The Key Chased the Blade

I spent the next few days with Simon and his family. The snow wouldn't let up, so we had an excuse to be out of school anyway. The O'Neills knew what was going on and really felt bad for me. It made me feel bad that they felt bad, and I really just wished things would be normal for once. I was tired of worrying. I was tired of holding back tears. And I was even more tired of trying to beat Simon at Battleship because for some reason he was a psychic and always knew where my ships were. God.

Simon gave me a long hug one night for no reason, but I let him do it because I realized I needed it. We didn't say anything, I was just getting ready for bed and he came into the guest room and hugged me. I hugged him back, and then we released and he kind of looked like he was going to say something, but didn't and just pushed my hair out of my face and signed a see you in the morning. Then he left. I turned out the light and tried to get some sleep.

But the sound of someone singing woke me up.

The sun was bright and stinging my eyes, so I sat up and turned away from my window. The singing was really loud. At first I thought it was Mrs. O'Neill practicing a song for one of her plays, but I didn't recognize the voice. The song sounded tragic, too. God. It was probably one of the saddest songs I have ever heard in my life.

Then it hit me.

Was this the banshee?

I nearly sprang out of bed. I had to get Simon. But when I took the time to pull on my shoes, the singing began to dwindle. She was probably leaving. I couldn't wait to get Simon. I had to leave, and now.

I booked it out the front door. My left shoe was half on and I didn't have any socks, but I didn't care. I saw her. The washing woman, the bean nighe, she was outside in the yard next to the garden. There wasn't a speck of snow on the ground and the garden was full of red and white roses. I hadn't noticed the O'Neills had them before this. The sun must've melted all the snow off of them.

The banshee was singing to herself and washing a shirt in a bucket. She was dressed in shades of green, like moss green, emerald green, forest green, and her silver hair was pinned up in her bonnet. Her pruny lips were wide open and I could see her rotten teeth, and the creases in her face were so deep, I could've sworn she was over a hundred years old.

"I um - uh, excuse me!" I called. Jesus. I had no idea what to say. What did you say to a ghost that forewarned people's deaths? "Um, excuse me!"

The woman kept on singing. I couldn't decipher the words, and I couldn't decide whether the song had them or not, or that it was just in another language. She slapped the shirt onto the fence near her. My chest felt tight. For some reason, I thought I recognized the clothing item. It looked like the ACDC shirt Rico had gotten and lost a couple years back. We always had a suspicion John took it. It was too stained with blood to be recognizable, though.

I tentatively walked nearer to her. It was getting harder to breathe. "Excuse me! Um, excuse me, miss!" But she still didn't hear me. She put the shirt back into the bucket and pulled out another one. This one I recognized instantly. It was Simon's favorite dress shirt; it was the one he wore for special occasions, like weddings or job interviews. Fear stabbed me like an ice pick. No. That couldn't mean - that couldn't mean Simon was going to die, could it?

The white, long-sleeved shirt was smeared with red. When the banshee wrung it out, the water was crimson. I really couldn't breathe. Jesus Christ, I felt like I was going to throw up. "Ex-excuse me," I said feebly.

The woman stopped singing, looked at me, and smiled. It wasn't a pretty sight. Her gums were festering and her teeth were black and yellow. "Ex-excuse me, miss," I managed. I was sweating. Jesus, I was shivering at the same time. "Do you - um, uh, do you know who's clothes are in that bucket?"

I didn't think it were possible, but the banshee's mouth stretched wider. "Why yes, dearie," she said in a surprisingly sweet voice, "these belong to John Mordred and Simon O'Neill."