Cry Of The Banshee

Out of Celtic tradition comes the legend of the Banshee, a female spirit said to bring, through her wailing, the awful news that someone in the family is to die. Though the Banshee is a figure of Irish folklore and legend, and the myths often tend to become exaggerated through the years, the story you are about to read is not an exaggeration. The strange happenings were verified by several reliable sources, thereby adding a new and ironic twist to the ancient legend of the Banshee.

***

Some years ago, in a small town about fifty miles west of Dublin, an old man named Charlie Robinson operated a 100-acre farm that mostly grew corn and beans but also included about 60 head of sheep and assorted other livestock. At the ripe old age of 72, Charlie still managed to help out his hired hands every now and again, thereby earning their respect and admiration. The only grievance they had was that Charlie was somewhat tight in the pocket, and they thought that they deserved more than room, board, and low wages he paid them.

One thing that Charlie did not pinch pennies on was his wife Elsa, to whom he had been married for ten years and was forty years his junior. Elsa was a demanding woman, which did not sit well with the hired hands. Whenever Charlie would go to run an errand, Elsa took over command of the farm. Only out of respect to their beloved employer did they tolerate the antics of his overbearing wife. They couldn’t help but think that all she was after was Charlie’s fortune and that she actually held no love for him. When they talked amongst themselves, they often questioned her motives.

One night after dinner, Charlie got up to fill his pipe and get ready for his evening walk around the grounds.

“That bloody pipe will be the death of you, old man,” Elsa said, glaring at him. “And then what would become of your precious gold?”

“I might just have it buried with me,” Charlie countered. He walked to the door, then turned to his wife. “I remember how you once loved me, Elsa. Or at least you said you did. What happened to the woman who wanted me for my kindness and understanding, my companionship and loyalty? I suspect the truth is, you would gladly exchange all that for this little key I hold in my shirt pocket.” He indicated the key to the heavy trunk in their bedroom where he kept his gold and silver.

“Closer to your heart than I ever will be,” Elsa responded coldly.

Her husband shook his head, but he held his tongue and walked out the door.

Charlie passed his property line and headed toward his favorite place, where a small stream ran past giant stones that reminded him of a small fortress. He stood on one of the stones and stared through an opening in the trees, where he could see hills and valleys for as far as his weak eyes would allow him. As he pondered the day’s events, he heard a sound in the distance, a cry that seemed to be carried by the wind.

Where – and who – could that be from? he asked himself and began walking in the direction from which the sound seemed to be coming. It became stronger with every step he took, sounding more and more like the wailing of a woman.

A Banshee! Charlie suddenly realized. The pipe he had been puffing fell from his lips, and his already pale skin now became bone white. He knew of the legend, but he tried to pass it off as just that, abruptly turning around and starting to walk toward home. But the shrieking became louder, and the pain he felt in his ears became excruciating. He had only taken a few steps before he fell to his knees and curled up with his hands on the sides of his head to try to muffle the cry.

Abruptly the wailing stopped. After a moment Charlie rose to his feet, but he felt that he was no longer alone and that there was something behind him. ‘It’s the Banshee’ he thought. He was afraid to turn around, but he knew he could not hide: he had to embrace the fate the Banshee had come to deliver him. He slowly turned and at first saw nothing, then he looked up and saw a legless body floating in the air about six feet above him.

Expecting to be terrified, Charlie instead stood marveling at the spirits beauty – her long, jet-black hair blowing gracefully in the swirling wind that had been created by her presence, her ivory skin soft and unblemished, a sheer black shawl covering her body from the neck down. Charlie stared at the creature for what seemed like several moments until she started to change.

Her face began to turn a light shade of blue, her vivid green eyes turned up into her head and became solid white. One hand moved over her heart, while the other reached up to clutch her throat. Charlie started to walk backward after seeing her transformation, and as he turned and began running, the spirit let out a piercing shriek that he thought would be heard for miles. He ran as fast as his spindly old legs would take him, but the sound of her screams followed him through the woods. He turned once at the edge of his fields and saw her not far behind, her white eyes still turned up as she glided toward him. He ran again, through his fields, past the barn, and then to his cottage, the wails continuing to haunt his steps, but when he turned to look back, the spirit was gone.

The door was locked, and it seemed minutes before Charlie’s pounding finally brought his wife.

“Elsa Elsa,” he yelled as he rushed into the house. “She’s coming for me, the Banshee has told me of my death!” He turned to his wife as if she might somehow save him.

“Charlie, Charlie,” Elsa said as she reached out one hand to caress his cheek. “You don’t believe in Banshees, now do you, you foolish old man?” Her voice sounded compassionate and evil in the same breath. She leaned his head on her shoulder and with her hand ran her fingers through his hair, “Charlie, of course you didn’t see a Banshee. It just couldn’t be true.” She paused for a few seconds while she continued to stroke his hair, then she added, “Of course, one thing about it is true.”

Charlie lifted his head up and between sobs looked into her eyes. “What is?”

“Why, your death, of course,” said Elsa, as she brought her right hand from behind her back and drove a dagger straight through her husband’s heart.

As Charlie lay dying on the floor, Elsa reached down and lifted the key out of his blood-drenched pocket. “Goodbye, you foolish, stupid old man,” she said, then she rose and, smiling, walked into the bedroom to collect her gold.

She eyed the trunk hungrily as she walked toward it, knowing that inside would be enough precious metal to keep her in finery for the rest of her life. But as she was about to bend down to insert the key, a shadow abruptly passed over the trunk, as if a dark cloud had blocked the light from the pane. She turned to see what had caused the shadow, and there, hovering in the air just outside the window, appearing to look in at her with blind white eyes, was the Banshee.

Elsa brought her hands to her face while at the same time she opened her mouth to scream. But in that dual action, the key fell from her fingers and slipped into her gaping mouth. At the next instant the piercing wail of the Banshee cut through the window and walls, and Elsa, horrified, drew her breath in sharply.

***

The sun rose at six o’clock the next morning, and as usual the farmhands made their way to the cottage for breakfast. After repeatedly rapping on the door to no avail, they grew suspicious and tried the door themselves. It opened easily, and immediately they saw Charlie dead on the floor with the dagger still lodged in his chest. They called for Charlie’s wife, and when there was no answer, they walked over to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

There on the floor lay Elsa, her face a light shade of blue, her hand clutching her throat, and her eyes wide open and colorless. Upon further inspection they found Charlie’s key to his gold, lodged at the opening of her windpipe.