Tags:
Horror,
Paranormal,
supernatural,
Monster,
Witchcraft,
Ghosts,
Good and Evil,
spirits,
Damnation Books,
banshee,
Satan worship,
angel of death,
keeper of the Book of Life,
Limbo,
purgatory,
The Banshee,
Irish folklore,
Henry P. Gravelle,
Massachusetts horror
friend mutilated, and a small child horribly killed, now he was hallucinating.
âYouâre right. Iâm going to get some rest. Go home and have your dinner, tell Mary Ellen Iâm sorry I interrupted.â
Murphy drove the patrol car slowly off the field. Its headlights shone on the backside of Major Whitingâs 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.
âHave a good time,â she said, kissing her daughters cheek.
âI should be home for dinner,â Nancy said, opening the door. âLove you.â
David sat behind the wheel of Uncle Carlâs Ford parked at the curb with the motor running. He smiled, watching Nancy approach, her hair bounced and her body swayed with every step.
âWant to see Wexford from the air?â 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.
âYou have an airplane?â
âCourse not, thereâs a spot on the heights overlooking the town. Iâll take you there,â 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 wouldnât 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 carâs 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.
âThis is beautiful. I didnât realize the heights were so high,â he stated, looking out past the outline of the townâs structures onto the spreading patchwork of farms and engulfing forest.
âThey were named for Deacon OâConnell,â she explained, âthe leader of Wexfordâs first settlers. They say he is responsible for the legend of Isabel Shea.â
âMy 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
âThe Deacon was the magistrate at her trial and pronounced the death sentence,â Nancy replied.
David silently thought of the brutal murders that had occurred over the past few days and wondered of the legend. His Uncleâs 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.
âA penny for your thoughts,â said Nancy.
âJust day dreaming.â
âYouâve been dreaming a lot,â she added.
âBecause Iâm so relaxed here itâs easy for a person to doze off, and youâre right, I have been dreaming a lot.â
âAbout me?â she asked.
âOne of the better dreams,â he grinned.
âIâm glad Iâm not a nightmare,â she exclaimed.
âIâve had a few of those also.â He ran his hand over his hair. âYou wouldnât want to hear about it.â
âYou have the same dream all the time? Tell me,â she pleaded holding her hands together as if