Page 84

THE BANSHEE OF BALLYLAGGIN

Lizzie

AUGUST 28, 1999

“T HAT’S NOT HOW IT GOES ,” G IBSIE PROTESTED WHEN P ATRICK FINISHED HIS RETELL ing of a local ghost story. “What utter bullshit.”

We were camping out in the back garden of No. 4 Avoca Greystones and the boys were attempting to terrorize us with spooky stories and ghoulish tales.

Meanwhile, I was quietly confident that nothing they conjured up could rattle me half as much as my sister’s behavior this summer had.

For the longest time, I thought I was the only one with problems in our family, but since returning from her trip to Liverpool, Caoimhe had continuously proved me wrong. She spent most of the summer crying in her room, and when she wasn’t crying, she was screaming at our parents about the unfairness of her life.

According to Caoimhe, she was over eighteen and deserved to have her boyfriend stay over whenever she wanted. However, since falling out of favor with our father, she was quickly realizing the life of privilege she’d enjoyed since birth was exactly that: a privilege . The fact that privileges could be revoked at any time was another cold, hard lesson she was facing.

Not only was my sister’s boyfriend forbidden from stepping foot on our property, but she would have to repeat sixth year in the local public school while Mark got to repeat his final year at their old school. Dad refused to pay another year of tuition for Caoimhe to attend Tommen College. His decision had caused eruptions at home, and I was glad to be away from the house for a night.

“Feely has his facts all wrong,” Gibs declared, drawing my attention back to the present. Wrestling the torch away from Patrick, he shone it on himself before announcing, “I know the true story of Grainne Ní hóigáin, otherwise known as the banshee of Ballylaggin .”

“Tell us, Gerard,” Claire encouraged, all the while sidling up to her big brother for protection.

“Legend has it Grainne was a witch,” he began, making his voice sound extra creepy for special effect. “The townspeople knew Grainne dabbled in the occults, but back in those days, a lot of people in Ireland practiced paganism and worshipped priestesses, druids, spirits, and deities, so Grainne was left alone by her neighbors. They were happy to live alongside her, providing she didn’t practice her sorcery on them.”

“But she did, right?” Claire interrupted, hooking arms with Hugh. “She did something bad, didn’t she?”

“Worse than bad,” Gibsie confirmed solemnly. “On the night of the full moon, on the sixth day of the sixth month, Grainne took six children from their homes and drowned them in the Ballylaggin river.”

“Why?” I asked, intrigued because this version of events was way freakier than Patrick’s version. “Why drown the kids?”

“Because she wanted the gift of eternal life and made a deal with the devil in order to get it,” Gibsie replied in an eerie tone. “And the blood of six innocents was the devil’s price.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Patrick mused, looking as invested as the rest of us. “Your version’s way better, Gibs.”

With a smug look on his face, Gibs continued with his tale. “When the parents of the six children awoke in the morning to find their children missing from their beds, all hell broke loose in the town. Search parties were formed, and everyone went out looking for the missing children.”

“Shit,” Hugh muttered, rubbing his jaw. “This is actually class, Gibs.”

“When the lifeless children were eventually discovered on the edge of the riverbank, all six of their bodies were missing their hearts!”

“Holy crap!” Claire choked out, wide-eyed and terrified. “The witch ate their hearts?”

“Worse,” Gibsie replied. “She took their hearts back to her house and placed them on her unholy alter.”

“That’s how the townspeople found out who killed the kids?” I asked, shifting closer to Hugh’s other side. “Because they found their hearts in Grainne’s house?”

“Exactly,” Gibsie agreed, shining the torch at me before retraining the light on his chin. “When the townspeople of Ballylaggin caught up with Grainne, they were enraged.”

“What did they do?”

“They sought the help of another witch,” Gibsie continued, enthralling the rest of us with his tale. “A powerful priestess from a nearby village.”

“To do what?”

“The parents of the dead children, along with the rest of the townspeople, decided the punishment should fit the crime and convinced the priestess to do their bidding. Determined to inflict an eternity of torment upon Grainne, they persuaded the priestess to cast a curse so vile, so despicably unmoral that it had never been heard of before then.”

“What was it?”

“They didn’t think death was enough of a punishment for Grainne’s crimes, no matter how painful or slow that death came, so along with the priestess, the townspeople conjured up a curse that would chain her for eternity in limbo.”

“Limbo?” Claire arched a brow. “What’s that?”

“Limbo is where ghosts live,” I explained. “They’re not in our physical world, but they’re not gone, either.”

“Exactly. It’s like the in-between after you die,” Hugh added, while he draped a reassuring arm around each of us. “You’re not on earth, and you’re not in heaven or hell. You’re in limbo.”

“So that night, as the sun set in the west and the priestess summoned the powers of her deities to enforce the curse upon the evil witch, the townspeople of Ballylaggin tied Grainne Ní hóigáin to a stake on the hill outside her house and burned her alive.”

“Holy shit, Gibs,” Patrick breathed, shaking his head. “Please tell me there’s more.”

“After her death, the townspeople thought they had seen the last of the witch, and they had, for a time…”

“Until?”

“Until six years later, when another six children disappeared from their beds, only to be found the following morning in the exact same spot on the riverbank and with their hearts removed from their lifeless bodies.”

“Okay, what the hell?” Claire squealed, looking panicked. “This is too much.”

“Legend has it the priestess made a fatal error when casting the curse,” Gibsie explained in a deathly cold voice. “One that—on the sixth day, of the sixth month, every six years—allowed the witch to return. Free to roam the townland of Ballylaggin, in search of six more children.”

“Oh my God, I have the heebie-jeebies so bad,” I snickered, burrowing into Hugh’s side.

“Because she drowned the original children in the river, she was forbidden by nature to cross water, trapping her wandering spirit to the town land she died in, and legend has it that, late at night, when the sound of wailing screams fill the darkness, it’s Grainne screaming in the afterlife, as she relives the pain of being burned alive.”

“Holy crap, Gibs,” Hugh exclaimed, sounding impressed. “That was epic.”

“So there you have it,” Gibsie chuckled, finally breaking character and resuming his playful mood. “The true story of the Banshee of Ballylaggin.”

Meanwhile, the only thing the rest of us could do in that moment was give him a round of applause.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Gibsie yelped, holding a hand up. “I almost forgot!”

“What?” we all demanded in unison.

“There’s something else. Something even worse,” he whispered in an eerie tone. “Because, according to town records, one of the five of us is a direct descendant of Grainne Ní hóigáin.” He flashed the torch on and off for spook factor. “In fact, one of our houses is built on the very spot the witch’s house used to sit.”

“Who?” Claire demanded. “Oh no! Am I related to a witch?”

“No, Claire, we’re not related to any witches,” Hugh drawled. “Although, Aunt Sarah is questionable.”

“Shut up, Hughie,” Claire whimpered. “I’m really freaked out.”

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Patrick laughed. “I’m a descendant of the fucking banshee.”

“Actually,” Gibsie mused, shining the torch on all of us until settling it on me. “It’s the resident viper.”

“Omigod!” Claire screeched, trying and failing to pull her brother to safety. “She’s a witch, Hughie.”

Meanwhile, I bent over snickering. “That is so cool. I’ve always wanted to be a witch.”

“Because of Stevie?” Hugh mused, offering me a wolfish smile. “Fleetwood Mac, right?”

“Right,” I agreed, still laughing. “I love her witchy vibes.”

“‘Silver Springs’?”

Grinning, I nodded. “You remembered.”

Hugh winked. “I remember everything about you, Liz.”

“Why are you guys laughing?” Claire demanded, sounding genuinely petrified. “This is terrible news.”

“Relax, Claire,” Hugh chuckled. “It’s complete bullshit.”

“And if it’s not?” his sister demanded.

“Then I promise not to hex you,” I teased.

“Oh God,” Claire groaned, making the sign of the cross on her chest. “I need to take mass in the morning.”

“Guys, I’m scared,” Claire declared several hours later when she sprang up in her sleeping bag. “I want to go inside.”

“Quit being a baby,” Hugh groaned, draping an arm over his face. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“But what if the Banshee of Ballylaggin gets us?”

“She can’t,” Gibsie soothed. “She’s not due around for another four years.”

“You swear?”

“Hand on my heart, Claire-Bear.”

“Okay, but what if Lizzie gets us?”

“I won’t,” I laughed.

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Okay.” Claire was quiet for all of twelve seconds before asking, “What if a bear gets us?”

“In Ballylaggin?” Patrick groaned loudly. “We don’t have any bears in Ireland. The worst you’re going to see around this neck of the woods is a fox.”

“Or a squirrel.”

“Or a badger.”

“Or a frog.”

“Or a hedgehog.”

“Or a field mouse.”

“Or maybe a rogue bullock.”

“Highly doubtful considering we’re on the outskirts of town.”

“Aw, crackers, I don’t like cows.”

“You like all animals, Claire.”

“Normally, but not cows.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the cows, Baby Biggs.”

“What about me? I don’t like cows, either.”

“I’ll protect you from the cows, too, Gibs.”

“You promise, Pa? You super swear you’ll save us?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just pack it in, will ye?” Hugh snapped. “You’re creeping yourselves out.”

“Don’t get cross with me, Hughie! I’m younger than you, okay!”

“I know, Claire. That’s why you should listen to me, your elder, when I tell you to shut up and go to sleep.”

“You know what, lads, if Claire-Bear’s not staying, neither am I.”

“Shut up, Gibsie.” That was Patrick. “Everything’s fine. Just close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“Fuck, what if there’s a rat out here?” Gibsie groaned. “I don’t cope well with rats.”

“It’s the tails, huh, Gerard?”

“Yep, that and the impending Weil’s disease, Claire-Bear.”

“Super spooky.”

“I don’t want to get a disease.”

“Nope, me either.”

“Oh my Jesus,” Hugh groaned. “I am begging the two of you to just stop talking.”

“Baby Biggs, get out of my sleeping bag!”

“Oops, sorry Patrick. I can’t see in the dark. I thought it was Gerard’s sleeping bag.”

“Claire! Stay out of Gibsie’s sleeping bag.”

“But we don’t sleep apart, Hugh. You know that.”

“I can’t cope with this.” Huffing and puffing like a grumpy bear, Hugh climbed out of his sleeping bag and flicked on a torch, bathing the tent in a dull yellow hue. “I’m out of here.”

“No, Hughie, don’t go,” Claire called after her brother, while I rummaged around for my own torch and switched it on. “You’re closest to the door,” she called after him. “We need you to stay so the rats have to go through you to get to us.”

Too late.

Her brother had disappeared into the darkness of the garden, armed with his sleeping bag. A few moments later, the sound of the treehouse ladder creaking filled the air.

“At least he’s not going inside,” Gibsie offered. “Because our mams definitely won’t let us sleep outside without Hugo Boss-man.”

“I’m older than Hugh,” Patrick huffed, sounding insulted.

“Ah, you see, but Hugh is the sensible one,” Claire explained, mimicking her mother’s voice, while nestling into the sleeping bag with Gibsie. “Mam says Hughie got all the wisdom, and I got all the wildness.”

“Happy now?” I asked dryly, when Gibsie and Claire were snuggled up like littermates in one sleeping bag. “You two are ridiculous.”

“I told you before I can’t sleep without her,” Gibs explained, curling up like a cat around our friend. “It’s not my fault.”

“And he keeps me warm,” Claire added with a sleepy yawn. “’Night, Gerard, love you.”

“Love you more, Claire-Bear.”

“You better not fart,” Patrick warned, pointing a finger at Gibs before turning his attention to Claire, “and you better not snore.” With that, he settled into his sleeping bag and covered his head with the pillow he was supposed to be using beneath him.

I waited for the others to fall asleep before carefully climbing out of the tent and making a beeline for the treehouse.

I didn’t want to sleep in a tent with boys if that tent didn’t contain Hugh Biggs. Excitement thrummed inside of me at the thought of spending time alone with him.

When I reached the top of the ladder and crawled through the doorway of the treehouse, I found Hugh reclining in a sleeping bag, using the light from his torch to read a weathered paperback copy of Angela’s Ashes .

The minute my eyes landed on him, a surge of heat attacked my skin, and my heart galloped wildly. “Hey. Can I stay up here with you?”

“Hey.” His attention immediately shifted to me. “Uh, yeah, of course.” Setting his book down, Hugh lifted the side of his sleeping bag and gestured for me to climb inside.

Without hesitation I did just that, thrilled when my cold feet were instantly warmed by the heat emanating from his legs.

“You’re getting hairy,” I told him, feeling the coarseness of his leg hair brush against the smoothness of mine. “It’s strange.”

“Nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid,” he replied, twisting around to drape a warm arm around my shoulders as I turned with my back against his chest. “Warm enough?”

“Mm-hmm.” Nodding, I reached up and grasped his forearm with both of my hands and snuggled in close. “Toasty.”

“You feeling okay, Liz?”

“Yeah, Hugh.” Sighing in contentment, I snuggled in deeper. “I’m having the best summer of my life.”

“Yeah.” His arm tightened around me. “Me, too.”

Unable to repress the shiver of pleasure that rolled through me when he held me close, I turned my head and nuzzled his chest with my cheek. “You make me feel happy.” Inhaling deeply, I whispered, “You make me feel safe.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So I should probably tell you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about us.”

“What about us?”

He was quiet for a long time before he said, “I’m having a bit of trouble being around you lately.”

My heart sank. “Do you want me to go?”

“What? No, Liz!” He tightened his arm around me. “I would never want that.” I felt his nose brush against the back of my head before he whispered, “You know I love you, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m just…I’m having a bit of a problem with loving you too much.”

My heart skipped. “Too much?”

I felt him nod behind me. “It’s okay, I’ll figure it out, but I just wanted to let you know if I seem a bit off, it’s nothing you’ve done, okay? I’m just, uh, it’s just a bit confusing for me right now.”

“You know I love you, too, right?” came my whispered reply as I clenched my eyes shut and forced myself to be brave. “Too much.”

He was quiet for the longest time, so long that I was beginning to think the conversation, at least for him, was over, but then his trembling hand moved to cover mine.

Excitement sparked to life inside of me and I was certain I had never grabbed a hand as quickly as I grabbed this particular boy’s hand.

In fact, not only was I holding on to Hugh’s hand for dear life, but I was also squeezing the hell out of it.

With both hands.

“Okay then.” A low, nervous chuckle escaped him. “I’m glad I’m not alone in this.”

“You’re definitely not alone in this,” I replied, shivering all over.

“Hey, Liz?”

“Yeah, Hugh?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think it would be all right”—his voice was low and full of uncertainty—“if I held your hand?”

“You always hold my hand, silly.”

“Yeah, but do you think it would be okay if I was the only boy who got to hold your hand?”

“Yeah.” A delicious ripple of excitement racked through me. “That would be more than okay.”

“Okay.” I felt his chest move behind me when he exhaled a relieved breath. “That’s good to know.”

There was a long stretch of silence before I worked up the courage to whisper, “Remember that time in my room when you kissed me on the wrist?”

“I remember.”

“I liked it.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Me, too.”

“I liked it even more that day in the fairy cave when you kissed me on the lips,” I forced myself to admit, my words barely more than a breathy whisper.

“You did?”

“Yeah, Hugh.”

Anxiety was gnawing at my gut because I wasn’t sure which way this would go, but I had to try. I had to make the first move if Hugh wasn’t going to. And he clearly wasn’t . September was closing in on us, and I had waited the entire summer for him to make a move, to kiss me again, but he hadn’t.

Exhaling shakily, I twisted onto my belly to face him and whispered, “And I really think you should do it again.”

“Liz…”

“Unless you don’t want to,” I hurried to add when I saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly, a wave of uncertainty of my own washed through me and I tried to backpedal. “You know what? I’m being silly—”

“Liz—”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Throwing the covers off, I scrambled away, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Hugh, just forget I said anything, okay? I shouldn’t have said that to—”

“Liz, stop, don’t go—”

“This was silly. I’m being silly. Don’t worry about it—”

“Liz!” Hugh snapped, and this time he caught my attention. “Come back.”

Exhaling shakily, I stepped back to his side and sank down on my knees.

Without saying a word, Hugh reached for my hand and raised it to his lips. Keeping his eyes on me, he turned it over and pressed a kiss to the scars covering my wrist.

My breath caught in my throat, and I thought my heart might burst. Shivering violently, I watched him kiss my shame away. Because those scars on my wrists depicted the ugliest parts of my mind. But Hugh kissed each one like they were beautiful. Like I was beautiful. Like I was still me .

Unable to stop myself, I shifted closer, wanting to fold my body into his, wanting to give him all my broken pieces and see if he could work miracles and put me back together again. Because on nights like this, when my mind quietened and my heart beat strong, he made me feel like he could.

“I want to kiss you,” Hugh said, eyes locked on mine. “But I need to ask you a question first.”

“Uh, okay?” I breathed, chest rising and falling quickly.

“You’re my best friend, Liz, and I never want that to stop,” he said carefully, looking nervous. “But I don’t just love you like a friend anymore.” He flicked his attention to our joined hands and roughly cleared his throat. “I love you like a boyfriend loves his girlfriend.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “So I was wondering if you might consider loving me like a girlfriend loves her boyfriend?”

“I already do,” I strangled out, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. “I always have.”

His eyes searched mine hopefully. “Yeah?”

I nodded eagerly. “Always.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hugh replied, heaving out a huge, audible breath. “Because I’ve been wanting to ask you to be my girlfriend since 1994, and I don’t think I can hold it in another day.”

“I’ve been waiting to say yes since 1994,” I laughed, bursting with excitement. “Are you asking now, so I can finally say yes?”

“Yeah, Liz,” Hugh chuckled with a nod. “I’m asking now.” Shaking his head, he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Finally .

“Yes!” I beamed at him. “I will.”

Hugh grinned. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay then.”

“Yep.”

“So you’re my girlfriend.”

“Yep, and you’re my boyfriend.”

“I sure am.”

“Whoa.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to…maybe kiss me now?”

“I definitely want to kiss you, Liz. If you want me to kiss you?”

“I definitely want that, Hugh.”

“Okay.” Heart racing violently, I held my breath when my best friend guided my arms around his neck before slowly drawing my body close to his. “I will.”