Strange Perceptions

by Chuck Heintzelman

  Ryan Doyle led the way, carrying a torch in one hand and a large knife in the other. Shamus followed with two long, iron-tipped spears.

  The crowd watched the men disappear into the woods and I realized my folly. I couldn’t slide down the tree until the crowd dispersed. I cursed myself and waited for the crowd to leave.

  After ten minutes I slid down the tree, keeping the trunk between me and the few stragglers outside the tavern. On the ground, I moved through the woods the same direction the men had headed. The moon, filtered by treetop branches, provided barely enough light to travel.

  Shamus and Ryan had a good lead. I moved quickly, sacrificing stealth for speed. They could have turned any direction once they were in the woods. How would I know where they went? I panicked and moved faster, becoming noisier. This was a stupid idea. What if I came upon the Banshee alone? Could I survive with just the knife? Uncle Nolan had been armed with more than a simple iron dagger last night and it hadn’t helped him.

  I heard a noise, a “crick.” I froze, not daring to move a muscle, and strained to listen. The noise happened again, the snap of branches breaking, as if somebody moved through a thicket without trying to be silent. I stepped close to a tree and peered around it. Twenty yards in front of me was a glow. I saw two men, the front one carried a torch. Shamus and Ryan.

  The men moved across a clearing in the woods.

  “Let’s take a break,” Shamus said.

  They sat on a stump near the clearing’s center, back to back, watching the woods around them. I stood behind the tree, afraid my slightest movement would cause Shamus to throw a spear.

  Why didn’t Campbell allow the men to bring muskets? Maybe he thought repacking the load between shots would take too long. I inched my head around the tree to watch the men and almost cried out at what I saw.

  An old woman stood next to the men, all white from hair to feet to tattered dress. She glowed, lit by an otherworldly light, and seemed translucent. The Banshee.

  The men rose up from the stump and stood before her, transfixed. One of them—I couldn’t tell who because their backs were to me—fell onto his knees. The other strangled out a scream; it sounded as if his tongue got in the way and only a gargling sound came out.

  I couldn’t move, paralyzed by the horrific scene before me.

  The specter slid to the men and her body expanded, stretching wide, each side moved out and around the men, circling them. The lower part of her body became a tent engulfing the men. I could see the men’s shadows inside her, arms flailing, attempting to claw their way out of their ghostly prison. I heard their muffled screams.

  Then Shamus and Ryan fell to the ground and moved no longer.

  The horrible apparition had remained motionless through the men’s struggles, keeping them trapped inside, but after the men fell to the ground it floated into the air above them, forming into a giant, hideous face. The face hovered over the men, grinning. I opened my mouth and a scream stuck in my throat.

  The horrible face turned and looked directly at me. Quick as a lightning flash, it moved to me and formed itself back into the old woman in the ragged white dress.

  Now I was truly unable to move. I tried, but my legs wouldn’t obey.

  Her face moved to within inches of mine. “You are not for me.”

  She moved even closer. Her lips touched my forehead.

  I passed out.

  I awoke back in the village, at the edge of the woods. Overhead the moon still shined. How did I get here? Did the Banshee bring me? What did she mean I was not for her?

  I struggled to my feet, hardly able to believe I was still alive. I should report this to Campbell. As much as I disliked him, he was in charge. Well, Sheriff McGrath was supposed to be in charge but everyone knew Campbell was really in control.

  Campbell lived in the biggest house in the village. It was also one of the few buildings made of stone. Most structures were built from the lodge pole pines so plentiful in the woods. I sprinted to the cobblestone path and then toward his house, not stopping until reaching his steps.

  On Campbell’s front steps I hesitated, gathering my courage. Campbell was the town’s boogieman, second only to the Banshee. Parents told their children “Better eat your vegetables or I’ll report you to Campbell.” Or “If you don’t stop fooling around and get to sleep, I’ll tell Campbell.”

  I knocked on the massive, wooden door. The rap of my knuckles somehow seemed both quiet and loud, quiet against the door of this immense house, and loud against the nighttime quiet of the village.

  Immediately, the great door opened and Campbell’s manservant, a short, stout, neckless man named Garth, stepped into the frame. He wore a nightdress and carried a lantern. “Yes?” he asked.

  “I must speak to Campbell,” I said.

  “Mr. Campbell has retired for the evening. Please come back in the morning.”

  Mr. Campbell? I had only heard him referred to as Campbell. I stared at Garth, unsure what to do next.

  “It’s okay, Garth.” Campbell stepped around him.

  “Camp-uh, Mr. Campbell,” I said. “I was in the woods and saw the Banshee attack Shamus Brennan and Ryan Doyle.”

  “Oh dear,” he said. “Do come in Sean Collins. Could I get you something to drink? Hot cocoa perhaps?”

  “Nay. I’m good.”

  Campbell herded me into a large room with a fireplace. Candles, in holders either side of the door, cast eerie shadows on the walls. Campbell lit a lamp on the table and pulled a chair to the fireplace. “You’re shivering. Sit here and warm up. I’ll be back in a moment.” He left.

  I looked around the room, amazed at the lavishness. I had never been in such a fancy place. A giant bookshelf covered an entire wall. Paintings with ornate frames decorated the other walls. Campbell appeared in a series of portraits along one wall, six of them. In each he wore strange clothing. I got up from the chair and examined the paintings.

  “Ah,” Campbell said, coming back into the room. “You’re admiring me ancestors.”

  Ancestors? I looked at the paintings and back at him. Each portrait looked exactly like him.

  “We Campbells have a strong resemblance.”

  I would never have guessed the paintings were his ancestors, not him.

  “Now,” Campbell said. “Come back to the fireplace. Tell me what you saw.”

  I sat back in the chair, feeling the fireplace’s warmth. He sat on the fireplace’s hearth.

  I told Campbell about the men and the Banshee, how she had engulfed them, their screams and attempts to escape, before finally falling dead. Of her floating in the air and changing into a giant face as hideous as death itself.

  “You are foolish, Sean Collins. Had she seen you, you’d be dead too.”

  “She did see me,” I said. “She came close to me and said ‘you are not for me.’ Then I passed out and woke in the village.”

  “You are lucky as well as foolish.” He stood and scratched his chin. “Garth,” he called.

  The short man appeared and handed Campbell a pipe. Campbell stuck a match on the stone hearth, lit his pipe, and tossed the match into the fireplace. He wandered the room, pulling deeply from his pipe.

  “Okay,” Campbell said. “Go home. Go to bed. I will send out a search party at first light.”

  I started to argue but a screech cut me short—the wail of the Banshee. A long, low moan which seemed to go on forever, slowly increasing in pitch until the moan became a shriek. The sound gelled my blood. It sounded like a cry of anguish, the result of the most horrible torture imaginable.

  Last night the cry had woke me up, but I had missed its full intensity.

  “Go Sean,” Campbell said. “Nothing you can do here.”

  I left Campbell’s house. Outside a crowd had gathered.

  “Sean.” Brady Sweeney, my best friend, rushed over. “You hear it?”

  “Aye. How could I not? And I saw the demon.”

  “For real?”

  “Aye,�
� I said. “I followed Shamus and Ryan and seen it kill them.” I shuddered. “Horrible.”

  Brady punched my shoulder. “You’re doing a bonzo.”

  “Get off.” I punched him back. “I speak true. I seen the Banshee with me own two eyes.”

  Ollie Brennan, Shamus’s brother, stomped over to us. He stood, towering over me for a moment, then grabbed me with his meaty hands. “What you seen boy? Tell me.”

  I struggled to free myself.

  “Lad, you tell me what you seen or I swear I’ll thrown you down the well. Headfirst.”

  I gave up trying to free myself and explained how I had followed the men into the woods, how the Banshee stretched itself around them, trapping them until they died. As I told the tale his grasp loosened. I rubbed my arms where he had held them, already feeling bruises.

  “Oh lord,” he said. “You watched and didn’t help?”

  Before I could answer the Banshee cried again. Outside, the shriek seemed louder. It came from everywhere at once, as if the entire woods screamed. Some in the crowd gasped. Plymith Brennan, Ollie’s wife, screamed.

  What did two Banshee cries in one night mean?

  Ollie grabbed my arms again. He started to say something, his mouth working, but no sound came out. He shoved me backward. I crashed into Brady and both of us fell to the ground. By the time I scrambled to my feet, Ollie had run into the woods.

  “Ollie, don’t,” Plymith yelled, running after him, but Ollie was gone. She ran to me and pointed. “This is your fault.”

  How was this me fault?

  Campbell put his arm around Plymith’s shoulder. “Come now dear. You must be goan home. Who’s minding the baby?”

  “Crazy,” Brady said.

  “Aye,” I said.

  “Everyone go home,” Campbell yelled. “Can’t do a thing tonight. We’ll sort this mess in the morning.”

  A few people peeled away from the crowd, but most continued discussing the Banshee.

  “I said go home,” Campbell said. “Now.”

  That ended the discussions. The crowd scattered.

  Back home I lit a lamp and checked on my mom. She lay in bed, curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. She didn’t even acknowledge the lamp’s light hitting her room. I closed her door and went to my room. I didn’t know how to comfort her.

  Mom changed when my dad died. I was too young to recognize it, but she lost all humor. Each year she got worse, sleeping most the time, hardly functioning. She stopped going to church. Pastor Lyons tried to get her to come back but couldn’t. After a few months he stopped trying.

  Since the Banshee’s wail last night she hadn’t left her room. I tried bringing her tea and soup, but she didn’t touch them. I needed to find someone to help her tomorrow. Maybe Brady’s mom.

  I got in bed, turned off the lamp, and stared at the darkness for a long time before falling asleep.

  The next morning loud banging on the front door woke me. I dragged myself from bed, pulled on my britches, and answered the door.

  Sheriff McGrath stood outside the door, scratching his red beard. “You need to come with me, Sean.”

  A few yards past the sheriff a crowd watched me. I stood there not understanding what was happening.

  “Go get on a shirt,” Sheriff McGrath said. “Then we’ll go.”

  I nodded and went back to my room to fetch a shirt, checking my mom on the way. She had slept through the commotion.

  I returned to the sheriff, buttoning my shirt as I went “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ll talk at me office. You need someone to look after your mom?”

  “No she’s—no.”

  Sheriff McGrath grabbed my wrist and led me along the cobblestone path toward his office. He kept a firm grip on me like I was his prisoner. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  The crowd followed us, more people joined it as we went. When we reached his office the crowd had doubled in size.

  Sheriff McGrath open the door ushered me into his office. He followed. “Have a seat, Sean.” He motioned to the seat alongside his desk and went around to his chair and sat.

  “Can you tell me what happened last night?” he said.

  I sighed. This is about the Banshee. How stupid to think I had been in trouble. “Well, I overheard Shamus and Ryan were goan after the Banshee. So I followed them and seen it kill them.”

  He nodded. “Then what happened?”

  “I fainted and woke up at the edge of the woods and ran and told Campbell.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we went outside and there was a crowd and the Banshee cried for the second time. What do two cries mean?”

  “Keep goan Sean. Tell me what happened.”

  “Then Campbell told everyone to go home and—”

  “—What about Ollie?”

  “Right. Ollie Brennan grabbed me and shoved me around and then he ran into the woods and Plymith was screaming after him something fierce.”

  He sat back in his chair, arms across his chest. “I have reports that you and Ollie Brennan were fighting.”

  “Nay, sir. It weren’t like that. Ollie was worried about his brother is all.”

  Sheriff McGrath studied me. “Then what happened?”

  “Then I went home and to bed.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then nothing till you come around this morn.”

  He leaned closer to me, eyes boring into mine. “Sean Collins, where is your iron knife?”

  I had forgot about my knife. “I don’t know. Must have dropped it in the woods.”

  He focused his eyes on mine. I forced myself to not look away.

  “This morning your knife was found in Ollie Brennan’s corpse.”

  The rest of the morning blurred by. Sheriff McGrath locked me in the cell, people gathered outside the barred window and shouted insults, even my best friend Brady asked why I killed Ollie. At noon Sheriff McGrath brought my mom to see me.

  I couldn’t believe he coaxed her from bed.

  She stood outside my cell, cheeks stained with tear tracks.

  “Mom!” I rushed to the bars, thrust my arms through them to hug her. She came close and put her arms through the bars around me.

  “Oh Sean, I’m so sorry.” She sobbed.

  “It’s okay mom. I didn’t do it. Things will work out.”

  “It’s all me fault.”

  “How could it be?”

  “First your father, then your uncle and now this. I caused it.”

  “Mom—”

  “—I broke me vow before you were born. You’re father never knew.”

  She pushed away from me, fell to her knees, and lifted her arms up in the air. “Please Lord have pity. Forgive me.”

  The sheriff went to her, helping her up. She went limp. “Sorry son,” he said. He picked her up and carried her out.

  As if I didn’t have enough to deal with. Now my mom’s sanity, which she barely clung to, had been shattered.

  I asked Sheriff McGrath about my mom. He told me ladies from the church were tending to her. Pastor Lyons had finally got her back to church.

  The day dragged on, each minute in jail seemed an hour. I ignored the jeers from outside my window and eventually the crowd dispersed. Dinner came. Hot, steaming Chili which I forced myself to eat. I asked the sheriff what was going to happen. He said the elders were meeting tonight to decide my fate. I finally fell asleep on the hard cell bunk.

  Jangling keys woke me. Campbell opened my cell door. “Quick Sean Collins come.”

  I jumped from the bunk, fully awake and alert. Outside my cell window the sky was dusk.

  “The council has decided you are to be hung at first light. I argued for your innocence but was overruled. Quick, come the sheriff will be back at any moment.”

  I couldn’t believe it. They thought I killed Ollie. How could this happen?

  Campbell slapped my face. “Snap out of it lad. You have one chance. Run away to the woods, kill the B
anshee, redeem yourself.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “I believe you. Now go.”

  What were the chances of killing the Banshee? Almost zero without my knife.

  Campbell raised his arm to slap me again.

  I cringed. “I’ll go, but how can I kill it?”

  He produced the knife my dad had gave me. “An iron blade.”

  I grabbed the knife and ran outside.

  Men stood in front of the tavern, Sheriff McGrath among them. “Wait,” he yelled.

  I ran to the woods, not looking back. Running through the woods in the twilight is dangerous, a sure way to twist an ankle. I slowed down but kept looking over my shoulder. Nobody seemed to be pursuing me.

  I kept moving deeper into the woods, climbing over deadfall, going around obstacles too large to climb.

  I had to kill the Banshee. Oh lord, the Banshee. So intent had I been on escaping I hadn’t thought about the danger I rushed into. I stopped and looked around, unsure of my location. The best thing to do would be to climb a tree and think things through.

  I came to a clearing in the woods with a large stump in the center. The same place Shamus and Ryan had rested. I went to the nearest tree, stuck my knife between my teeth, pulled my belt off, looped it around the tree and climbed. The first branch was thirty feet up. I grabbed it while moving my belt above it and continued climbing, not stopping for another fifteen feet. I stuck my knife into the trunk and looked down. I had an unobstructed view of the clearing.

  In the crook where a large branch met the trunk I sat and considered my options. As I saw it my only option was to kill the Banshee. Would I have courage to? Last time I froze. If that happened again I’d be dead.

  The Banshee wailed and I almost fell from the tree. I wrapped my arms around the trunk and squeezed my eyes shut. The sound from last night was nothing compared to the current cry. It was as if I were inside the scream. The sound shook me. It shook the tree. After the cry finished I still kept my eyes shut, afraid of what I’d see if I opened them.

  I opened one eye, expecting the Banshee’s monstrous face to be floating near me. I was alone. I looked around the clearing. No sign of the Banshee, but on the ground next to the tree lay my knife. The Banshee’s cry had dislodged it.