CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fitz, Liffey, Wes, and JT nodded at the middle-aged woman behind the bar. Middle-aged. Liffey had to laugh and shake his head. They were all middle-aged or older, depending on who you spoke to.
“Good mornin’,” she nodded. “Fine mess of a day out there isn’t it?”
“It is,” smiled Fitz. “Do you have coffee?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “Sorry, you two had me confused. I thought you were Irish lads with those good looks.”
“I suppose we are,” smirked Liffey. “I’m Sean Liffey, that’s my friend Alex Fitzhenry. Those two are Wes Jordan and JT Stanton.”
“Well,” she laughed, “sounds to me like three of the four of ‘ya are Irish indeed. Are ‘ya here looking for your ancestors?” She set the coffee cups down with cream and sugar, but none of the men took it. They drank their coffee black and strong and this woman’s coffee was perfect.
“No, ma’am,” said Fitz. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Castle O’Shan.”
“I see,” she nodded taking a seat beside them. “This have anything to do with the American girl found dead? I saw it on the news this morning. Terrible thing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.
“No ma’am,” she grinned. “My name is Ailish. I’ve lived here my entire life. Fifty-seven years. You’re told from the time that you’re a babe not to enter the grounds of that relic. Honestly, I don’t know why someone hasn’t just torn it to the ground.”
“I’m not sure what the news divulged but there were potentially hundreds of other bodies down there. Some were hundreds of years old, some were more recent. Can you make sense of that?” asked Liffey.
“You can’t make sense of the devil, lad. For most castles, most chieftains, when they died the land went to their families. O’Shan, he had no family because no one in their right mind would have married him. He was brutal, cruel, and enjoyed every minute of it.
“When he died, no one mourned. No one. He wasn’t even buried in the churchyard. His instructions were to leave his body in the tower, near a window. He wanted to watch out his window for anyone trespassing or daring to come on his land.
“In most cases like that, the historical folks would come in and take over, make sure it was preserved or sold.”
“So, that wasn’t done?” asked Wes.
“It was for sale for nearly seventy years. Everyone refused to buy it. Then, someone said they wanted to see if they could restore it or at least prevent it from crumbling any further. After the first week of workers falling, getting injured, tools randomly falling on their heads, they all left.”
“How do we explain that?” frowned JT.
“You can’t, lad. You can’t.”
“Ailish, we’ve heard that no one between the ages of sixteen and sixty has ever survived being on those castle grounds. Is that true?” Her rich brown eyes seemed to be staring straight through the men. She tilted her head to the side, as if she were trying to hear something in the distance.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about the ages or the survivors. In my time, I’ve only known one that got away. Sherilyn McKamey. She owns a bakery in the next village over. It’s the closest to the castle as well. I can’t believe she stayed so close but I suppose home is home.”
“Do you remember what happened to her?” asked Wes.
“Aye,” she nodded. “She’s not much younger than me, maybe a year or two.
She went up there on a dare from another girl.
Bridget Cain. Mean as a snake that one. Sherilyn said she could feel the heaviness of the evil the minute she walked through the main gates.
Later, she told the police that it was as if eyes were following her everywhere but there was no one there.
“Bridget, she dared Sherilyn to go up to the tower and take a photo of the dead chieftain. Sherilyn said every time she’d try to take a step, she tripped. Her knees were completely bloodied by the time she made it to the top. She said she thought Bridget had set traps for her.”
“Did she get the photo?” asked Fitz.
“She claimed she took an entire roll of film. She said there was a skeleton seated in a large chair that looked like a throne. That would stand to reason given the madness of O’Shan.
She said the room was filled with relics, gold coins and such, but when she tried to touch them her body was flung against the wall.
Someone kicked her and she rolled down the steps.
“Sherilyn thought she was dead but was very much alive and hurting, bleeding badly. She got to her feet and stumbled toward the gates. She said she could hear footsteps behind her, running after her with a maniacal laugh. By the time she got back to the village, she was nearly mad. They put her in a special hospital for three weeks. Bridget’s parents beat the arrogance out of her. ”
“I’m not sure speaking to this woman will help her,” said JT. “We don’t want to make her relive it.”
“If she knows it’s because someone else suffered, she may be willing. She’s a good woman.”
“So are you, Ailish,” smiled Fitz.
“Ach!” she laughed. “You’re all just adorable is what you are. Listen. Be careful. Everyone speaks of what might be there and what’s not there but I know it’s the devil himself.”
“Why do you say that? Why not just a horrible man that’s now an angry ghost?” asked Wes.
“You’ve been to the grounds?” she asked. They all nodded at her. “No one builds their castle between the sea, selkie caves just below you, a fairy fort to your east, and on top of a Viking graveyard.”
***
Twenty minutes later they were in the next small village, walking toward the bakery owned by Sherilyn McKamey.
They could smell the fresh bread and pies baking before they ever opened the door.
The space was small but had several metal tables with metal chairs.
They were miserably uncomfortable but it was all she had.
“How can I help you lads?” she asked with sweet, soft voice. She was physically the complete opposite of Ailish. Thin, with a silver pixie cut that only served to enhance her blue eyes, she had a wide smile and soft pink skin.
“Are you Sherilyn?” asked Fitz. She frowned at him, taking a short step back and nodded. “I don’t mean to frighten you. We were just speaking to Ailish, at the village down the road.”
“Oh, aye. Ailish is a lovely woman. We’ve sent customers back and forth for years, helping our businesses.”
“Well, ma’am, we don’t want to upset you, I promise we don’t but we’re here trying to figure out how that American woman ended up dead at Castle O’Shan,” said JT.
“Castle O’Shan,” she whispered. “I doubt that name will ever bring me anything except terror and dread.”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” said JT.
“It’s alright. I’ve spoken many times over the years about my experiences. Ghost hunters and the like trying to find the gold and relics. Do you know that no one since me has made it up those stairs? No one. Why do you suppose I was allowed but others were not?”
“Maybe you were innocent and whatever is there knew you weren’t going to steal the gold,” said Wes.
“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Do you know that not one of my photos turned out? Not one. It was an old disposable camera. Twenty-four photos and not one could be seen. I’m a good photographer. All the photos you see on the walls are mine. That day. That day nothing was right. Nothing.”
“How do you mean?” asked Fitz.
“I felt someone pushing me, shoving me but there was no one there. Then there was a scream, a loud piercing scream that reminded me of a banshee. I covered my ears and cried out but I couldn’t hear my own voice.”
“Everyone has said the same thing,” said JT. “But all of those people died.”
“Maybe I did too,” she said. “When they found me, I was battered, bruised, cut, and barely had a pulse. Whether I got away on my own or someone, or something helped me, I’ll never know. I’m just glad that I did. I never want to experience something like that again.”
“I’m sure,” nodded Liffey.
“It wasn’t just Castle O’Shan, lad. Have you ever been in a mental hospital?”
“No, ma’am. Not as a patient but I’ve visited some folks who were pretty bad off.”
“Well, I wasn’t bad off. I was as sane as you are right now.
Yet no one wanted to believe what I told them.
In spite of it all, no one wanted to hear what I had to say.
I’d never been a storyteller before. I’d never lied to anyone.
I’d never ban fantastical in any way. I was just little, plain Sherilyn. But they still thought I was mad.”
“I can understand that, as unfair as it might feel. I’m sure you experienced exactly what you said,” nodded Liffey. “Is there anything else you remember? Anything else that might help us.”
“Yes,” she said standing slowly. She swallowed hard, went behind the counter and filled a box with her homemade pastries as they watched her. She walked back to Liffey and handed him the box. “Someone whispered in my ear that my blood was no good.”
“No good?” frowned Fitz.
“I didn’t know it at the time but I had leukemia. I received treatment and obviously made a full recovery. But how would anything, ghost, fairy, selkie, whatever it was, how would it know?”
“We’re not sure but thank you for the treats,” said JT. “Thank you for your time.”
As the men stood, ready to file outside in the rain again, Sherilyn gripped Wes’ arm.
“One more thing. Don’t go back there. He won’t let you live twice.”