A Banshee's Tale

by Veronica Breville

  “Right here, love. What’s got you so wound up?” She was always so aware of my mood; it was kind of creepy. I followed her voice to the laundry room. “How was your day?”

  “Horrible, but did you really expect anything else after this morning?” I held back the wince as I briefly recalled the morning events. My mom, in typical fashion, just shook her head and sighed at my dramatics. “Hey, I have a question. Have you ever had the same dream over and over and then found out someone else had that exact dream, too?” Taking breaths between words took too much time. I forced myself to get my words all out in one long rush. I exhaled and inhaled deeply when I finished.

  “No, why?”

  “Well, I’ve had this weird dream since I was little, and now Will is having the same dream only he has more details, well, different details, really. Anyway, it scared him because he thought it was about me. The girl in the dream has my eyes but different hair, but it isn’t me because I’ve seen the girl in my dream, too. I just don’t know who else to ask because Will did some research but what he found was vague at best.” I had never realized how long I could talk without really breathing. It was impressive.

  “Honey, I’m sorry but I don’t think I will be much help. Aunt Lucie will be here in two weeks, though, and I’m sure she’ll be able to help you.” Just like this morning, I could tell she knew more than she was telling me, but there was no sense in pushing it. Cocking her left eyebrow, she pushed her lips together into a very straight and stern line, like a zipper with no pull, and gave her infamous “look.” Once she pulled out “the look,” there is no getting any more out of her; it took me years to figure that out.

  “Okay, why’s Aunt Lucie coming then? I thought she was waiting till my birthday.” Better to move the conversation on to a less touchy subject.

  “There are some things your aunt and I need to discuss before your birthday. The anniversary of your grandparents’ death is coming up, and we’d like to plan a trip back east to visit their graves.”

  My grandparents died a year after I was born, this year would be the fifteenth anniversary of their death. It was one of the sadder stories mom tells. My grandparents were on their way to visit some old family friends when they were in a terrible car accident. Neither survived. They were in their sixties when it happened. Mom always mentioned how glad she was that they went at the same time because one would not have survived long without the other. They were soul mates and shared a love so deep most people had a hard time understanding it. My mom is one of the few that understood that kind of relationship on every level. My parents, Dermot and Moira Dalry, were both born in Ireland. My dad’s family emigrated first and settled in Pennsylvania, where he received the bulk of his education. My mother’s family traveled to Columbia, Missouri before stopping. Both of my parents moved to Kansas City for jobs and met at an Irish festival. Mom would joke that fate brought them together because if they hadn’t moved here to Kansas they would have never met. That always seemed hokey to me, but my mom could be brilliant at being hokey.

  “Oh, will you wait until after my birthday to go?” Immediately I felt selfish for asking, but I had hoped my entire family would be there to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. Their trips back to Pennsylvania were usually short. If Aunt Lucie was coming in two weeks and staying until my birthday, they would have almost two months to go.

  “We’ll likely go at the beginning of October, Cat. That leaves plenty of time before your birthday. Trust me, none of us want to miss such a big milestone.” Her smile was radiant and full of understanding, which made me feel better. Still a bit selfish, but better.

  “I need to go start my homework. Not one of my teachers believed in taking it easy on the first day. I guess my lazy summer days really are at an end.” There was a flicker of amusement in my mother’s eyes, accompanied by her lip curling on one side in a small smile. Rolling my eyes in her direction I groaned before stomping up the stairs to my little room. Just before I walked through my door I swear I heard a snicker as well. At least someone got a laugh out of my life; I know I didn’t.

  The next two weeks passed without much commotion outside of the norm. My hair was still a large sore spot and had to be covered everyday. I’d taken to using the few hats my mom kept around in lieu of the stocking cap I’d grabbed the first day. They weren’t quite as hideous but then anything without a puffball on the end was a definite improvement. Will and I discussed the dream some more, but curiously, neither of us had had it again. We were both getting antsy as my aunt’s arrival neared. I had promised him repeatedly that I would call the minute she was settled so we could both talk to her about everything. I was lucky he hadn’t made me spit in my hand and shake on it.

  That Friday, as soon as the bus stopped, I rushed out, barely avoiding one of the younger kids’ feet, and gave Will the quickest hug I could before sprinting home. The earthy smell of the fields surrounded me and the sun beat against my skin, soothing away the stress of the day. Normally I would have taken the time to enjoy the height of the Indian summer on a day like today, but I had a mission. No time for sunshine and flowers. I had to get home and find out when Aunt Lucie would be here. I ran heedlessly into the house at a dead run, not even stopping to make sure the door closed all the way. I found my mother in the kitchen, elbow deep in bread dough.

  “Hi, Mom! Is Aunt Lucie here yet?” I was still panting and trying to catch my breath.

  “Hmm, no, honey. She called a bit ago and won’t be here until later tonight. Just as well, I need to talk to you about something.” I didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. Mom walked to the sink and began washing her hands. Through the small window in front of her I could see that she had a scared look in her eyes. That coupled with the serious tone of her voice meant I was in for more than a simple mother/daughter chat. Great. The weekend I had hoped for now seemed as distant as a delightful dream. I racked my brain for what I might have done wrong but came up empty. I was still lost in thought when I realized she had left the room. I stood to go find her when she reappeared with the oldest, weirdest-looking book I had ever seen.

  What the hell is all of this about?

  “Catherine, for a while now you have been asking why you seem so different from other kids.”

  The truth at last. It was the other shoe and it was dropping from the fortieth floor. I wondered what rare genetic disease I had and how long I had to live. Maybe they would grant me a trip to Disney World before I kicked it.

  “Well, you are different, honey, but not in the ways you think.” I furrowed my brow, confused. “I’m not explaining this right. Hmm, let’s see...” She stared over my shoulder, deep in thought before speaking again. “You once asked if anyone else in the family understands how you feel or has been through similar times, do you remember that?”

  “Yeah, I think.”

  “Well, can you think of anyone in the family that you look more like than me or your dad?”

  Couldn’t she just come right out and tell me? I hated guessing games.

  Ugh!

  “I suppose I’ve always thought I looked more like Aunt Lucie...” The weight of my unfinished sentence hit me like a ton of bricks. I suddenly began to understand why my beloved but stranger-than-fiction aunt had always taken such an interest in my life.

  “That’s right, Aunt Lucie,” she paused, thinking to herself and then continued, “how do I tell you this without frightening you?”

  What the holy heck was she trying to tell me? Just that one sentence did the work. I was officially freaked out.

  She’s really gotta work on that brain-to-mouth filter.

  “I suppose it would be easier to just show you the family book and let you read it for yourself. I can answer questions when you’re done.”

  “Um, okay?” I choked.

  Slowly she opened the ancient book and carefully turned the brittle, yellowing
pages until she found what she was looking for. Using her finger, she silently showed me where to begin and then returned to preparing dinner. What I read left me dazed and reeling. I was sure, if I read my mom’s behavior correctly, she felt the same way.

  I sat at the table with the ancient book opened before me, stunned. I glanced up at my mother who watched me steadily with tears glistening in her eyes. I glanced down again, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping that this was a nightmare.

  Unfortunately, it was all very real. With slumped shoulders and water logged eyes I continued to read. The further I got the more I realized I had no choice in the matter. So many things made more sense after reading the family book. My freaky eyes, for example, were a birthmark, of sorts. All people born with a gift like mine had the very same eyes. My newly acquired flaming hair was another, though it was only mentioned in passing. Let’s not forget that my new mission in life was to be welcomed into the ranks of people born to help lost souls find their path to eternal rest. The book referred to it by two names, one was much more acceptable than the other, too. I was destined to be a Guide. In the land of my ancestors they still referred to my kind as the Banshee.

  Covering my face with my hands all I could think was that this wasn’t my life. This was some kind of a fairy tale. Some insanely twisted and truly horrific fairy tale.

  A soft thud seemed to echo through the empty kitchen when I finally closed the book. Warm hands startled me when they landed silently on my shoulder and gave a soft squeeze.

  “Catherine, you are not like the rest of us. Your life is meant for a much higher purpose.” The words fell from her mouth the way rocks make their way down a mountain.

  A tear streaked from my eye. What? Was I supposed to feel honored? Was I supposed to be thrilled that I was the one chosen out of my generation?

  My usually eloquent and subdued mother had a look of intense anguish in her eyes. “You were born with a special gift and specific path in life. Through many centuries, my family—our family—has been charged with guiding people near the end of their mortal lives to the path chosen for them. In ancient times, many that died clung to their earthly ties. They were... too afraid to move on and forget those they left behind. They had been deceived by demons and told that the light would destroy them and all they loved. Because of their fear, they remained behind. In spirit form, they crowded around the living and interrupted the lives of those they had left. The promise of staying close to their living loved ones made to them by the demon spirits was empty, for they could never truly interact with those they seemed so near to again. All they were capable of was creating an air of pain and suffering anywhere they lingered. Trapped here, they walked through their old life racked with torment, never able to let go. Out of this chaos was born the Guide... your destiny.” I heard the sadness in her voice, and it stunned me into complete silence. She continued, and even though she repeated most of what I had read, the reality of hearing her speak the words made my blood pound in my head.

  “Eventually, the first Guide was able to steer the departed souls to their eternal rest. She stayed to continue the work with those she knew to be dying and bestowed her wondrous gift on her own children. They became protectors of souls, tirelessly working to keep the ancient demon spirits out of the lives and minds of those taking their final journey.” She had finished her thought with a sigh and a slump of her shoulders, as if she had finally been freed of some terrible duty, only to be suddenly bound by the knowledge that she had sentenced her only daughter to a life lived for the protection of others.

  Eventually, I reached across the rough table to squeeze my mom’s hand. Trying to reassure her that I was up to the task, the hesitation in my fingers betrayed me.

  Without much thought, I asked the first question that my numb brain could muster. “Why me?”

  “Well, because you were born with the mark of a Guide.” She softly rubbed her callused thumb under my eye. “Your eyes, love. Haven’t you ever wondered why your eyes were so different from the rest of ours? Like I said before, there is only one other in our family with them.”

  “Aunt Lucie,” I answered. “I just figured it was something along the lines of a birthmark. Some freak genetic thing that happened every couple of generations or something.”

  “Well, you’re on the right track. Aunt Lucie is the Guide for our generation. She is a rare Guide, indeed, as she possesses the ability to influence her charges from a distance. She never had to learn how to detach herself from the natural feelings of loss like most other Guides do.”

  “Seriously? I always knew there was something different about her, but I figured it was just because she looked so different from everyone else.” My thoughts started to wander to the other similarities between my aunt and me, but really there was only one more. “And our hair?”

  “It seems the dark color is also a mark, but only of our family. Your aunt has run into other guides and mentioned that the eyes are always the same but the hair color often differs. The bright red highlights you have in the sun are much like the eyes. No matter the color of a Guide’s hair, it seems to burn in the sunlight. Lucie has theorized that it is a defense mechanism, but no one knows for sure.”

  “Hmm...” And that had been all I could take. I put my head on the table to contemplate all of the information my mom had disclosed for the remainder of the afternoon.

  Guide!

  Worse yet, Banshee! People had grown accustomed to thinking of my ancestors as wailing, spectral women, hideous and feared, who announced the imminent death of a loved one.

  Of course, Mom, Dad, and practically every adult relation I have already knew my destiny. My eyes had been the key to recognizing who I would become. Those same eyes were behind the reason I was whispered about in the halls at school and never invited to social gatherings. No one wanted to be friends with a girl they felt uneasy meeting eye to eye. It made me very appreciative of my one friend, Will, who had become extremely protective of me. I often wondered why he didn’t feel the same repulsion as the others. Thankfully, the joy of having his friendship kept me from dwelling on that question too hard, lest I run him off, too.

  Will. He was a part of my life I didn’t want to push out of my mind. I could tell him anything, except perhaps this, but I vowed to find a way around that. I had to just hope he wouldn’t turn and walk out of my life once he knew.

  I must have sat there for an hour or more because the only thing that prompted my movement was the feeling of pins and needles in my legs from sitting too long without movement. I had gathered my wits and stiffly stretched my limbs before standing up. Never before had the short walk up the stairs to my room seemed so difficult. The moment my body hit the bed I let everything go and closed my eyes, willing my body to relax enough for a short nap before Aunt Lucie arrived.

  I woke to the feeling of feather light touches tickling the bottoms of my feet. Kicking out to rid myself of the annoyance I was surprised to hear a giggle just as I made contact with flesh. I sat up, instantly alert and looked to the end of my bed where my Aunt Lucie was rubbing her stomach.

  “You’ve got a future in kick boxing, Cat.” Her wide smile prompted my own.

  “I’ll add that to my resume, right after harbinger of death.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  “Mmm, yeah, Moira told me that she let you read the book.” I felt the bed dip and removed my hands from my eyes to see my aunt smiling sadly. “It’s an honor, Cat. I know it seems like some insurmountable obstacle right now.”

  Snorting loudly, I leaned into her and wrapped my arms around her middle. “It seems like it should be happening to someone else, actually.” With a soft squeeze I let go.

  “But it’s happening to you.” Her statement, while firm was delivered with a softness only she and my mother were capable of.

  “I know.” The mattress bounced as I flopped back onto it, putting my fore
arm over my eyes. “It just doesn’t seem real. I mean, Banshee? Really?” I lifted my arm just enough to peek at my aunt. “How have you handled it all so well?”

  The squeak of old springs filled the silence as Aunt Lucie moved to lay beside me. “I just do. It’s what I was made for and I’m proud to wear the mark of the Guide. Give it time, love. You’ll understand sooner than you think.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

  Over the next week, my pouting deepened into solid depression, and all I could do was languish in the never-ending hell that was sure to be my life. It was all quite dramatic and, as Will would tell me repeatedly, quite annoying. I still hadn’t asked Aunt Lucie about the dream. Will was quite perturbed with me, but I had a bad feeling it had something to do with being a Guide, and I still didn’t know how to let Will in on that little secret.

  I knew my mood swings and lack of energy were part of the same process any grieving person went through to accept their loss. It actually turned out to be my first lesson. All my charges or “Tourists”, a term my aunt used, would need to go through a similar process. Now, I had firsthand knowledge and could pull from my experience to help those put in my care.

  There is an upside to this whole Guide thing. On my very first day of lessons with Aunt Lucie, I learned that I wouldn’t age as other humans do. That explained why she still looked like she was twenty when she was thirty-two. Well, if I have to give up my life to help dying people “see the light,” then at least I can look good doing it.

  Point one for the positive!

  Of course, Aunt Lucie didn’t let me dwell on that for long before smashing every other thought I had about being young and pretty for an undisclosed period of time. Love, marriage, sex, children, a career, normal things that every girl looked forward to are now all dreams to be left unfulfilled. It would never be wise for me to marry or fall in love because such attachments could interfere with my duties. Aunt Lucie, without thought to the embarrassment factor, also mentioned that sex is altogether different, as first you have to learn to detach yourself from the feelings that generally come from participating in that particular act, and that wasn’t easy. I silently watched, mouth hanging open, while the light went on as she remembered she was talking to an almost sixteen-year-old about something she wasn’t even sure I understood. My mouth snapped shut after I cleared up her embarrassment by explaining that Mom had indeed covered the ‘birds and bees’ already. The sigh she made was followed by a more relaxed stance, the worry lines gone from her forehead. It also erased the distress I was beginning to feel, almost. None of that was in the least bit interesting to me, yet, and having my aunt/teacher talk about it made me feel queasy.