The Banshee

by Henry P. Gravelle

  To the right and below their location a distinct flicker of flame appeared like a new star in a black sky.

  “Someone’s got a nice blaze going,” Keith remarked.

  Several dark figures were moving through the flickering light that illuminated the open area. “Maybe it’s those Satan worshippers?” questioned Carl.

  “Damn, you may be right, doc.” Keith’s adrenaline was pumping, his eyes alert and hopeful.

  Murphy took a pair of binoculars from his car and returned to the ridge. He steadied them as best he could and focused the lens. Shapes of several people came into view, walking or prancing some ridiculous motion around the open flame. They were too far away to identify, but the Chief was certain they were the worshippers.

  “It’s the Johnson farm house. Let’s get down there,” said Murphy, running to the car. All four were on the fire road out and back onto the highway within a minute. Quickly they traveled, keeping the blue emergency lights off so as not to forewarn those at the blaze. Murphy opted not to alert the volunteer fire department, hoping the already ruined and abandoned building would completely burn to the ground. With any luck, the barn would go as well.

  They turned onto the Johnson farm road and switched off the headlights. The cars rolled quietly closer. Now they could see the fire consuming boards pulled from the barn piled in the area in front of the house. Hot embers floated from the sky, illuminating the scene showing dozens of naked people dancing and milling about the fire, unaware the patrol cars neared.

  At the last moment, Murphy turned on the blue lights and sped past the rail fence, sliding to a stop near the barn door. Keith followed suit, stopping by the front porch of the house in a cloud of dust. He quickly joined the Chief running after the startled worshippers into the field behind the barn.

  “Strangest thing I ever saw,” Carl said, standing beside David. Before he could answer, Murphy’s voice came from around the side of the barn.

  “Put this over you,” he said, handing a blanket to a naked man.

  “I’ll be damned,” Carl exclaimed, recognizing a naked Art Finley.

  “Care to explain yourself?” asked Murphy.

  Finley glanced at him with strange, blank eyes and replied coldly, “We celebrate.”

  Keith approached empty handed from the field and joined them.

  “What are you celebrating?” Murphy gripped Finley’s arm tightly.

  “The fulfillment of the prince’s promise,” he answered, not batting an eye at the pressure Murphy exerted on his arm.

  “Can I see you for a moment, Chief?” interrupted David.

  Murphy placed Finley in Keith’s grasp and joined David by the fire. He pointed to a design etched into the earth.

  “You wanted to show me a star?” Murphy asked confused.

  “It’s called a pentacle, used in ceremonial magic. Two points facing north represents Satan,” David explained.

  Murphy grinned and walked back to Finley. “I believe we have Father Ahern’s Satan worshippers. Maybe we can find out something about Isabel.”

  The yard was silent except for the crackling fire. Murphy stood in front of Finley, staring directly into his eyes. He was deciding whether he should wipe the smirk off Finley’s face or just shoot him.

  “I still don’t understand what you were celebrating?” The Chief’s voice growled between clenched teeth.

  “The risen spirit of Isabel,” Finley answered, beaming with pride.

  “What do you know about my wife?”

  “Ah, your wife...” Finley cherished the memory. “So young and vibrant, a pity she had to be sacrificed, a very good fuc—”

  “You son of a bitch…” Murphy shouted, jumping on Finley, cutting off Finley’s words by taking him by the throat and tossing him against the hood of the car.

  “I’ll kill you right now and send you to your prince,” Murphy yelled.

  Carl and David struggled with Murphy to release his grip that was turning Finley’s face purple. Keith yanked Finley away and cuffed him, then placed him into the back seat of the patrol car.

  “Take it easy, Chief,” Carl said to Murphy. “We need you clear headed.”

  Murphy leaned against the car and took in gulps of night air. He calmed himself and raised his palms in a show of composure.

  “I’m okay, you’re right, I’m sorry. Take him back to a cell,” Murphy said pointing to Finley. “You’ll have to baby-sit him, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. Tomorrow we three continue the search,” Murphy said, eyeing Carl and David.

  * * * *

  Keith locked Finley in the last cell in the rear of the police office. He refused water, food, clothing, and a phone. He just sat on the metal bed wrapped in the blanket Murphy gave him at the farm. He wore a sneer plastered across his face, his eyes trance-like.

  “Father Ahern knew about these people?” asked Keith.

  “He did,” Murphy answered. “He knew they were out there and up to no good but never could find them. I think he will be as shocked about all this as we are. I’ll call and tell him we found his worshippers, see if he can take your place tomorrow.”

  Murphy dialed the rectory as David turned to Carl. “I’m going to make sure Nancy gets home and I want to see Mrs. Toomey. She may have more information.”

  “Remember mum’s the word and we leave early tomorrow,” Murphy said, listening to the phone ring at the rectory.

  “I’ll be ready,” David said.

  * * * *

  At Kelly’s, the television competed over the customer’s voices. A group waited near the pool table and another by the pinball machine for a turn to play or cheer on their champions. Not an empty stool was at the bar. Nancy busily mixed drinks and helped the overwhelmed part-time waitress deliver drinks to the booths and tables.

  David headed for the bar with thoughts of Father Ahern’s words running through his mind, reminding him of the worshippers who pretended to be God-fearing souls.

  Whom could he trust? Who in this place was a worshipper, and who was on Isabel’s list to die? Was this man beside him one of those who fled the Johnson farm tonight? Did that woman playing pool witness the slaying of Colleen Murphy?

  Nancy scrambled past him with a tray of beer mugs and set it down at a table. The mugs were half-empty before she could return to the bar.

  “Hey stranger, where have you been all day?” she asked, brushing the bangs from her eyes.

  “I was with the Chief checking on something.”

  “Checking on something?” she grinned.

  “Nothing important, I’ll be with him tomorrow too. He’s short-handed so I volunteered my services,” he lied.

  “That was nice of you. What did he say about that nonsense Mrs. Toomey told you?” Nancy asked, motioning to a customer she would be right there to take his order.

  “He listened to me and said I was crazy, like you said he would.”

  “I told you he wouldn’t believe anything that fruitcake woman had to say,” she smiled sweetly.

  “I’m going to see her tonight,” David replied.

  Nancy looked surprised, even a little perturbed. She walked towards the thirsty customer who had been waiting patiently. “What for, can’t you see she’s nuts?”

  Nancy handed the customer his drink then swiftly leaned to him and spoke fast and softly. He nodded, gulped his drink and left.

  “Did you dig up Isabel’s grave?” she asked, returning to David.

  “Nothing but bones.” David knew the lies kept coming but he could not give away the secret and possibly start a panic. He stepped to the door. “I should go. I’m really tired.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said, taking his hand. “How about hanging around awhile? I haven’t seen you all day.”

  “No, thanks,” David said, alt
hough he ached to be with her. He needed to see if Mrs. Toomey could provide any more insight to destroy Isabel. “I have to get up early.”

  “I know, checking on things with the Chief. Okay, if playing policeman is more important than me,” she smiled seductively, “I guess I understand.”

  David’s passion surged. He thought of surrendering to those alluring eyes but remembered the evil in town. “I’m sorry Nancy, I’ll see you tomorrow night, I promise.”

  “Promise?” she asked. He nodded yes and walked away.

  “See that Art gets a blanket, David. It’s chilly tonight,” she called out to him.

  He waved and walked out into the clear night air.

  * * * *

  The only light in the Toomey home came from the living room. The surrounding yard was as dark and foreboding as an unknown cave. The ancient window curtains were yellow and unwashed, preventing him from seeing into the room. The bell went unanswered. He knocked and the door creaked open.

  “Hello,” he called out, “Mrs. Toomey, are you home?”

  He entered the hallway and gazed curiously into the living room. From the dim illumination of a pole lamp with a dusty tasselled shade, he could see the study door. He stopped noticing something wrong; the door hung by one hinge. David slowly approached, feeling the humidity increase.

  Oh, boy, he thought.

  “Mrs. Toomey, please answer me,” he said, beginning to perspire heavily from the sauna-like heat. It dripped into his eyes as the Chief had said happened to him. He entered the study.

  The leather chair behind the desk turned away, its back facing him. He debated between turning the chair and running like hell. He wondered what made him do these crazy things but right now, it was telling him to turn the chair. Taking a deep breath, he quickly spun the chair.

  It took a few precious seconds, seconds that he could have used to be on his way, seconds to register who the mutilated body in the chair was. He ran from the desk, from the body of the old woman, past the destroyed French doors, out from the horror in that house. Only when he was safely down the street with tires squealing did he stop screaming.

  David reached his Uncle’s home and burst into the kitchen where the Chief and doctor peered over a map of Wexford.

  “Damn it…Didn’t we ask you not to do that? You scared the be-Jesus out of us,” Murphy’s said, his hand instinctively reaching for his revolver.

  David stood still. “I just came from Mrs. Toomey’s. She’s been torn apart like the others. It must have just happened…the house is hot as an oven.”

  “Good God.” Carl lowered his head.

  Murphy stood. “Come on, doc.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Toomey house, I need to look around. We may find something useful.”

  “This is insane, Chief. How many more are going to die before we stop this madness?” Carl asked.

  “We’ll stop this thing. It has some connection with the river, perhaps staying near the grave. We’ll begin our search there tomorrow,” Murphy replied.

  Murphy returned to the map spread across the kitchen table and used a pencil to pin point the Johnson farm and southern slope of the heights. “At day break I want to begin looking in this area by the base of the heights.”

  “We won’t get cars in there,” Carl pointed out.

  “We’ll get horses from Toby’s farm,” Murphy said.

  Carl and Murphy went to the door, Carl patted David on the shoulder, “Get some rest, we’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Be careful,” David said. Carl smiled reassuringly.

  “Get all the rest you can. I need you tomorrow, we have a lot of people to round up,” Murphy said, closing the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gathering

  When David and his Uncle entered the police office the next morning, Murphy was at his desk, boots propped upon the blotter, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. After their visit to the destroyed Toomey residence and removal of the body, the Chief mentioned he was going home. Instead, he went to the police office and relieved Keith, then spent the night at the office.

  He appeared to have stayed up all night. His blue eyes had little sparkle, instead were a hazy aquamarine with a dark shadow of facial hair on his face. The restful appearance of yesterday had disappeared and the fatigued look was back.

  “Couldn’t sleep either?” Carl asked, also having had a restless night.

  Murphy stood and yawned. “Are you kidding, with that thing running around?”

  He walked to the rest room and spoke while washing his face. “I let Keith go home for awhile. It’s rough on him trying to do everything while I’m looking for God knows what. He’ll be back soon, and then we can leave.”

  They heard the water stop. David knew the Chief was depressed and angry over Colleen’s murder. He had his hands around the man either responsible for her death or knew who was responsible, and would have strangled him if not pulled off.

  The selectmen would be coming down on Murphy soon looking for answers. What was he going to say? A witch was killing all the voters in town? They would pack him off to the nearest funny farm.

  “How’s Finley?” David asked, recalling Nancy’s knowledge of the arrest.

  He wondered how she had known. Many folks frequented Kelly’s during the course of the evening. Maybe a couple of the worshippers went to the bar after running from the police and Nancy overheard them talking about their near arrest. She could have found out any number of ways, so he decided against mentioning anything.

  Murphy wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Finley hasn’t eaten or talked, just sits there staring at the floor. If he didn’t blink once in awhile I would swear he was dead, not that I would care.”

  Father Ahern walked into the office. He was void of his usual black with white collar, instead sported blue jeans and a green polo shirt. A large crucifix hung from a silver chain looped around his neck.

  “Good morning. Please forgive my appearance but I think the Lord will understand my departure from priestly garb to a more comfortable dress.”

  “Glad you could make it, Father.” The Chief greeted the priest with a handshake.

  “After your call last night I couldn’t resist.”

  “We’re happy to have you with us, Father, and you look just right for a walk in the woods,” Murphy added.

  “As the agent of our Lord, I must do what I can to assist in any way possible in this battle against evil,” the priest said proudly.

  Murphy hoped the long-winded Father wasn’t about to give a full sermon. The Father continued, shaking his head in disbelief of the Chief’s discovery as he spoke.

  “I find it amazing that night after night I trek through the forest surrounding Wexford attempting to locate this band of hell raisers, then quite by accident you locate them on your first venture.”

  “We were looking for the beast, Father,” offered Carl, “we saw their fire.”

  “You said you have been looking for them for some time,” asked Murphy, hoping he did not set off a long reply.

  “It began many years ago when I was assigned, surprisingly, to my home town. I arrived in Wexford fresh from the seminary. My first assignment was a burial service, the husband of a young woman who informed me of the real cause of her husband’s death,” Father Ahern said.

  The Father sat along the edge of the Chief’s desk, his leg swung freely from the knee down. He looked serious, like a man deeply troubled by the subject. “She was convinced a group of Wexford citizens, her neighbors and friends, had murdered her husband.”

  “Is this something I should know about?” interrupted the Chief.

  “I believe your predecessor, Chief Fowler, investigated the incident, found no foul play, case closed, but you can decide for yourself.
The woman told me she had taken a path through the forest, near their small farm and meager amount of livestock.

  “She came upon a group of people singing chants and dancing naked around a fire. Like you, she stumbled upon the worshippers and watched while hiding behind a tree. She was horrified when she saw they had taken a calf from her barn, slit its throat, and then passed a goblet of its blood to each member to drink.”

  “How did they kill her husband?” asked Murphy.

  “Patience, Chief…patience,” Ahern said. “The woman ran home where she told her husband of the group and the stolen calf. He went back with her and watched from behind the tree as the group continued its rituals. Seeing the slaughtered calf set the man into a rage and he marched right into their midst. The woman remained behind the tree and swore to me on her child’s soul that a goat-headed figure appeared and as it neared her husband, the goat-headed man raised his arm, when he lowered it her husband fell dead; his heart stopped.”

  Father Ahern noticed the silence in the office and the open mouth expressions of his audience. “The official cause of death that you placed on the death certificate, if you recall, doctor, was heart failure. But Betty Flanagan and I know better.”

  “Flanagan?” Carl rummaged through the hidden archives of his mind concerning the numerous patients he attended over the years. Finally, it came to him. “Yes, Flanagan…I found no evidence of foul play. It was a massive coronary thrombosis if I recall correctly.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t find any evidence of foul play, doctor,” Father Ahern said, standing. “His heart stopped when he came face to face with the Lucifer. That’s who killed Tommy Flanagan and made it appear natural.”

  David realized the connection. “Is this Nancy Flanagan’s mother you’re talking about?”

  “Betty Flanagan, one and the same,” replied Father Ahern.

  “She told me her father died before she was born.”

  “He did,” answered the priest, “she was born less than a year later, she never knew him.”