In ancient times, the Romans called Ireland Hibernia. Much of the magic and mystery of the Emerald Isle has been lost over the years, but those with a second sight can see the secret life, the hidden world, where the line between myth and reality blurs. If you can see that, you've entered the Hibernian Hollows. Getting out is not so easy.
1
Arrival
Dublin. The Irish call it the Fair City, and at times it's easy to see why. At other times, there's a darker feel to the city, an odd sensation in the air, as if there's a secret life beneath. The brochures never mention it. They say the name comes from Dubh Linn, meaning Black Pool, and the historians attribute this moniker to a nearby lake. Yet there's another reason they omit: Dublin is a whirlpool of strange and dark activity. James Halmorris didn't know that when he arrived.
The flight was fairly uneventful, but the landing was rough. The Irish skies were stormy, and the turbulence was terrible. James was used to long flights, but there was something about this one that made him nervous. He had never been to Ireland before. It was always on his list. He would get to cross it off now, but it would be far from what he expected.
The plane landed at 5:14 a.m., and the airport was quiet. James recalled getting strange looks as he went through Passport Control. He didn't think he looked odd. A typical American, slightly paler than most thanks to his Irish heritage, and messy, sandy hair. A kind of stylised roughness even. But nothing to warrant staring. Nothing to elicit whispers.
“What's the purpose of your trip?” the police officer asked from behind the glass window. They called them Gardaí here, or Garda singular—or simply “the guards” in that mish-mash of Irish and English known as Hiberno-English. This one looked bored out of his mind, but he perked up when he saw the name of James' passport. He was an older guy, one of the “old guard” even. In the increasingly secular country, he was one of the few officers wearing a crucifix around his neck.
“Looking for my roots,” James said with a smile.
“That your real name? Halmorris?”
“Well, it's on my passport.”
The Garda looked at him with grim eyes. He wasn't the sort who took humour well, it seemed. James was just the type to rile people up, and sometimes that was dangerous.
“That your real name?” the Garda repeated more forcefully.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You don't know?”
James raised an eyebrow. “Clearly not.”
“That's a cursed name, that.”
James smiled. “So my grandmother said.” He always enjoyed her stories. She had a lot of them, and liked to work herself into some. It made them seem a little more real—apart from all the monsters in them.
“You should listen to her then. Sounds like a smart woman.”
“I thought the age of superstition was over?”
“Superstition?” the Garda asked. “I wish it were that, son.”
“I've had this name since I was born. Hasn't done me any harm.”
“And what about those around you?” The Garda shoved the passport back under the glass, as if he was afraid to handle it any longer.
James shrugged. “They seem fine to me.”
“And you're going to go mess that up now?”
“Eh, sorry?”
“By digging around.”
“I'm just looking for my heritage.”
“You're digging graves is what you're doing. Yours and all.”
“Can I go now?” James asked. He thought it might sound a little rude, but he didn't feel like listening to more of this nonsense. And it might have just been nonsense, but something about it filled him with unease.
2
A Hundred Thousand Welcomes
They say Ireland is the place of a Céad Míle Fáilte, a hundred thousand welcomes, but James didn't feel welcome at all. As friendly as many were, others gave him strange and dirty looks. He'd sit down and they'd glance at him and get up, and sit somewhere else.
Cursed, he thought. I'm starting to feel like maybe it's true.
Everything that could go wrong at his arrival did. The bus was initially delayed, and then it broke down completely. There were no replacements available, and he happened to arrive at a kind of twilight time where there were no buses running from Dublin Airport to Tallaght, where his hotel room awaited.
He stood outside at the Arrivals entrance, waiting for a taxi. He'd been told there were usually lots of them there, but tonight there was a shortage.
“Stranger things have happened,” one of the patrolling guards said.
James was starting to think that maybe the strangest things were yet to come.
He sat on his suitcase and looked up at the stars, and that gigantic globe of the moon. The news had said it was a supermoon, so it appeared a lot bigger than normal. It brought to mind all the things his grandmother had said about how the moon could control minds, and how a full moon could make the world a little crazy. He wondered if it controlled taxis too.
He got up to stretch his legs, realising that no one was around. For such a busy airport, it was deathly quiet. There was not a soul in sight.
Then a black saloon with tinted windows pulled up slowly, its lights dimmed to the barest minimum. For something so mechanical, its creeping motion brought to James' mind something else, something primal. It halted, like a predator waiting for the pounce. Then James walked a few steps away, and it rolls slowly forward. This, more than anything, set his heart racing and his eyes wide. It was there for someone else, surely, reason told him, but terror told him it was there for him.
Then the headlights of another car shone upon it, and like a predator exposed, it scarpered. Even as it seemed to flee—and James thought it odd to think of a car in that way—it made very little sound. Even then its lights were dim, until it faded into the black of night entirely.
The car to which the headlights belonged pulled up beside James, and he felt just as on edge with this, except for the brilliant yellow chassis, and the smiling woman sitting in the driver's seat. Lilly! He had never met her in person, but after seeing her numerous photos on social media, her appearance was unmistakable. A wave of blonde-red hair, thick ruby lips, fair skin, large red-rimmed glasses, and a yellow cardigan over a floral-pattern short-skirt dress. Quirky was the word that always came to mind, and in her yellow mini, with pink interior, it came to mind more than ever.
Even through the glass, he could hear her let out a scream of excitement on seeing him, and she waved both hands at him frantically before opening the door. He scrambled in, casting his suitcase on the back seat, and closed the door almost before he'd pulled his legs inside.
Lilly pounced on him with a firm and friendly hug. He couldn't really hug her back with the way she'd pinned his arms, but he made an effort all the same.
“James!” she said. “How are you? Oh, it's great to finally meet you in person. How was the trip? Did you get much sleep on the plane? Were you waiting long here? Oh, you should've seen the traffic. I know I said I mightn't be able to make it, but I managed to switch shifts at the bar. Did your luggage get through okay? It doesn't look like you brought much. Is the seat okay? You can pull it back a bit if you need more room. Do you want the heat on? Where are you staying anyway?”
She was like that online, a flurry of questions, but it was a little more overwhelming in person. But he was glad to be overwhelmed. It helped him forget the unsettling moments that went before.
He tried to answer her as best he could, and as best he could remember the questions. She drove off slowly, telling him about her day, and what she'd been reading (books on the occult, no less), and how the cat was sick, but she thought he was doing better than before.
As she pulled off, James noticed the black saloon parked further up. He wasn't sure why it stood out so much to him, but he was glad it was behind them now. What he didn't see was that, as soon as they passed, it started to follow.
3
Kiltipper Road
&
nbsp; “I'll leave you here,” Lilly told him as she dropped him off at his hotel in Tallaght. “Is this all right? God, the rain is coming down heavy now. Just as well you're not still at the airport. Sorry I can't stay longer, but my shift'll be starting soon. The night shift. It'll ruin my plans for tomorrow, but we all have to make some money. We can do lunch though, right? I'll give you a call if I'm not asleep. Talk soon!”
The weather had shifted as they got close to Tallaght, and it only seemed to be getting worse. That was another thing the brochures never told you about it. Hell, James wondered how they ever got those sunny photos in the first place.
The Dronmal hotel stood facing the stadium of the local soccer (or, as the Irish call it, football) team, the quaintly-titled Shamrock Rovers. James thought Lilly was making that up when she first told him, but it turned out to be true. The stadium looked a little desolate at night, a kind of unlit colosseum, and James was glad to be under the glare of the hotel lamps.
Inside, the clerk stood to attention like a soldier. It looked like a nice place from the entryway, and some of James' fears washed away at the thought of a nice sleep in some comfy, clean sheets.
“Don't see you down here,” the clerk said when James announced his arrival.
“What do you mean? I have to be. I booked this months ago.”
The clerk shrugged. “You're not on the list.”
“But I booked a room. 14B. A double.”
“14B is occupied.”
“But I booked it. It should be occupied by me.”
“Says here,” the clerk said, turning the monitor around, “that the Kavanaghs booked it last night.”
“But I booked it in July.”
“Not according to the system.”
James bit his lip. “Do you have any other rooms?”
“I'm afraid that was the last one. It's a busy season.”
“Are you serious?”
The clerk shrugged again.
“I want to see the manager.”
“He's away. Won't be back till tomorrow.”
“And where will I sleep tonight?”
Another shrug.
“Is there anywhere else around here?”
“Yeah, but they'll be booked up too.”
“Dear Lord ...”
“You could try the one up in Kiltipper though,” the clerk said hesitantly.
“Kiltipper? Where's that?”
“Up that long road to the right.”
“That long, dark road?”
“That's the one.”
“And there's a hotel up there?”
“Well ...”
“Well what?”
“It's a bit of a trek.”
“But there's one up there?”
“It's kind of at the edge of the mountains.” By mountains, James took him to mean hills. He had seen photos of Tallaght sent by Lilly, and the suburb seemed to be surrounded by quite beautiful hills, which the buildings had yet to completely obscure.
“How long will it take?”
“About half an hour up that road, then another twenty to thirty minutes around some of the smaller, more winding roads to get there.”
“So an hour?”
“Give or take.”
“And you're sure there's no room here?”
“Positive. 14B is taken. Haven't seen them come in tonight, mind you, but … it's taken.”
“Right then.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Maybe you should go back into town.”
“I can't. No transport seems to be running.”
“Yeah, it's one of those nights, it seems. But still.”
“Still what?”
“That hotel up there is … strange.”
“You mean strange like having the room you booked?”
“No. It's … people don't really go there.”
“Well, maybe they'll have a room for me then.”
The clerk didn't seem to get the jab, or just didn't seem to care. He had a place to sleep that night, so it didn't affect him. James wished Lilly didn't have to rush off so quick, and he regretted turning down her offer to stay at her place. He insisted he'd be okay, but so far it wasn't working out that way at all.
“Can you book me a taxi?” he asked the clerk. “My phone's gone dead.”
“Sorry, the phones are down here too. On account of the storm.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Looks like it's down for the night too.”
“Can I stay in the foyer for a bit?”
“Sorry, we'll be closing the doors in about fifteen minutes. The manager doesn't like having people hanging around.”
“Doesn't seem like he likes customers to have their room either.”
The clerk gave his customary shrug.
James shook his head and sighed. He hauled his suitcase back outside, back into the lashing rain. The wind was icy, and it blew against him. He couldn't help but think that even the weather didn't want him to go that way. He persevered though, holding the collar of his coat closed, yanking the suitcase behind him.
He passed by a small mound in what looked like a local park, and he thought it looked rather peaceful until he saw a large pentagram burned into the grass. He presumed it was just some prank by rebellious teenagers, but it set him on edge even more.
The road was long and dark, illuminated by periodic lampposts, which seemed to give barely more light than the gas lamps of old. For such a supposedly modern city, there was a certain “old world” feel to many parts of it, and this was one of them.
Few vehicles passed by that way, and not a single one of them was a taxi. Yet, when about halfway up the seemingly never-ending road, a car pulled up beside him. The rain made it difficult to see clearly, but James saw a dark car, with tinted windows, just like the one at the hotel.
He walked on, increasing his pace, and the car rolled forward to match. He wasn't sure what to do now, whether to run forward or back, to see if he could make it to either hotel. Yet he knew he'd never make it in time.
Then the black window on the passenger side rolled down, and James stopped. The car halted too, and James could barely make out a man veiled in shadow in the driver's seat.
“Horrible night, eh?” the driver said.
James said nothing. His heart continued to thump out its terrible rhythm. He wondered if the driver could hear it.
“Where are you heading?”
“The hotel.”
“In Kiltipper?”
“Yeah.”
“I'm going that way.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. Hop in and I'll give you a lift.”
James hesitated. “I'm fine, thanks.” He turned and continued on a few steps, battling the breeze. Every step seemed even harder now.
The car creaked forward, until the driver was peering out at him again.
“Seems foolish to walk,” he said.
For a moment, James' mind agreed entirely. But the fear brought back his alertness and his scepticism. Seems madness to get in, he thought. For whatever reason, it almost seemed like the driver heard.
“Do you even know the way?” he asked.
“I have a general idea. I'll be fine, thanks.”
“You should get in.”
Something happened then that James could not explain. There was a gap in his memory. He vaguely recalled turning his head to glance at the driver, then catching sight of the man's hypnotic eyes. Then with a blank of his own, he was sitting in the back with his luggage, with no recollection of having got inside.
It took a moment for him to gather his wits. He wasn't sure what to do. He reached for the handle of the door, even while it was still driving, but then the driver locked all the doors with a click.
“It's not safe around here,” he said.
James' heart was pounding fast. He gripped the handle of his suitcase to calm himself a little. He tried to tell himself that there was nothing to fear, th
at this was just some helpful soul getting him out of some bad weather. Yet something else told him that this man was getting him into something worse.
“So what brings you here?” the driver asked. He looked up, as if to stare in the mirror, but there was no mirror there. It was only then that James realised that the side mirrors were missing too.
James didn't feel like telling much, but he knew he had to say something. “Sight-seeing.”
“Seeing the sights, eh? There's some sights to see, that's for sure.”
“Yeah.”
“And just sight-seeing?”
James thought he mustn't have looked much like a sight-seer. Hell, right now he must've looked like a coward.
“Well, I was hoping to find out more about my ancestors.”
“Ancestors,” the driver said, seeming to enjoy the word. James thought for a moment he heard the driver licking his lips. “Sure, don't we all want to know more about that?” the driver added. “That said, sometimes it's best not to know.”
“Well, knowledge is power, right?”
The driver didn't like those words quite as much. “Yes,” he said coolly. “Knowledge is power. The right knowledge though.” He looked up again, and it almost seemed like he was staring at James through the back of his head. His voice grew dark and grim. “The right knowledge.”
4
Hotel Horror
By objective accounts, it didn't take that long to get to the hotel. But by the annals of James' heart, it took a lifetime. He couldn't quite make it out through the tinted windows, but when he stepped outside, he almost wanted to get back in.
Above the door was a dark, weathered sign, which read: Umbra Montis.
Everything about the hotel screamed shade. In the dusk, it was a silhouette of sharp edges, of steeples and flying buttresses that made it look more like a converted cathedral. It was facing north, the place of greatest darkness, and the light that might have fallen on its eastern walls was largely blocked by a canopy of dark trees that seemed not only to not have been tended to, but to have been deliberately nurtured to grow wild and thick, and crush any tiny beams of sunlight in their immense and smothering foliage.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 233
