by Terri Reid
Margaret appeared at her side carrying a plate of food. “Now that we finally have you sitting down,” she said, “I thought I’d try and get some food inside of you.”
Mary looked at the plate that was filled with a mini-sandwich, some vegetable sticks and dip, a little bit of fruit salad and three large slices of cheesecake. “What kind are these?” Mary asked, pointing her fork at the cheesecake.
“Pumpkin, salted caramel and dark chocolate,” Margaret said. “Rosie made the pumpkin, I made the salted caramel, and Kate made the dark chocolate.”
“You’re joking!” Mary exclaimed, taking a forkful of the dark chocolate and closing her eyes in ecstasy as the flavors melted on her tongue. “This is amazing. Kate, I didn’t know you knew how to make cheesecake.”
“I didn’t,” Kate replied with a smile, “until Master Chef Rosie took me under her wing. Do you really like it?”
Mary put another forkful in her mouth. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “Um, these cheesecakes are all for the pregnant lady, right?”
She took a bite of each of the other cheesecakes and sighed happily. “I just love you guys,” she said.
Margaret grinned. “Well, I knew what to put on her plate,” she said. “She was always the one with the sweet tooth.”
“But she needs to open the presents,” Clarissa said.
“Of course I do,” Mary replied and smiled gratefully at Bradley when he placed a TV tray next to the rocking chair for her plate. “Clarissa, could you bring the gifts to me?”
“Oh, and I’ll write down who gave you what,” Rosie said, holding up a pen and notepad.
“Thanks, Rosie,” Mary replied.
She took the first gift from Clarissa, a large box that was fairly heavy.
“That’s from our family,” Maggie said.
Mary looked up and smiled. “Well then I can’t wait to see what it is.”
She opened the box, and once again, her eyes filled with tears as she pulled out a handmade baby quilt in pastel blue colors. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, and then she rubbed it against her cheek. “And so soft.”
“We went with mom to the fabric store and made sure all the material was soft,” Maggie said.
“And mom made all of us help quilt so it could be from the whole family,” Andy said. “But she pretty much got all the blood stains out of it.”
Mary chuckled and turned to Kate. “Thank you,” she said, her heart in her eyes. “I truly love it.”
Clarissa handed Mary the next box, a shirt-sized gift box. Mary opened the card and smiled up at Ian. “You know you didn’t have to,” she said.
“As an honorary uncle, it was both my duty and my pleasure,” he replied.
She opened the box and started to laugh before she pulled out a tiny, baby-sized kilt, matching booties, and a tiny leather sporran.
“It’s the MacDougal tartan, my family tartan,” he explained.
“I love it,” Mary said. “And I know he’ll be proud to wear it.”
The next box was from her brothers, and Mary opened it with a little bit of trepidation. But when she looked inside, she laughed again. First she pulled out a baby-sized Cubs baseball uniform, and then she pulled out a tiny Bears football jersey, a Bulls basketball onesie, and finally a Blackhawks hockey sleeper.
“Those are our family tartans,” Sean said. “We need to start him early on the right teams to follow.”
Mary handed them to Bradley. “What do you think?” she asked.
He was amazed at how tiny the sleeper was. “Will he fit in them?” he asked.
Nodding, Mary sighed. “They’ll probably be too big at first.”
“Now, it’s time for your gift from Ma and me,” Timothy said. He slipped into the kitchen and came back out carrying a wicker bassinet. “This is the bassinet you used when you were a baby,” he said. “We’ve kept it up in the attic, waiting until the day you could use it for your own child.”
His eyes filled with tears, and his voice cracked. He waited for a moment before he tried to speak. “I’m so proud of you,” he said softly. “You’ve already become a wonderful mother. And I can’t wait to meet little Timmy.”
Margaret punched him softly on his arm. “That’s Michael Timothy, you big galoot,” she said, wiping tears from her own eyes.
“Ah, but he’ll always be little Timmy to me,” Timothy replied, winking at Mary.
Mary was just about to pick up her plate when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Bradley said, and he hurried over to the door.
Because of the adventures earlier in the evening, everyone was quiet and tense, waiting to see who was at the door.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a woman’s voice floated into the room. “Are we too late? I didn’t even know if we should have come.”
“No, of course you should have come,” Bradley said. “Please come in.”
Bradley opened the door wide, and an older couple walked in carrying a large, wrapped box. The woman walked over to Mary. “I don’t know if you remember me,” she said. “We’ve only met a couple of times. I’m Mike’s mother.”
“Oh, good, they came,” Margaret whispered to Rosie.
Unable to speak at first, with tears rolling down her cheeks, Mary nodded. “Yes, of course I remember you,” she finally said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“It’s all a little strange,” Mike’s mother said. “But somehow I had this strong impression that Mike would want you to have this.”
Mike appeared next to her and smiled down at Mary. “She got the impression after I whispered it into her ear several dozen times,” he said.
Mary took the gift and reverently unwrapped it. In the midst of fresh, light blue tissue paper lay a well-used baseball mitt and an autographed baseball. Mary lightly stroked the mitt, its leather worn and soft. “It’s perfect,” she said. “I know he will love it.”
“They were my greatest treasures when I was a boy,” Mike explained. “I wanted to pass them on.”
“Do you really like it?” Mike’s mother asked.
“Oh, I love it,” Mary said.
Mike’s mother turned to her husband, who’d come up behind her. “See, I told you she’d understand,” she said.
He smiled down at Mary, looking so much like an older version of his son that her heart nearly broke. “Well, just in case, we brought you another gift, too,” he said, handing her another box.
“Oh, you didn’t need to,” Mary said. “This is wonderful.”
“Yeah, well, we thought he’d probably like this, too,” he said.
Mary opened the box and pulled out a toy fire truck. “In case he ever wonders who he was named for,” Mike’s father said.
Bradley handed Mary a tissue to help stem the flow of tears, and she shook her head. “He will never wonder who he was named for,” she promised. “He will always know.”
Chapter Fifty-eight
The fire was glowing embers, and the house was dark, only the light from the jack-o-lantern glowing on the coffee table was softly illuminating the room. Mary was snuggled in Bradley’s arms in the corner of the couch, and her father had moved the rocking chair to the center of the room where he now sat with Clarissa cuddled in his arms.
“We need one more story, Grandpa,” Clarissa insisted.
“Ah, well then, who hasn’t had a turn?” he asked, looking around the room at his family assembled around him.
“The only one who hasn’t taken a turn is you,” Margaret said. “So, make it a good one so we can all sleep with the covers pulled up tight.”
Timothy chuckled. “And so I will,” he said.
“The moon was full, as it is tonight, and a young girl was walking near the forest’s edge all alone,” he said, his voice low. “Now it wasn’t her fault at all, for she was a good girl and abided her mother and father’s warning, ‘Never go near the dark woods at night.’ But she’d been helping a friend, and it took much longer than she had expected. And now s
he walked slowly her heart hammering in her chest, as the leaves crunched underneath her shoes and the wind cried softly between the trees.”
“She clutched her shawl closer, for the night was a cold, autumn night, and the wind was fierce. The moonlight cast shadows through the trees that danced wickedly in the night sky, their spindly, leafless limbs lifted up reaching for the stars in the heavens. She’d heard about the trees and their autumnal dance but had never seen it before. It was almost as if they had lifted their roots from the ground and swayed to the music of the night, their giant trunks bending side to side and their silvered branches waving to the moon. The girl was awestruck by the beauty and the majesty of it. And that’s where she made her first mistake. She stopped walking and turned toward the dark woods to watch.”
“A light appeared in the woods a little ways from the road. A light that she wouldn’t have seen if she hadn’t stopped. A light that moved and bobbed and twirled slowly in the distance. Pulled away from the dance of the trees, the girl’s attention was caught by the light, and she could not pull her eyes away from it. Then she heard the whisper of a voice. ‘Remember.’ The sound, carried by the wind, whisked along her spine, up the back of her neck and into her ear. ‘Remember.’”
“Could it be a faery? she wondered. She’d heard about the faery folk, and it had been rumored that they did, indeed, inhabit portions of the dark woods. Could it be a leprechaun, carrying his pot of gold in one hand and his wee lantern in the other? Could it be a child, lost and afraid, in the midst of the dark woods with only a candle for light? Could it be the banshee searching for her next unsuspecting victim? A shiver ran down the girl’s spine at the thought of the banshee flying from the dark woods toward the road and snatching her up in her skeletal arms.”
“She started to walk away from the forest and once again heard the soft whisperings on the wind. ‘Remember. Remember.’ The sound made her shiver, and she started to run, afraid of whatever it was in the woods. She heard the crunch, crunch sounds of her feet against the dead leaves on the road. She heard the soft panting sounds her own breath made as she ran as quickly as she could. She heard the wind whistling through the trees. She still heard the voice. ‘Remember. Remember.’ And she saw that the light was coming closer to the road.”
“She glanced around frantically. She could see a tiny light in the distance, and she knew it was the lantern that her father put on their barn to guide her safely home. All she had to do was make it to the barn, and she would be safe. She tried to run faster, but her legs were tired and her breathing labored. She knew that soon she would have to stop to catch her breath, or she would fall to the ground. But before she could slow down, she stumbled over a stone and tumbled to the ground.”
“No sooner had she fallen than the light emerged from the woods. It was her worst nightmare come true. The terrible banshee, an ancient, glowing crone with fingers like the silvering tree branches, eyes like glowing coals, and teeth darkened with lichen and moss. The young girl covered her face with her hands. ‘Will you remember me?’ the banshee asked. The little girl nodded, her body shaking in fear. ‘Will you remember me in a year?’ the banshee demanded. The girl nodded again. ‘Yes,’ she whimpered. ‘I will.’ The banshee screamed into the night sky. ‘Will you remember me in five years?’ the old crone demanded. ‘Yes,’ the child pledged. The banshee moved closer, and the girl could feel its cold breath on her neck. ‘Will you,’ the crone asked slowly, ‘always remember me?’ With tears running down her cheeks, the girl nodded. ‘Yes, always,’ she said.”
“The banshee didn’t move, but stayed just hovering above the frightened child for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally, drawing a skeletal finger along the child’s cheek, the creature spoke again. ‘Knock, knock,” it cackled. Confused, the child looked up. ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered. The old crone’s eyes widened, and her ember-like eyes glowed hotter than before. Her face contorted, and she lifted her claw-like hands up above the girl. ‘What? You forgot me already?’”
It took a moment for the ending to register with Clarissa. Then her wide eyes crinkled, and she shook her head. “Grandpa, that wasn’t a real story, was it?” she laughed.
Timothy held up his right hand. “On my honor,” he said. “It happened to my great-great-grandaunt in the hills of Killarney when she was but a wee lass. Luckily she made it home to tell the tale.”
“And ever since it happened,” Sean said, standing up and walking across the room towards the refreshments, “knock-knock jokes were banned from the O’Reilly household.”
Clarissa shook her head. “No,” she said, looking to Mary for confirmation.
Mary laughed and shook her head. “I think they might be pulling your leg,” she said. “But, my dear, now it’s time for bed.”
Bradley stood up. “Come on, Clarissa,” he said. “Say goodnight, and then I’ll help you get ready.”
It took a few minutes, but finally Clarissa was climbing the stairs with Bradley, happily exchanging knock-knock jokes with him.
“Thank you, Da,” Mary said. “That was the perfect story.”
“The poor, sweet lass had eyes as wide as saucers before I started,” he laughed. “And she should, after a night like this one. But I wanted to send her to bed with laughter on her lips, not a ghost under the bed.”
“You are an excellent grandpa,” Mary said, placing a kiss on his forehead.
“Well, and thank you for the ability to be a grandpa,” he said, and then he looked around the room and scowled. “Since none of your brothers seem to be in any hurry to pass on the O’Reilly name.
“It’s not our fault,” Art said. “We look too much like you, so none of the girls will have us.”
Margaret chuckled and pulled herself out of her chair. “Well, you bunch of ugly boys,” she said, “come help me clean up. I’ll not be leaving Mary with a mess like this.”
“Oh, no, Ma, you’ve done too much,” Mary said.
Margaret came over to her daughter and embraced her. “It’s not often that I can be helpful, and tonight I’m going to insist. You need to rest after what you’ve been through today,” she said. “If not for you, then for the baby. You go to bed, Mary O’Reilly Alden before I have your father carry you up.”
“But, Ma,” Mary argued.
Margaret placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “To bed with you,” she said. “Now. We’ll all be here in the morning, so we can catch up then.”
“Goodnight, Mary,” her brothers called mockingly. “Sleep tight.”
She chuckled. “Goodnight,” she replied.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Moonlight flooded in through the bedroom window, illuminating the entire room as Mary padded back from the bathroom for the third time that night. She sighed. When would she remember to stop drinking liquids after nine o’clock?
She was nearly to the bed when the closet door started to slowly open. Clutching the bed post, she watched in silent awe as the door swung open even further. “Um, we have a rule now,” she whispered. “No more bedroom visits. The bedroom and the bathroom are off limits.”
The moving door stopped.
“See, I told you,” a voice whispered. “It was right on the instructions.”
“Instructions? What instructions?” another voice replied. “We’re dead. Who needs instructions?”
“Well, obviously you do,” the first voice said. “Just like you always needed directions but never asked.”
“We got to where we were going, didn’t we?” the second voice replied.
“I don’t think death was our destination,” the first voice said.
“Oh, and now you’re going to blame me for that?” the second voice asked.
“Shut the door, Frasier. We don’t want to disturb her,” the first voice ordered.
“Oh, sure, don’t disturb her,” Frasier replied. “Don’t think about…”
The door closed, shutting off their conversation.
Mary stared at t
he door for a moment and then started to laugh.
Tomorrow is certainly going to be another interesting day.
About the author: Terri Reid lives near Freeport, the home of the Mary O’Reilly Mystery Series, and loves a good ghost story. She lives in a hundred year-old farmhouse complete with its own ghost. She loves hearing from her readers at [email protected]
Other Books by Terri Reid:
Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series:
Loose Ends (Book One)
Good Tidings (Book Two)
Never Forgotten (Book Three)
Final Call (Book Four)
Darkness Exposed (Book Five)
Natural Reaction (Book Six)
Secret Hollows (Book Seven)
Broken Promises (Book Eight)
Twisted Paths (Book Nine)
Veiled Passages (Book Ten)
Bumpy Roads (Book Eleven)
Treasured Legacies (Book Twelve)
Buried Innocence (Book Thirteen)
Stolen Dreams (Book Fourteen)
Mary O’Reilly Short Stories
Irish Mists – Sean’s Story
The Three Wise Guides
Tales Around the Jack O’Lantern
PRCD Case Files:
The Ghosts Of New Orleans -A Paranormal Research and Containment Division Case File
Eochaidh:
Legend of the Horseman (Book One)
Romance:
Bearly in Love
The Order of Brigid’s Cross:
The Order of Brigid’s Cross – The Wild Hunt (Book One)
5-STARS for The Wild Hunt!!!
The child’s story is too far-fetched for most of the Chicago Police Force to believe – claims of an army of other-worldly creatures who attacked and dismembered the rival gangs. But Sean O’Reilly believes him, because he’s seen them himself. An encounter he had as a boy in a dark forest in Ireland did not just give him nightmares, but changed his entire life.