The Banshee

by Henry P. Gravelle

  “Aw, hurry up,” complained the boy at bat, wondering if he would ever have his turn. The others tossed the ball around while Mark investigated the last place he saw Cathy, a bench in the bleachers that paralleled the first base line. When they heard him scream, they ran to him.

  Mark sat sobbing hysterically, holding Cathy’s doll. The cotton stuffing dangled from its torn body. Lying nearby in a small puddle of dark blood was the hairbrush.

  The boys talked wildly with voices that piled higher onto each other, explaining their own versions of what happened to Cathy. Art Finely heard the commotion and joined the boys.

  “What happened?” he asked Mark.

  “M-m-my sister, C-C-Cathy,” stuttered the upset boy, “she was h-h-here and now s-she’s gone.”

  “Take it easy, son,” Finley placed his hand on the boys shoulder trying to calm him. “I’ll go for the police. Don’t you boys touch anything understand?” The boys nodded as Finley left.

  “I hope nothing happened to her,” Bobby tried to comfort his friend.

  “I hope not either,” Mark sobbed.

  “Maybe you should go home and get your father?”

  “I can’t, I have to wait for the police. You go and my dad,” Mark said.

  Without hesitation, Bobby jumped onto his bike and peddled for Marks home.

  * * * *

  Michael Collins sat on the front stairs spraying a fine mist from the garden hose over the lawn. He noticed the cat lying in wait under the car for an unsuspecting bird to land nearby. As the cat prepared to pounce on a chickadee, Michael turned the water on the cat. It jumped past the confused bird and ran to the safety of its own yard. Mike grinned, following the path of the fleeing cat until he spotted Bobby on the bike speeding into the driveway.

  “Whoa, Bob. Where’s the fire, what’s the matter?” Mike reached out and took hold of the bike before the boy lost control.

  “Mister Collins,” he stammered, pausing to regain his breath, “Mister Collins…something’s happened over at the field…Mister Finley went for the cops.”

  “For Christ sake, what happened at the field?”

  “Cathy’s missing and there’s blood, lots of it.”

  “Where’s Mark?” Mike became alarmed at the mention of his youngest child and blood in the same sentence.

  “He’s at the bleachers waiting for the cops.”

  Mike calmly called through the screened door to his wife who was searching an index file for a recipe. “I’m going to the field for awhile, back soon.”

  He did not see any reason to upset her. Cathy may have just wandered off and be with Mark right now. If not, he did not want to think of that possibility.

  Mike arrived at the field before the police. The first thing he noticed was the blood dripping from one concrete level to the next.

  “What happened, Mark?” Mike asked his son, sitting on the bench with Cathy’s torn doll. The sight of the mangled toy sent a surge of urgency flowing through his being. Mike realized Cathy was not just off taking a walk. Something horrible happened to her.

  “Where were you?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I was playing ball and…”

  Mike interrupted, “Playing ball? You were supposed to watch your sister, damn it.” Mike turned to the growing crowd. “Does anyone know what happened?”

  “No, sir,” replied the catcher. He held the baseball that had just rolled across one of the flowing trickles of blood. “We were just playing ball and when Mark looked for her she was gone.”

  Mike Collins sat next to his son and the damaged doll, at his feet the crimson puddle. A siren blared over the murmur of the crowd and a moment later a patrol car pulled onto the field, stopping at the bleachers. Chief Murphy and Officer Andy Feeney walked from the car, moving back the onlookers as they approached the bleachers.

  “Is your son all right?” the Chief asked Mike.

  “I think so. Pretty upset though, like me.”

  “Understandable.” Murphy looked back to his officer and nodded toward the crowd, “See what they know.”

  Murphy sat on the bench directly below Mark so he could be eye level with the boy. He placed his hand on Mark’s arm and spoke softly.

  “I need to ask a few questions so I can find your sister. Are you up to telling me what happened?”

  Mark sniffed and rubbed his wet face, smudging the tears across his cheek. He nodded and whispered, “Okay…it happened so fast. We were on the field and Cathy was here with her doll. Then we heard a dog yelp and went…”

  “You heard a dog?” Murphy interrupted the boy’s story.

  “We heard it but didn’t see it. It sounded hurt or something.”

  “Where did you hear this dog?”

  Mark pointed to a spot along the bank of the river in line with the ancient Oak tree on the opposite side.

  “After you heard this dog, you looked but found nothing? Did you hear it again?” Murphy asked.

  “Nothing was there, we didn’t see anything. We came back to play and Cathy was gone,” Mark buried his face in his hands as tears appeared once again.

  Mike listened intently to his son then said to Murphy, “We’re wasting time, we should be looking for her.”

  “I want you to go home with Mark,” Chief Murphy insisted, “you’re too upset to be of any help. Wait at home, maybe she’ll show up there. We’ll begin a search and I promise to keep you abreast of things, okay?”

  Mike nodded reluctantly, a tear flowing onto his cheek. He took hold of his son’s hand and they both walked slowly toward their home. He had no idea how to tell his wife. Andy came from around the back of the bleachers, examining the ground.

  “Anything?” asked Murphy.

  “There’s a blood trail leading toward the river.” Andy gazed at the onlookers directed to stand outside the field along the sidewalk. “Nobody saw or heard a thing. How about you, learn anything?”

  “One possibility, the kids say they heard a dog by the river. It was gone when they went to investigate.”

  “You think it circled the field and somehow carried off a six year old child before the boys returned?” Andy asked skeptically. “What about a bear?”

  Murphy grinned at his best officer. “Oh, I see. You question my scenario of a dog but would have me believe no one would notice a bear? Besides, bears don’t howl.”

  “They leave nice prints though, which we have none,” Andy smiled.

  Murphy paced in front of the crimson puddle where a small brush lay in the blood. “Whatever it was, I hope this is animal blood and she’s safe. Let’s get some volunteers to search before it gets dark.”

  He walked to the fence separating the field from Phillips Street and addressed the crowd. “We have a missing six year old girl, Cathy Collins. She may have walked off in the company of an injured animal. I am requesting volunteers to assist in a search of the immediate area.”

  All but two elderly women came forward, spreading out to begin a slow walk along the field toward the river.

  “Sing out if you see anything,” Murphy called out from behind the line of searchers.

  “Andy, go back to the office. Tell Keith where I am and what’s going on. Then get Red saddled and look along the river up to the swamp, and be careful.”

  He was not sure why he told Andy to be careful. He was a good cop, on the force for a number of years and knew the area inside out. Perhaps it was the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach from his wife missing, now a young child; it did not sit right.

  * * * *

  Andy returned to the police office where Officer Keith Madden had desk duty. Andy informed him of the missing child, the Chief’s whereabouts and that he was taking one of the department horses named Red north along the river to search.

  In certain c
ases, a patrol car would just not do so the department maintained a small stable containing two Cumberland Bays. Both horses were invaluable in the search for lost hunters, hikers and like today, a missing child.

  Andy’s fiancée, April had given him a saddle as a birthday gift and he thought how special she was every time he saw it. One day they would marry and have a hundred kids, at least one to bear his name and one to carry hers. Andy and Red departed the stable. They headed north until the sun began to fall under the western hills.

  After a few miles, Andy rubbed his tired eyes from leering at the mud and soft earth where marshy bogs of the swamp met the river.

  “Looks like we’re not going to find anything up here.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Let’s head back along the opposite bank.”

  He pulled lightly on the reins and turned Red toward the town. The sun now touched the tip of Deacon Heights, slowly falling from the sky. Shadows formed along the river’s edge and fell across the water onto the opposite bank. Andy noticed a few lights flicker on in the town along with the street lamps on Phillips Street.

  Without warning, the horse reared and tossed a startled Andy into the water. He stood quickly, confused, angry and soaking wet as Red galloped away. Andy suspected he would find him feeding comfortably from his oat supply but it was a long walk back to town. He wondered what spooked the horse. Then he heard the noise.

  Andy drew his revolver, walking slowly under the overhang of a willow. On the opposite bank lay a clump of bushes, a fallen tree trunk and a group of rocks where the river lapped gently against them.

  He heard splashing–perhaps a muskrat or a deer crossing to the other side? Andy squinted, looking into the deceiving shadows for the noisemaker. Then he froze. The tree trunk was not where it had first been. It moved to the middle of the river toward him, against the current.

  “What the…?” Andy whispered, pointing the revolver at the figure rising from the water. Its eyes penetrated the darkness, finding his.

  The revolver shook in his grasp, the wet clothing sending chills through his frightened body. He shivered with true fear. Darkness draped over the town. Crickets chirped, an owl hooted and an unholy shriek pierced the cool night air followed by a guttural scream. Then silence again engulfed the town.

  Chapter Nine

  The pinball machine, pool table, and television were the means of entertainment at Kelly’s Bar. David was in deep concentration at the pinball machine, systematically glancing at the score and plastic flippers jumping and moving with electronic speed. The lights, bells, and buzzers flicked on and off as the stainless steel ball rolled uncontrolled over the games surface.

  Brian Kelly, wearing his traditional green apron with a light green shamrock in its center, stood behind the bar. The apron barely covered his two hundred and forty pound, six-foot-two frame. He watched a game show on television while his hands wiped clean beer mugs and shot glasses.

  Art Finley entered and leaned against the polished bar, “Heard about the Collins kid?”

  “No, which one?” Kelly placed a frosty beer mug in front of Finley.

  “The little girl, police think she’s lost or followed an animal somewhere.”

  “Followed an animal?”

  Finley took a long swallow, almost emptying the mug before setting it back on the bar. He then began to relate his story of the missing child, beginning where the kids heard a noise by the river. Then he spotted David at the pinball machine. He left Kelly to join the stranger.

  “You look familiar,” Finley said.

  David kept his eyes on the game. “David Raferty, Doc Raferty’s nephew.”

  “I thought I recognized you. I meet you the last time you came to Wexford. Let’s see, must be at least…”

  He glanced at Finley and struggled to remember their other encounter. He could not place him.

  “I don’t remember. I was younger, I guess.” David’s fingers pounded the flipper button, sending the pinball on a scoring binge.

  “That long? Seems like yesterday. I’ve known your Uncle since childhood. Why I remember a time when…”

  “Art’s better known for his knack of bothering folks. Come on over and have one on the house,” laughed Kelly.

  “Just arrived?” Finley sided up to the bar seeking a free drink also.

  “Thought I’d get a beer before I went over to my Uncle’s,” David said, avoiding eye contact with Finley. He did not care for the man, he was annoying and nosey and appeared to be someone in need of pleasing others but afraid of people in general.

  He thought Finley an odd duck, with balding scalp offset by thick, bushy eyebrows lying like hairy caterpillars above deep eyes. His lips did not seem to move when he spoke, but a gruff voice came from his throat that commanded attention, which he obviously avoided.

  It was not long before a white-haired man entered Kelly’s wearing chinos, sneakers and a black polo shirt. He stopped inside the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the illumination of the dimly lit room and spotted David at the bar.

  “David,” the man happily exclaimed, walking toward him with his hand extended. David stood from the stool and greeted his Uncle with a hug, then shook hands.

  “Good to see you, Uncle,” David said. “You look like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

  “I keep active, watch the diet.” He held David at arm’s length, scanning his nephew from head to toe. “You’ve sprouted since I last laid eyes on you. It’s good to see you…and David, please call me Carl.”

  “Okay…Carl. Can I get you a drink?”

  “That’s why I came here, wet my whistle,” Carl smiled.

  “Coming right up,” remarked Kelly before anyone could order.

  “I see you’ve met Art Finley.” Carl nodded toward the man sitting beside him.

  “It seems we’ve met before,” David mentioned.

  “Everyone in Wexford seems to have met before,” Finley said sardonically.

  “I suppose you’re right. It is a small town. He also tells me you two are good friends?” David looked at his Uncle, amused.

  Carl laughed. “Friends I suppose, but I’m not so sure of the good part.”

  Those who heard laughed.

  “I was beginning to tell Kelly about the Collins girl.” Finley attempted to change the subject since the laughter generated by Carl’s remark focused on him.

  “I met Chief Murphy on the way here,” said Carl. “Damnedest thing, little girl disappearing right from under the eyes of a bunch of kids.”

  “Then it’s true?” Kelly stated, not noticing the ice in Finley’s stare because Kelly verified his story with someone else.

  “Police are still looking,” continued Carl, “nothing has turned up.”

  The door opened and a few of the volunteers in the search party came in. The mud on their boots showed that they had been along the riverbank.

  “How about some beers, Kelly?” shouted a large man who could have been Paul Banyan’s twin brother. “And make them cold, you Irish bastard!”

  Laughter filled the bar.

  “What are your plans?” Carl asked David.

  “I haven’t given it much thought. My mind’s been set on coming here for some reason, so here I am,” he shrugged.

  “A fugue state…”

  “A what…?” David looked lost at his Uncle’s theory.

  “A person who runs away from anxiety with no memory of why they ran in the first place,” his Uncle offered. “Is that why you’re here, running away from something?”

  “I’m not running from anything,” David replied. The thought of being a fugitive did enter his mind. Maybe he was on the run from the law; perhaps he was a serial killer or a bank robber…So where was the money or the desire for blood?

  “You’re getting deep, Uncle,
I mean, Carl. I’m not running from anything, I just can’t remember…some things. Maybe I’m exhausted from the bus ride,” David held back from telling him he could not even recall when he left, or where from.

  “Tabula Rasa,” Carl stated with an air of knowledge. He could see from his nephew’s expression that he would have to translate. “Latin, David, means erased tablet, or in your case, blank slate. Don’t worry about it, you probably are overtired for some reason and after a good night’s rest you’ll feel.”

  “You guys care for another round?” a feminine voice interrupted.

  David turned and came face to face with Kelly’s replacement bartender. She wiped the bar with a damp rag while waiting for an answer. David was awestruck at her beauty, especially her eyes, illuminated by an intimate glow filtered by the smoky room. They met his and seemed to search for his soul. Long dark hair flowed like silk over her shoulders and down to her back.

  Carl noticed David’s inability to answer so he took the initiative and ordered two more drinks. The haunting beauty went to refill the beer glasses. David tried hard not to show he was staring.

  “Nancy Flanagan,” Carl began the introduction, “my nephew, David Raferty.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” David tripped slightly on the barstool while politely trying to stand. His face turned numerous shades of red.

  “Likewise.” She moved to another customer at the far end of the bar.

  “My God, she’s beautiful,” David said.

  “And single. She works here a few nights,” Carl stated, also following Nancy’s trek to the other end of the bar.

  Nancy approached again, stopping when David leaned across the bar, “I was curious if you were free tomorrow.”

  His voice gave away his nervousness. Nancy gazed at him with her bewitching eyes, seeking an ulterior motive. “I just met you.”