Tuesday 1 March 2016

The Case of the Wailing Woman (3)

The night brought with it pouring rain and gales of wind, as the people slept fitfully and afraid across the city. Come the morning, the sun seemed to banish the weather. The downpour gave way to light drops, falling like tears, while the wind reduced to a soft sigh or resignation. Fear giving way to melancholy, as if the hunter which had preyed upon the city was merely sated, and would soon return.

Arven awoke from his broken sleep. Idly he pondered the same question he faced every time he helmed an investigation: Is it wrong to feel excited about a new case, even when people have died? He felt sorrow, yes, but also he couldn't deny the thrill of the chase that followed. He was startled from his thoughts as Susan rose from her place beside him. Together, they prepared for the day ahead.

Around noon, the pair met with David outside The Red Tavern, where they had arranged to interview the barkeep. They found him inside, wearing the same clothes as the previous day. The bags under his reddened eyes suggested that he had not slept in the interim. In front of him lay a slightly battered photo album, with the open pages showing several snaps of a smiling family, with 3 children. Judging by the condition of the photo, Arven assumed that the barkeep must be one of the children in the images.

"Come in Laddies" called the barkeep, voice catching slightly in his throat. "I wasn't sure if you'd come, t'be honest. Thought you'd call me a daft old man and stay away".

"As I told you yesterday, we've investigated bizarre creatures before" Susan reassured him. "So just tell us your story. From the beginning".

And so, the barkeep (Tom) told them everything. He reiterated the events of the previous night, and his assertion that it was a Banshee that killed Frank. He knew this, because the Banshee had also taken his mother, when Tom was just a wee boy. Tom recalled a night,  when he was 12, out on the bog. His mother had failed to return home before dusk, and an oppressive, dense fog was blowing in from the coast. Tom, his father, and their faithful hound Shep had no choice but to brave the elements and search for Maureen by feeble torchlight.

Young Tom then heard that shrill cry, the sound he could never forget, the sound that still haunts him, the sound that signalled the death of Frank, and of his mother. When he heard the cry that night, he ran to the source. Oblivious to the dangers of the sinkholes and deeper water shrouded by the fog, he ran until he found the corpse of his mother. Then, just on the edge of the fog, he saw a vision of a woman in white. A veil covering her face, the face of a decayed corpse left to rot underwater. He was stunned by the overwhelming fetid stench of death and decay, of rot and remorse eminating from the figure. She looked at young Tom, brought a single bony finger to her cracked and blistered lips, silently shushing him. Then her mouth creaked upwards into a smile, bearing her yellowed stumps of teeth, like a lion with cornered prey. Then, like breath on a mirror, she faded into the fog, blowing away like a broken dream, leaving nothing but the echo of a guttural, earthy cackle.

At this point in the retelling, Tom broke into deep, powerful sobs. Susan reached around table to conform him, while Arven and Dave exchanged awkward glances. After several moments and a double whiskey, Tom was ready to continue.

"They say the Banshee is a benevolent being. That her cry is supposed to alert the nearest family and friends that a loved one is soon to die. They say she is a blessing, allowing people to say farewell, and not have to die alone. But they're wrong. It's just a made up fairy story to make us feel better. Everybody dies alone. And there's no happy afterparty. The creature I saw was a murderous crone, delighting in death and misery."

When Tom had finished his story, the trio thanked him for his time, and promised to keep in touch. They decided it would be worthwhile to venture with Tom to the bog where his mother was killed. To conduct several tests or find any clues. It was a longshot and they knew it.

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