Free The Banshee by Henry P. Gravelle Page A

friend mutilated, and a small child horribly killed, now he was hallucinating.
    â€œYou’re right. I’m going to get some rest. Go home and have your dinner, tell Mary Ellen I’m sorry I interrupted.”
    Murphy drove the patrol car slowly off the field. Its headlights shone on the backside of Major Whiting’s statute. Their progress watched was by two fiery eyes within the aged limbs of the Oak tree on the bank of the river.

Chapter Fourteen

    Nancy heard the car horn and quickly finished brushing her long hair. After taking a last glance in the bedroom mirror, she went down the stairs to the front door where her mother stood.
    â€œHave a good time,” she said, kissing her daughters cheek.
    â€œI should be home for dinner,” Nancy said, opening the door. “Love you.”
    David sat behind the wheel of Uncle Carl’s Ford parked at the curb with the motor running. He smiled, watching Nancy approach, her hair bounced and her body swayed with every step.
    â€œWant to see Wexford from the air?” she asked, slipping onto the front seat beside him. David pulled away from the curb, wondering why he had suddenly thought of angels and the woman from his dreams again.
    â€œYou have an airplane?”
    â€œCourse not, there’s a spot on the heights overlooking the town. I’ll take you there,” she said.
    They left for the rock-faced cliff that loomed over the town. It was not long until Nancy directed David to turn off onto a small dirt road. He had his doubts as to the wisdom of driving on such a narrow roadway. At points, the trees were mere inches from the side of the car. If they stopped, they wouldn’t be able to open the doors.
    They wound their way along the heights sloping ever upward. The vegetation turned thick with pine, maple, and birch until abruptly dropping off to an exposed shale and rock face that fell almost straight down to the swamp and river below.
    The car worked its way along an old fire road not traveled on in some time. Weeds and small brush began to overtake the road from lack of traffic, scratching at the car’s underside while they motored toward the summit. The roadway finally opened wider to a clearing where they overlooked the area below. David parked and got out.
    â€œThis is beautiful. I didn’t realize the heights were so high,” he stated, looking out past the outline of the town’s structures onto the spreading patchwork of farms and engulfing forest.
    â€œThey were named for Deacon O’Connell,” she explained, “the leader of Wexford’s first settlers. They say he is responsible for the legend of Isabel Shea.”
    â€œMy father told me that story. Think I was ten or twelve, scared the shit out of me. She was the witch that was hung in town and vowed to come back and kill everyone?”
    â€œThe Deacon was the magistrate at her trial and pronounced the death sentence,” Nancy replied.
    David silently thought of the brutal murders that had occurred over the past few days and wondered of the legend. His Uncle’s findings as to the strange way the little girl and officer had died put his imagination to work.
    Could it be possible?
he asked himself. No, that is ridiculous, but then again, a lot weirder things have happened.
    â€œA penny for your thoughts,” said Nancy.
    â€œJust day dreaming.”
    â€œYou’ve been dreaming a lot,” she added.
    â€œBecause I’m so relaxed here it’s easy for a person to doze off, and you’re right, I have been dreaming a lot.”
    â€œAbout me?” she asked.
    â€œOne of the better dreams,” he grinned.
    â€œI’m glad I’m not a nightmare,” she exclaimed.
    â€œI’ve had a few of those also.” He ran his hand over his hair. “You wouldn’t want to hear about it.”
    â€œYou have the same dream all the time? Tell me,” she pleaded holding her hands together as if