Witch Grannies - The Case of the Lonely Banshee

by Gary J Byrnes

  ‘The forecast says yes.’

  ‘Cool. Let’s just call Granny Smith anyway, just to be sure they’re safe. And we’ve one little magic favour to ask.’

  At eight o’clock in the morning, the sun was splitting the rocks, a stunning, beautiful autumn day with a sky as blue as the ocean on a summer’s day. As Emily and Malcolm tucked into their cornflakes and toast and juice, the emails were arriving into inboxes all over Ireland, all over the world.

  The email read:

  The children of Ireland hereby demand that our Government spends AT LEAST as much on our education as other developed countries, and spends it wisely. Until this happens, no Irish child will go to school. And we mean it. Starting today. Just one more penny per euro they spend. One penny.

  Emily and Malcolm’s mum and dad were happy. They sat and enjoyed breakfast with what they thought were their kids and asked if the strike was going to continue.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Emily.

  ‘Good,’ said mum.

  Emily and Malcolm walked to school with their placards and found a large group of kids already on duty, walking up and down outside, waving their protest signs and chanting. There was a big cheer when they were spotted.

  A couple of kids arrived and said that they wanted to go to school, that they didn’t want to miss out on any lessons.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Malcolm. ‘We can’t stop you.’

  He winked at Emily.

  So the kids went to the door, but it wouldn’t open. The caretaker arrived and fiddled with his big bunch of keys and tried to open it. Nothing doing. The very same thing was happening in schools up and down the country. A little bit of witch magic meant that nobody was going to school that day. Nobody.

  The teachers joined the children in the protest, just as the journalists and tv cameras arrived.

  It was a glorious day and, after a little while, the teachers formed the kids into little groups. They sat on the grass and ate their lunches and listened, as the teachers told them about their amazing world, about the magic of mathematics, about the wonderful stories of the great writers, about the language of their ancestors and how it was in danger of disappearing. The children learned and they enjoyed it. Later, they set up teams and played rounders and tip-the-can while the caretaker took a welding torch to the front door. Many would later say that it was the best day’s school they ever had.

  When the reports went out on the news that day, the Government started to get calls from journalists all over the world. One more penny, that’s all the kids wanted. One more cent in the euro. Put like that, people in suits were embarrassed.

  CHAPTER 27. FINDING EDNA

  As morning broke over the River Shannon in a carnival of pink and gold, the witches and Emily and Malcolm sat at a big round table on top of the All-Seeing Eye’s viewing platform. Here, they admired the incredible view and enjoyed a breakfast of fat, sizzling sausages, fried free range eggs (from the All-Seeing Eye’s hens that pecked around at ground level), thick slices of buttered toast and lots and lots of tea.

  The banshee detector had been running all night and the three signals were still on the screen. The witches who’d flown patrol during the night hadn’t spotted the banshee or Edna, but they had noted some unusual splashing downstream and funny noises upstream. They’d checked out the shack where the Boss had planned to poison the river in his quest for gold, but there was nothing going on there, just lots of moths around.

  So they finalised their plan, which was for everyone to get down to the river, hold on tight to Emily, follow the All-Seeing Eye’s directions, find the banshee and rescue Edna. If the banshee wouldn’t give Edna up, well, there would be an almighty commotion. Suddenly, the fresh morning air was ripped in two by an eerie wailing, like from an injured animal, real pain in it.

  The witches seemed spooked.

  ‘It’s the banshee,’ said Emily, casually. ‘I wonder what’s up?’

  ‘Maybe she stubbed her toe?’ offered Granny Smith.

  This broke the tension, allowing all the witches to tell the stories about when they stubbed their toes and how it was the most painful thing since sliced bread.

  ‘Well,’ said Emily then, ‘there’s only one way to find out what’s up with her...’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’

  The witches got their broomsticks ready, all lined up, giving them a couple of minutes to warm up after the cool night. Malcolm put his beside the others. A couple of the witches looked at him oddly.

  ‘What? Can’t I come?’

  The witches exchanged glances.

  ‘But, you’re not a witch,’ said Tara.

  ‘In fairness to the boy,’ said Granny Annie. ‘He was great last night. He saved us from being shot down, so he did. If it was one of us in his position, we’d have been making tea or knitting instead of just, you know, getting stuck in.’

  ‘Ah, we’re not that bad,’ said Granny Smith, pouring herself another cup of tea.

  ‘I know,’ said Granny Annie, holding her cup out for a refill. ‘But still.’

  ‘I think Malcolm is a very useful asset, ladies,’ said the All-Seeing Eye. ‘I think you should take him with you. He can link with me and I’ll pass on what I see here. Hmmm...’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Malcolm.

  ‘An odd signal. Upriver. Not a banshee. I can still see her and the other two signals. They seem to be going around in circles. This new signal is moving down towards them. What could it be?’

  ‘Time to move ladies!’ called Granny Annie. ‘Something’s happening down there and we need to get Edna to safety pronto.’

  ‘Here, Malcolm. Take this,’ said the All-Seeing Eye as she handed a little gadget to him. It was like a big, black sea shell with buttons and flashing blue and orange lights on the side, with a black leather strap to go around his neck. ‘Put it to your ear and you can hear me. Talk and I’ll hear you.’

  ‘Cool!’

  ‘It has a few more tricks up its sleeve as well...’

  ‘Come on, Malcolm! Let’s go!’

  Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Just don’t break it!’ called the All-Seeing Eye as Malcolm got onto his stick and lifted up into the sunny sky, following twelve witches on a mission.

  The banshee’s cry was still on his mind as they swooped low over the countryside, all the trees shining like gold, their autumn leaves glowing in the morning sun. What was that about?

  A flock of swallows, leaving Ireland for a warmer winter in North Africa, turned around to fly a little with the witch posse. They swooped in and out of the line, chirping and chatting to the witches as they went, tumbling and swooning through the sky.

  It was the most amazing thing Emily and Malcolm had ever seen. Then the birds gathered beside Granny Annie and Granny Smith and said Farewell and good luck, swept ‘round and were gone.

  The communicator around Malcolm’s neck buzzed, so he held the shell against his ear.

  ‘Malcolm, can you hear me?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’

  ‘It looks like the banshee and the others have stopped on an island in the middle of the river. They haven’t moved for a few minutes.’

  ‘Great! I can see the river ahead now, the footbridge is coming up.’

  ‘Downstream from the bridge, just about five hundred metres, I’d say.’

  ‘Roger.’

  ‘Don’t call me Roger!’

  Malcolm zoomed to the front of the witch air force and pointed towards the little tree-covered island. They understood and everybody zoomed down, landing with a crunch on a little stony beach.

  ‘Mind the noise,’ whispered Granny Annie.

  The witches were uneasy. They didn’t like water, and especially being surrounded by it.

  There was a distant rumbling, low and ominous.

  ‘Thunder,’ said Granny Smith, sniffing the air. ‘Doesn’t smell like it, though.’

  A family of swans watched them with curiosity, their great webbed fe
et paddling furiously against the mighty current to maintain their position.

  There were otter footprints in the mud at the edge of the beach.

  A grey heron hid in the shadows.

  The island was right in the middle of the river. It was densely covered in bushes, with a couple of huge weeping willows at one end and the little beach at the other. The river rushed down and around the island. Whenever the river flooded, the rushing waters would cover the island, hiding it from the world for a couple of days at a time, just the tips of the trees sticking out.

  ‘We’re down,’ Malcolm whispered into the shell.

  ‘I can see you, clear as day. They’re on the island, no doubt about that. Their blips and yours are as one.’

  ‘They’re here,’ said Malcolm to the witches.

  ‘Okay girls, spells at the ready, spread out and give a shriek when you spot them,’ ordered Granny Annie. ‘Malcolm, you stay with me for your own safety and keep an ear to that yoke.’

  Into the undergrowth they went. It was thick as a jungle, with blackberry bushes that would stick their thorns into you. Malcolm couldn’t resist the fattest, juiciest blackberries he’d ever come across, so he paused to pick a couple and stick them into his mouth. Granny Annie glanced back at him and shook her head to say No.

  ‘Concentrate,’ she whispered.

  The bushes grew thicker, with trees overhead, mainly hawthorn and holly with all their juicy red berries. The sky was blotted out and Malcolm suddenly became nervous, every step an effort.

  Flies buzzed.

  Spiders crawled.

  There was an odd whooshing sound from somewhere far away.

  They continued through the bushes. A thorn caught Malcolm on his cheek, a drop of blood slowly trickled down to his mouth, tasting metallic and salty.

  They came to a clearing in the middle of the island, the sun shining in through a gap in the trees overhead. The rest of the search party emerged into the open space, all at the same time.

  Malcolm knew to contact the All-Seeing Eye.

  ‘You’re there,’ she said. ‘Right on top of them.’

  ‘They’re underneath us,’ said Malcolm.

  All eyes looked to the ground, wondering where the secret entrance might be.

  ‘She’s a water creature,’ said Tara. ‘The entrance must be on the water somewhere. Emily, when you escaped, you came up into the river, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. There was a portal in her ceiling, straight into the river. But she did mention an emergency exit once. And I know she loved to watch the swans from under the willow trees. She did that every day.’

  They went to the willows and searched every square inch of the ground, moving branches and debris.

  ‘Well, would you looky here?’ said Granny Smith, lifting a huge fern that was touching the thick grass underfoot.

  A perfectly round pool of water was there, about a metre in diameter.

  The portal to the banshee’s lair.

  Malcolm’s eye was caught by something glinting in the bushes. He went to it and found a little box, kind of like an old-fashioned transistor radio. It had an aerial and a blinking light.

  ‘What’s -’ he started, interrupted by Emily, who held her hands up, wanting silence.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ said Emily.

  That distant whooshing noise had been growing louder. It was suddenly a powerful, buzzing roar, loud as an angry lion being attacked by a swarm of hornets.

  Witch Jackie, who never let her broomstick out of her sight, quickly jumped on board and climbed straight up, above the trees. She looked upriver and saw a wall of water, maybe as high as a tall giraffe, rushing towards them. The footbridge across the river was swallowed up by the water. In just a few seconds, it would drown them all.

  ‘It’s, it’s...’ said Jackie, her voice choked by fear.

  ‘What is it woman?’

  ‘It’s a tidal wave! A tsunami! It’s coming our way!’

  CHAPTER 28. THE BOSS’S REVENGE

  The Boss had been very busy. He was still damp and even more miserable by the time he got home. He felt like he was covered in frog slime still, so he had a hot bath and scrubbed his skin raw with a rough brush.

  Then he dressed in army camouflage clothes and went out to his workshop. He rummaged around for spare parts and made a quick version of his witch detector, only this one would give off a signal like witches. Then he snuck down to the river, took out his little boat and planted the witch signal maker on a little island.

  Back at his estate, he spent ages searching through is bits and pieces.

  ‘Aaah, found you, my beauty.’

  He’d been saving a remote-controlled detonator, the kind they use for smashing rocks in quarries, and he stuck it in his jacket pocket.

  He went out to his tractor trailer which was loaded with two tons of fertiliser, the perfect bomb. He put the exploding part of the detonator into the middle sack of fertiliser, kept the red button in his pocket. Then he put on a flat cap, lit a pipe and drove out the road to O’Brien’s Bridge, like any farmer off to look after his fields.

  The village was just a couple of miles north of his estate at Castleconnell, a quiet place, known mostly for its bridge over the River Shannon and also for the start of the man-made canal that took half the river flow off down to the power station.

  The Boss stopped his tractor on the bridge overlooking the intake across the canal. He picked where an explosion would be most likely to block the canal entrance with debris. And he drove his bomb down there. There was nobody about. This was lucky, because the bomb would make a fine blast.

  He unhooked the trailer and drove his tractor back up on to the road. He lit his pipe and pressed the button.

  The explosion was mainly smoke and dust, not a big fireball like what you see on TV shows. The noise and the shock wave made the Boss jump. He started to drive back to Castleconnell, his head turning back every couple of seconds until the dust cleared. Then he saw that the canal was blocked and all that water that should have been going down to make electricity in Ardnacrusha was now flowing in a powerful wave down the river instead. 500 cubic metres of it every second. That’s a lot of water.

  The Boss drove as fast as his tractor would go, because he wanted to see it when the wave of water hit the witches, who should all be on the island by now. And he wanted to be able to pick off any who escaped, his powerful hunting rifle wrapped up in an old coat, beside him there in the tractor cab.

  The road went in a more direct route than the fat, meandering river, so he got down to the car park beside the playground a few minutes before the wave. He parked the tractor at a wild angle, grabbed his rifle and ran down the muddy path to the bridge.

  He thought to take up position on the bridge, as it had a clear view of the island downstream. But he was afraid in case the wave would swamp it.

  He was right.

  As the Boss ran down the bank on the left hand side of the river, in among the fairy forts and the leprechaun runs and the golden trees, there by the steps up to the hotel, there was a boom as the wave slammed into the bridge. The bridge shook and trembled, but did not fall.

  He ran on, the island appearing through the trees.

  He made it out into an open field which swept down to the river, a beautiful white horse grazing up the hill, alarmed now by the commotion on the water. The wave was enormous, all frothing and bubbling and thunderous.

  ‘There’s no way they’ll survive that,’ he laughed. ‘Magic or no magic.’

  CHAPTER 29. SURPRISE ALLIES

  The salmon had been resting near the funny human’s lair, pleased that the sick taste had disappeared from the water. The urge to lay her eggs had been growing steadily all night and, in a bizarre twist, who did she meet only the salmon man she’d lived near as a child and who she’d travelled with in the Great Ocean?

  She felt that the river was safe for her eggs and that this would be the day. The morning had come with a dance of gold across the
rippling ceiling above.The poison was gone! Not a trace remained.

  She swam around her territory, greeting the creatures who also called the river home. The little fish, from sticklebacks to baby salmon, were full of chat about how lovely the water tasted today. The shrimp and the insects talked about the brightness of the morning. The water snails spoke only about the quality of river weed these days, for that was all they ever spoke about.

  Flying humans, odd humans, came across the sky and landed on the island over the underwater human’s home. She saw their shadows, how they changed. She noted that one of the shadows belonged to the girl that she’d saved from drowning.

  Then there came a distant boom, a shockwave travelling down from upstream, so powerful that it threw her onto her side, scraping against the the smooth pebbles on the river bottom.

  She hadn’t known this sensation in all her years. She didn’t know what to make of it, just that it was bad. Not natural. The flow in the water had changed, a force was coming.

  She swam to the humans’ lair and peered down through the portal, squinting her eyes to adjust to the change in the speed of light from water to air. They looked as though they were sitting down to breakfast, seeming oblivious to the shock in the water. She couldn’t warn them, tried thrashing against the surface of the water in the portal.

  Perhaps these ones under the water would survive, perhaps not. But those on the island above were finished.

  The girl!

  Her reflexive thought was of the estuary beasts, her enemies, the estuary dolphins.

  She thought hard, back to the times in the Great Salt when she had listened to their chatter and learned their tongue.

  So she called.

  Come now! Come quickly! Rescue the humans who are good and kind and thoughtful, who care about you and all other creatures of the river.

  Then she found a quiet place among the rocks and waited.

  Emily and Malcolm and the witches were petrified. Emily was fearful of the water, having only been saved by a salmon the day before. She knew that Malcolm couldn’t swim and that the witches didn’t like the water. They all exchanged glances, starting to call their broomsticks, cast spells, only there wasn’t time.

  ‘Take a deep breath!’ shouted Emily.