never be late to sit at the wooden table and dig into a huge bowlful of the treat. Moira’s hand trembled slightly and the wooden spoon thumped against the side of the pot. Something was very wrong.

  It was at that moment she heard the keening in the distance. Her hand froze mid stir and she stared at the bubbles breaking on the surface of the stew. She stood in a tableau of stunned uncertainty. Had she heard what she thought? Was it merely a stray wind blowing through the trees and over the low stone walls that separated their farm from the others near-by? Then the sound came again, mournful and pleading, and she released the spoon which stood for a moment before slowly sinking to the side of the mixture.

  Moira’s heart began a tripping beat, the sound loud in her head. The name ‘banshee’ lit up in her mind, its letters reminiscent of the neon signs over the theater in town. She pressed the word down but it still glittered at the corners of her consciousness. “Old wives’ tale,” she whispered. But the words were hollow and defenceless against the generations of superstition.

  Returning to the window she again gazed out into the night. Her eyes straining against the darkness, she saw a form begin to take shape and recognized Sean’s ambling gait. Releasing the breath, she didn’t realize she’d been holding she hurried to the front door. Throwing it open, she stepped back as the icy night air rushed in. Sean stumbled inside, his face pale and waxy within the dark hood of his coat

  “Sean!” Moira gasped as she reached out to embrace him. He lurched past her, moving unsteadily toward the crackling fireplace. Moira watched him uncertainly a moment before the cold air from outside began to envelop her. She closed the door never taking her eyes from her husband’s shaking shoulders.

  He turned slowly to face her, his eyes dark pools in his white face, a thin sheen of perspiration lining his upper lip.

  “What is it?” Moira’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  Sean’s mouth moved nervously before the words came out shakily. “I saw her. I saw Noreen.”

  Moira’s hand covered her mouth and her eyes widened until they almost bulged from their sockets. “Wh-what? Where, how?”

  His eyes strayed to the window and the darkness that pressed from outside. Moira’s eyes followed his terrified stare then turned back to his face. The terror in his eyes seemed to fill the room, invading even Moira’s heart. He lifted his hand slowly and wordlessly pointed at the window where the keening broke in and once again filled the room.

  Sean’s hands covered his ears and he shook his head frantically as though by doing so he could escape the sound. Moira rushed to his side, feet barely touching the floor and placed her hands over his.

  “Sean, Sean. It’s just the wind. It’s nothing more.”

  He looked into her eyes and read the lie. She knew it was Noreen. She knew the wrong he had done and was now being tormented for.

  Moira pulled his hands down, forcing them to his sides. “It’s only the wind,” she repeated more strongly now. “You must pull yourself together.” She guided him to the table, his feet dragging like lead across the floor. “Sit down and we’ll have supper. A good hot meal and you’ll be better.”

  Sean sat staring out the window at the impenetrable darkness, silently praying the sound would not come again. He started when Moira set the heaping bowl of stew before him, a slab of fresh bread on the side. “I can’t Moira,” he whined.

  “You’re being silly,” she chided gently. “Eat your supper. It’s already late and we’ll have to hurry to the wake. I’ve made a fine cake to bring to Noreen’s family and I’ll not have it wasted because of the wind.”

  Spearing a chunk of meat, she lifted it to his lips. He automatically opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him as a mother might to a recalcitrant child. Offering him a smile she put the fork in his hand. “I’m going to change my clothes now. Finish up and then we can be on our way.”

  Never taking his eyes from the window Sean slowly ate his supper, picking at bits of carrot and potato, dunking his bread in the thick gravy. By the time Moira returned from dressing he had almost emptied the bowl. She nodded approvingly and poured a glass of milk. “Now drink your milk and we’ll go on.”

  Sean gulped down the milk, holding Moira’s eyes with his own. She offered an encouraging smile and combined with the silence from outside he began to relax.

  Moira put the dishes into the sink to wash when she returned. Pulling a shawl around her shoulders she picked up the wrapped cake she’d prepared for Noreen’s family and slipped her arm through Sean’s.

  He hesitated just a moment when they stood before the closed door that led outside. But Moira’s tug on his arm made him open the door and together they stepped outside.

  There was a chill in the air that was unnatural for that time of year and Sean shivered in his thin coat, the hood fallen from his head, thin strands of hair barely covering his balding scalp. “Are you cold, love?” he asked his wife as he slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He hungered for the warmth of her body beside his. They walked together in rhythm as those who have been married for years will do. It was less than a mile to the Donohue’s, a walk that should take twenty minutes or so. But they were able to cut some minutes off by crossing the field where Sean helped Moira climb over the low stone wall that separated their properties.

  As he climbed over behind her he felt a frosty chill at the back of his neck and his body tensed almost causing him to fall. Moira reached out with one hand to steady him. His hand was like ice in hers and she pulled away when he regained his balance. “You’re freezing Sean,” she observed in a vague and distant voice.

  He nodded but made no other response. She walked slightly ahead of him now and try as he might he couldn’t match her pace. “Moira slow down,” he pleaded.

  She glanced back at him, her smile somewhat frightening in the dim light of the crescent moon. A balloon of chilly air blew from her mouth and rose slowly evaporating into the night. The sound of the icy grass crackling beneath their feet like shards of thin glass was the only sound to break the oppressive silence. A cloud covered the light for a moment and when it cleared Moira was far ahead of him moving quickly through the night. She looked back once more and the expression on her face was twisted into a sneer.

  Before he could call out again, the sound of the keening came again on a rising draft. Sean froze in place. The sound came from behind him, back near the wall they had just climbed over. Moira had stopped moving now and one hand held her shawl over the lower half of her face, hiding her mouth from view.

  A cold finger seemed to stroke his cheek and a whisper of ice-cold air blew past his ear. He closed his eyes tightly and willed his feet t
o move but they were rooted to the earth as though they had grown there generations earlier and could not be pried loose. Then the mist began to form around him, creating a barely visible cocoon. Moira watched from a distance, her fist pressed into her mouth to prevent her from screaming out. It would not do to arouse others until what must be done was finished.

  The fog took shape, almost womanly when seen from where Moira stood. She had dropped the cake and it lay in crumbles at her feet. She did not know she had dropped it nor would she have cared if she’d known. She was only aware of the joining of the fog with her husband’s body.

  Sean opened his eyes and came face to face with Noreen Donohue’s souless eyes; eyes that had no form or depth but wavered in the frigid moonlight.

  “Noo,” he moaned softly. “Noreen I did not mean it to happen. As God as my witness it was an accident.”

  The hollow mouth of the amorphous face before him opened wide as if in laughter and a strange unearthly sound lifted on the wind. Sean’s heart began to pound, the beating inside his breast like a drummer beating heartily in a parade. His breath came in slow gasps and his lungs screamed for air. But the only air he could pull in was the foggy face of the ghostly apparition that now covered him like a shroud. A sharp pain struck him in the breast as surely as a fist striking him. His heart contracted and then exploded in his chest like the rupturing of an old tire with many miles on its treads.

  Sean fell to the ground. He did not drop as one who fainted but seemed to float to a reclining position as though he was being gently laid to rest. The mist lay with him for a moment before rising to its full height in the night and turning to face Moira.

  The woman stood staring at the ghostly form wondering if she had made a deal with the devil and would now be consumed as her husband had been. The vaporous form raised what seemed to be a hand as though waving a grateful farewell before dissipating into the night leaving the scene clear.

  Moira moved backward toward the Donohue home afraid to draw her eyes away lest the specter return. When she was only a few yards from the house she turned and ran, bursting through the door and into the room of weeping mourners. For a moment all sound stopped as heads turned to see what had burst into the room and Moira stood speechless.

  Then she called out, “Sean’s fallen by the wall and I can’t rouse him.”

  As one the crowd moved forward and hurried to the prone body, prepared to help their neighbor. Moira followed behind, her breath heavy and uneven. She knew there was no hope. As the men bent to lift their friend one of the women murmured, “It’s right where they found Noreen’s body a week gone.”

  Once inside the lighted home it was evident Sean was dead. His eyes stared blankly and try as they might the mourners could not close them. It resulted in an expression of horror on his face and many of the women turned away and blessed themselves, muttering prayers beneath their breaths.

  Less than a week after Noreen Donohue’s body went into the ground, Sean was laid to rest. There was no question but he had a heart attack. Moira welcomed the mourners into her home, gratefully accepting the food they brought. She shed her widow’s tears. The night Sean was buried Moira stood at the window and watched as two strange wisps of fog that seemed to glow in the darkness ran through the field. One looked like a woman, arms stretched out before her as she pursued the man shape that fled before her.

  Closing the curtains tightly against the vision she dressed for bed. That night she dreamed of Sean. He stood at the foot of her bed and crying softly confessed his crime. It had been an accident. He had been chasing Noreen, just playing, trying to get a kiss when she had tripped and her head hit the rock. Afraid he would be accused of something untoward he chose to hasten home and leave her body there until she was found hours later by her own brother.

  Moira knew it was a lie for she had seen what happened as she hurried home from the field where one of the cows had wandered. She had seen Sean and Noreen embracing, his hand sneaking up beneath her skirts, her hand pushing his away. She stood and watched in horror as he tried to take what he seemed to think was his right. She’d watched Noreen climb onto the wall and heard her shout down to Sean that she would tell her brother what he had tried. As she turned to run home Sean had hefted a large stone and threw it hard at her head. The thump of the impact had split the air and Moira had covered her mouth and ducked down so he would not see her watching.

  When Noreen’s ghost had come to her, the desperate keening for vengeance splitting the night she could hardly refuse. So she had prepared the stew he loved so much, happy his last meal would give him pleasure. And she knew the terror of seeing Noreen’s spirit coupled with the small addition she’d added to his dinner would take him into the ghostie’s waiting arms.

  What was done was done. Now Noreen would have her peace. Moira started awake as the dream ended. From outside her window came the low weeping of a man in agony. Pulling the coverlet up to her chin she shivered as Sean’s voice called out, “Moira, come out and warm me love. I’m so cold.”

  And so it was there were three fresh graves the following week. The murdered do not rest easy in thin places.

  Return to Light

  Shadows fade,

  monsters afraid as light peaks on the horizon;

  corpses at rest at the ghosts’ behest,

  demons return to Hell.

  Those who survived All Hallow’s Night,

  rejoice at Heaven’s light and the devil returns

  to his cage for fear of angels’ rage.

  By Kyrena Lynch

  Copyright September 2016

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