Dara said under his breath. He did not want her to get involved.
“I saw a black dog alright. He was the size of a small horse,” a man offered. More voices joined the chorus:
“We warned them, and now look!”
“It’s the scream I’ll never forget.”
“Aye, a banshee.”
Several heads nodded at that. Siobhán stared, transfixed. “What’s the story?” She nudged her way next to the nana with the staff and repeated her question.
“Did you not hear the ruckus last night?” Nana swung her staff to the hill in the distance. There sat a hawthorn tree bursting with white flowers, its gnarled branches stark against the morning sky.
“I’m afraid we’ve only just arrived.”
“The fairies gathered last night under the solstice moon.” The woman pointed once more to the hill. “All of us are here because we heard or saw something last night that we cannot explain.”
Siobhán drew closer. “What exactly happened?”
Macdara touched her shoulder, making her jump. “Who’s a believer now?” he whispered in her ear. She gently shoved him off as people around them began filling in the tale.
“Fairies,” someone else said. “Dancing. We heard the music. Flutes. They were hypnotizing us with it.”
“The strangest lights I ever saw. They were blue and glowing.”
“I saw white lights. And I think I heard the music. Flutes, so many flutes. It was fairy music alright.”
“I saw a flickering light. I thought it was a fire.”
“It was hard to separate the glowing lights from the light of the moon.”
“Then came the terrible, terrible scream, and soon after, the tree fell on its own accord, blocking the road.”
All heads snapped to the road. The woman with the colorful staff shuddered. “Never heard anything so grief-stricken in my life. The scream of a banshee.” A banshee, Siobhán knew, was a harbinger of death, often depicted as an old hag shrouded in a dark cloak. Were these supposed events what had Macdara’s cousin so spooked? “It’s that cottage, don’t you know,” the woman continued. This time she jabbed her staff in the opposite direction. “Built in the middle of a fairy path.”
“Whose cottage?” Macdara asked. “The Delaneys’?”
“How did you know?” Nana pounded her staff into the ground and leaned on it like it was a third limb.
“Ellen Delaney is me aunt,” Macdara answered.
“Is she now?” the woman said. “I’m Geraldine Madigan, this is my daughter-in-law, Mary, and the wee one is William.”
Siobhán smiled at the boy, who peeked out at the mention of his name, his big blue eyes twinkling.
“Have you seen them today?” Macdara asked.
Several glances were exchanged. The councilman stepped up. “I’m Aiden Cunningham. Welcome to Ballysiogdun. I’m sorry you’ve caught us in the middle of such high drama.” He laughed as if it was nothing, then looked around, his face turning grim when no one else joined in. He gestured to the distance. “The cottage is just over the hill.” He pointed again. “Down a ways until you see the gate; it’s through it, then to the left.” He glanced at their feet. “You have your Wellies. Well done.”
Siobhán pointed at the hawthorn tree. “Is there a fairy ring there?”
“Indeed,” Geraldine Madigan said. “And on the other side of the cottage you’ll find nearly the same, a fairy tree and a fairy ring. The cottage is in the middle.” She moved in on Siobhán. “That’s why it needs to come down, so.”
Aiden Cunningham approached. “Let’s not burden our guests with this conversation.” It was clear he didn’t want them around. Why was that? Perhaps he didn’t want them spreading rumors that many of the folks of Ballysiogdun believed in fairies.
“I wouldn’t stay long,” Geraldine said. “Either of you.”
Siobhán turned to Geraldine. “Earlier someone mentioned someone dying.”
Geraldine nodded. “Five past inhabitants of the cottage have met with untimely deaths,” she said. “It’s proof the Good People aren’t happy about the structure.”
“Five?” Siobhán said. That sounded grim. “Over what period of time?”
“We should go,” Macdara said. He tugged gently on Siobhán’s sleeve, and they started on their way.
“The first man took his own life. Hung himself in the cottage.”
Siobhán stopped and turned back. “Sadly, that happens.” She was a firm believer that they all needed to do whatever they could to bring the rates down. Relentless rain and too much alcohol or drugs never helped a person out of a black mood.
“The second man was killed in a motor accident just two weeks after he moved in.”
“Another common tragedy.” Siobhán didn’t want to dwell on this one as her own parents had been killed in an automobile accident several years ago.
“The third died in his chair by the fire. The official word was he died from smoke inhalation.”
“Smoke from the fireplace?”
“It seems so.” Siobhán turned to Macdara to see if he was as riveted as she was. Instead, he shook his head. “The fourth was stabbed while traveling in Wales one month after moving in.”
“And the fifth?” Siobhán had to hear it out now.
“The fifth dropped dead in the doorway. Heart attack it was.” Geraldine leaned in. “Something put the heart in her crossways.”
“Over what period of time?” Siobhán repeated.
“Over the span of two decades, but that’s not the point.” Geraldine stepped forward. “Every single person who has rented it up until now has died. Would you want to live in it?”
Geraldine’s words were biting. Siobhán had to remind herself that she had stepped into an ongoing drama that had nothing to do with her personally. “No. I surely wouldn’t.”
“Last night was the last straw,” Geraldine continued. “They have to listen to reason now.”
“They?” Macdara said. When no one answered, he filled it in for himself. “My aunt and cousin, you mean.”
Professor Kelly stepped forward. “The people of this village are suffering.” He edged in closer and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t matter what you believe,” he said to Siobhán. “It’s what they believe.” His eyes flicked toward the hill. “And that scream last night. I must admit, it was like someone walked over me grave.”
