Just a Few Miles From Galway
Up this way, they had told him, was a country pub with a decent stout. He needed stronger than that, after a day of trying to get any sort of sense out of the locals. A strong malt whiskey, by preference. The night was already blacker than ink as he stumbled his way down the road.
The soft sounds of a female voice drifted from the riverbank. His skin prickled. After a moment, he left the road, shiny black leather shoes slipping on the wet grass. He pushed his way through the undergrowth until he saw her, a pale brown-haired woman crying to herself at the water’s edge.
“Are you okay?” His voice was muted by the mist. She did not respond, dipping an old stained shirt in the water and wringing it out as her tears splashed down.
“Hey? You all right?” He felt silly; she was alone, in the dark, crying. Of course she wasn’t all right. He glanced at his watch, quarter to eleven. The pub would probably be closing soon. He cursed under his breath and stepped towards her.
“Listen, can I do anything?”
She turned towards his voice, long hair falling into her face.
“Ah, so it’s you?”
He looked at her, beautiful blue eyes framed by the dark strands of hair, typically Celtic and very beautiful. She shouldn’t be out here alone.
“Me what?”
“That I was sent to warn.”
Christ, she was some sort of nutter. Figured. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to miss last orders, not that this god-forsaken pub would have any decent whiskey anyway. It would be a relief to get back to London where weirdoes like this at least got locked up for their own safety.
“I dunno what you are talking about; listen, want me to walk you back to the village?”
She seemed not to hear him. He felt a slight chill as her voice echoed softly against the trees.
“His hair was dark, his eyes were brown, his face was cold. He looked without seeing, thought without dreaming, touched without feeling, spoke without hearing.”
“Okay,” he interrupted. “I’ll leave you to it.” He backed up, taking one last look at her before turning and rushing back to the gravel of the road. Sod it, she wasn’t his problem. If he was quick he’d still get a drink.
She remained motionless while the brakes screeched, blinking as the dull sound of his body landing on the bonnet was followed by silence. She heard the car door slam, urgent voices and then finally a siren. She looked at the bloody shirt in her hands.
“Looked without seeing, walked without watching, died without living.”
The banshee drifted back to the water’s edge and hid herself in the rushes, at peace again until the next one came.