Wednesday 14th November 1860

 

Chapter 1

 

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  The old man in the bed still breathed. That was all he managed. He had not eaten in days, and he struggled to swallow the little water forced down his throat. Globules of dried drool pooled in the corners of his mouth. His eyes rarely fluttered open and when they did, they were glazed – unseeing. The stroke had been cruel, sagging his face, immobilising his body, and robbing him of his mind. He had been given a day to live. So far, he had surpassed his doctor’s expectations. The stroke had been four days ago, yet he clung to life like a barnacle on a wave battered rock. His condition had deteriorated and now nobody expected him to live through the night.

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  His family gathered around his deathbed. Mrs Aldecott, soon to be a widow, mopped at his brow. His sons Charles and Edward shared sombre looks from the foot of the bed while his only daughter Elizabeth hovered at her mother’s side with tear filled eyes. On the opposite side of the bed an elderly doctor examined Mr Aldecott. He worked with the greatest of care not to disturb their vigil while enduring the watchful gaze of Professor Arthur Ashcroft. The Professor stood by the hearth, his arm resting on the mantelpiece, studying the scene with the emotional detachment of a man strictly here on business.

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  For my part I felt uncomfortable being in the room.  We were intruding. This was a private family moment. I pulled back the curtains and gazed out on to the streets of London. The storm raged outside. Rain bounced off the cobblestones forming small rivers that overflowed the gutters. A man hurried past, his soaked coat no longer offering any protection from the elements. He staggered as a gust of wind almost blew him out into the road. Lowering his head he fought on, determined to reach whatever destination that could be so urgent to take him out on such a night.

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 “Nicholas,” the Professor called.

 

  Letting the curtain drop across the window I turned back to the room. Except for Mrs Aldecott, the rest of the family were leaving. I took one last look at the dying man in the bed before following the others out of the room. Pulling on his coat the doctor gave instructions to keep Mr Aldecott warm and to see that he continued to receive plenty of fluids. Then accompanied by the family’s coachman the doctor went out into the storm. While Charles Aldecott instructed the butler to prepare a broth for his father, Edward led the Professor through a door to the right of the stairs. Forgotten about I followed them into the billiards room.

 

  As the name relayed a billiards table dominated the long room. The balls were set up ready to break. Beyond the table a fire was roaring in the hearth surrounded by a group of armchairs and a lounger. Against one wall was a bureau with a brandy decanter and a set of glasses on top. The other walls were adorned with stuffed games birds. Above the mantle, looking down on the room with a shocked expression, was the head and shoulders of a magnificent buck.

Edward Aldecott poured three glasses of brandy. He passed the first to the Professor and kept the second for himself. For a moment I thought I was going to be offered the third glass, but then Edward’s brother Charles entered the room. Charles walked past me as if I were one of the stuffed birds, took the third glass of brandy, and sat down opposite the Professor.  I remained by the door, in full sight, but out of mind.

 

  “I am sorry about your father,” the Professor said. “It is not an easy way to go.”

 

  “He is a hard man. Always has been,” Charles said taking his pipe from his waistcoat pocket. He busied himself filling the bowel with tobacco. “It’s no surprise that even on the verge of death he is going out with a fight.”

 

  Edward took a long sip of his brandy as if steadying himself.

 

  “Now Arthur you must be wondering why we have asked you here.”

 

  “I must admit I am curious,” the Professor said. “It cannot be for my medical opinion. Your father is already in the care of one of the finest physicians in the country.”

 

  “We still require your expertise,” Edward said. He glanced at his older brother. Charles gave a small nod. Edward took a deep breath. “My father believes that our family is cursed. And he is to be the latest victim.”

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Chapter 2

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  “Cursed?” The Professor said leaning forward in his chair. “What sort of curse?”

 

  “Are you familiar with the Irish Beansidhe?” Edward asked.

 

  “You refer to what in England we call a banshee?” the Professor said. Charles nodded. Always keen to impress with his knowledge the Professor continued. “In folk stories the beansidhe or woman of the fairies is usually a herald of death. It appears at a time of death and lets out a mournful cry before vanishing.”

 

  “Precisely,” Edward said. “My father believes that the male line of our family is haunted by a beansidhe. As you well know our family has a large estate in Ireland. Our great grandfather, Henry Aldecott, was the first to fall victim to the beansidhe. He died after a short illness in his early forties. He had been fit and of sound health one moment then racked with disease the next. Our great grandmother was in the room at the time. She claimed she saw the beansidhe. It looked like a rotting hag. She watched it lean over her husband and kiss him. He died at the touch of her lips. The beansidhe promised to return for her sons, then screamed and disappeared before her eyes.”

 

  “Her tale was explained as a figment of her grief fuelled imagination. It was forgotten about until the death of her eldest son William. He had a riding accident in his early twenties. A servant reported hearing a bloodcurdling scream.  He followed the scream to find William had been thrown from his horse. The animal had bolted leaving his crumpled body behind. According to the story the horse ran until its heart gave out. William’s death was believed to be a tragic accident. Yet the scream and the beansidhe’s curse was whispered about.

 

  “When our grandfather died our father heard the scream. He said it was the worst sound he ever head. So shrill that it hurt his ears. It left him cold and full of despair. You see according to the family tale the beansidhe that haunts our family does more than just moan. She steals the soul of the deceased in vengeance for the way she was wronged by Henry Aldecott.”

 

  “Your great grandfather wronged a banshee?” the Professor asked. He spoke in a serious tone, but he could not hide his small cynical smile. The Professor believed that the supernatural did not exist. He had made it his life’s mission to debunk all claims.

 

  “By all accounts he was a bit of a rogue.”

 

  Charles suddenly spoke up. “Do you think it is wise to share such a distasteful story? For all we know it is just a fabrication.”

 

  “We asked Arthur here for his opinion,” Edward said. “He will need to know the whole story, no matter how fanciful it is, if he is to reach a conclusion.”

He looked at his older brother for permission to continue. Tapping the pipe against his lips Charles nodded for him to proceed.

 

  “When Henry arrived in Ireland, he met one of the local peasants. For him it was a bit of fun. For the girl she believed they were in love. She fell with child and Henry had her thrown off his land fearing the slander an illegitimate child would cause. She had a son, but the child was sickly. She came to him for help, but he drove her away. The child died shortly afterwards. The girl followed her child to the grave a matter of days later. Believing that to be the end of the matter Henry married our great grandmother and went on to amass the fortune that we his descendants manage to this day. Except ten years later, when Henry was on his deathbed, the girl reappeared to take his soul in revenge for the child she lost.  Since that day it is said she has returned to claim the soul of every one of Henry’s male descendants...”

 

  A sudden howl of wind reminded us of the storm outside. The two brothers looked at each other, sharing the same thought; that on a night like this it was all too easy to believe in ghost stories. Then Charles snorted and the moment was lost.

 

  “I don’t believe we are even discussing this nonsense,” Charles said. “The beansidhe is a fairy tale for little children. Even the existence of the girl and the illegitimate child is doubtful. The story is nothing more than slander spread by the envious Irish to ruin our family name. The only reason we are discussing this is because Father foolishly believes it.” He drained his brandy and rose to his feet. “Now if you excuse me, I am going to check that Father drank some of his broth.”

 

  Charles circled the billiards table on his way towards the door. He glanced at me, dismissed me as irrelevance, and left the room.

 

  “Charles does not believe in things that go bump in the night,” Edward explained. “He finds the whole notion that our souls might be snatched by the beansidhe as preposterous. However, my father is convinced he heard the beansidhe wail at the death of our grandfather. He believes that the beansidhe will come for him when he dies. And I fear that may be this very night.”

 

  “I am afraid I happen to agree with Charles,” Professor Ashcroft said. “I have been studying the supernatural for several years and I am yet to see any evidence for anything that cannot be proven without a rational scientific explanation.”

 

  A groan of disbelief escaped my lips. Edward and the Professor looked up. I pressed a hand to my mouth and coughed. “Sorry, sir. Something in my throat.”

 

  The Professor acknowledged me for long enough to scowl before returning his attention back to Edward.

 

  “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. I for one would be very surprised if there is any truth in the stories regarding the beansidhe. However, as your father believed in the tale and you asked for my expertise, I will, with your blessing of course, stay on hand this evening to witness any visitors whether spiritual or not that choose to visit him.”

 

  “Thank you. My mother will sleep easier knowing that when my father passes away his soul will find heaven.”

 

  “To your Father,” the Professor said holding his glass high.

 

  Together they toasted Mr Aldecott. Edward looked up at the clock in the corner of the room. It was nearly nine. “Would you care for a nightcap?”

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  “I think it is best if I begin my vigil of your father’s room.”

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  “Of course.”

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  Edward led the way back up to his father’s room. Having received no alternative orders, I trailed behind carrying the Professor’s bag. We met Charles leaving the room.

 

  “They have managed to get a little bit of broth down his throat but fearing they may drown him have stopped. They will try again in the morning. I managed to persuade Mother to return to her room and rest.”

 

  “Tell her there is no need to worry as Arthur has agreed to sit in with Father tonight,” Edward said.

 

  Charles frowned. He looked at the Professor unsure.

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  “There is no need to fret,” the Professor said. “I have studied medicine and if there is any deterioration in your father’s condition, I assure you I am the best person to have on hand. I suggest you take the opportunity to rest safe in the knowledge that I will summon you if required.”

 

  “See nothing to worry about,” Edward said putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Come Charles let’s have another drink, it will help you to relax.”

 

  I accompanied the Professor into Mr Aldecott’s room. A servant was busy adding coal to the fire. The room was sweltering. The Professor dismissed the servant while I stripped down to my shirt. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

 

  “He certainly will not a catch a chill,” the Professor said. He stood over the bed inspecting the man within. With his eyes closed and his mouth ajar Mr Aldecott could have been mistaken for being dead. Only the rising of his chest and the wheezing rasp of his breath indicated any form of life. “No change. I doubt he will survive the night. We will take it in turns to keep watch and an eye out for this banshee.”

 

  “I thought you said there were no such things as banshees?”

 

  “You need to lighten up a bit, Nicholas. Of course, there are no such things. It was a joke.”

The Professor walked over to the only chair in the room. He sat down and gestured for me to pass him his bag. He took out a book, flicked to his page, and began to read.

 

  I stood for a few moments wondering what I was supposed to do. “Sir?”

 

  “What is it, Nicholas?” the Professor muttered without looking up.

 

  “What would you like me to do?”

 

  “I suggest you get some sleep. I will do the first watch. You can take over in a few hours.”

 

  “But sir, it’s only nine o’clock.”

 

  “If you do not take the opportunity to sleep now you will only regret it later. Besides I do not want you falling asleep on your watch.”

 

  I was not surprised that the Professor took the first watch. No doubt he intended to wake me when he felt tired. While he slept the rest of the night  I would be left on watch through the early hours.

 

  A pile of spare sheets sat on a chest against the far wall. I picked up the sheets and took them to the window. I made a nest on the floor beneath the curtains. The sheets offered little comfort on the wooden floor but were better than nothing. I closed my eyes and listened to the rain tapping against the glass, the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind, and the wheezing of the dying man in the bed.

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Chapter 3

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  I woke with a start as water splattered against my face. The window was open. The curtains fluttered like flags in the wind. Shivering I scrambled to my feet and pulled the window closed. Why had the Professor left the window open? Especially on a night like this. The old man would catch a chill.

 

  The Professor sat asleep in the chair. The book lay open on his lap where he had dropped it. So much for him staying awake. I turned to the dying man and the moisture in my throat evaporated. Mr Aldecott lay wheezing in his bed – but he wasn’t alone.

 

  An emaciated woman dressed in rotting rags leant over him. She was more skeleton than flesh. Her skin with its sickly yellow hue was shrivelled and tight on her bones. Her white hair resembled a spool of wire. The tip of her nose was missing. Her dark eyes were sunken in their sockets. She looked as if she had crawled from a grave.

 

  Mr Aldecott opened his eyes and for the first time in days he stirred. Instead of withdrawing in fright from the skeletal spectre leaning over him he moved his head eagerly towards her. The spectre bent down to meet his lips. Mr Aldecott did not resist. Willingly, almost desperately, he kissed the spectre back.

 

  Mr Aldecott began to shudder. His eyes rolled up in his head. He did not or could not break off the kiss. The spectre wrapped her bony finger round the back of his head and pulled him closer. His feet thrashed under the blanket. Their embrace lasted until Mr Aldecott began to choke. The spectre pulled her shrivelled black lips away. Mr Aldecott collapsed in his bed. His chest rose no more and it would never do so again.

 

  The spectre looked up from the dead body and smiled at me. Only a few black rotten teeth remained between her bleeding gums. I stumbled backwards desperate to get away. The spectre glided towards me. Her limbs did not move. Her arms hanged limply at her side, her legs remained motionless as she glided forward. My back struck the wall. She reached out her hand tipped with long muddy fingernails.

 

   I shuddered at the thought of her touch. I could smell the decay oozing from her. A pungent smell of damp and fragrant flowers. I sniffed deeply. There was something intoxicating about her perfume. She moved closer and into the candlelight.  I had been mistaken. It must have been the shadows by the bed playing tricks on my mind for I had completely mistook her.

 

  Her skin was not yellowy and paper thin, it was flawless and glowed with life. Her eyes were not black; in fact, they were a brilliant emerald green. As for her hair it wasn’t grey and wiry, but long and straight with a golden hue like rays of sunshine. Her lips were ruby red, and she was not skeletal but voluptuous. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She smiled, a smile so friendly and enticing that I forgot my fear or even surprise at her presence. The death of Mr Aldecott was unimportant, the Professor snoring in the chair an irrelevance, all that matted was the beautiful woman in front of me.

 

  “Come to me sweet boy,” she crooned. Her voice sent tingles running up my spine.

 

  Smiling like an idiot I stepped forwards. Words could not do justice to her beauty. She placed her hands on my shoulders. Her touch sent sparks flaring through my body.

 

  I had never kissed anyone before, except my mother, but that doesn’t count as it is not the same. Not that I had not thought about it. But in truth I found the thought of actually kissing a girl terrifying. The plunge into the unknown. The fear that she would not reciprocate my kiss, the worry I was lousy at it , the shame of embarrassing myself terrified me as much as any of the incidents I had investigated with the Professor. But at that moment I didn’t feel fear. I felt giddy. All I wanted was to feel her lips on mine. I moved my head towards her free of all inhibition.

 

  “You’re not an Aldecott,” she croaked in a voice like that of a crow and not of the songbird she was. Before my eyes the glamour lifted. The spectre returned. She clutched she me tightly with her bony fingers. Her long muddy nails dug into my arms. I clamped my lips shut and yanked my head away from her.

 

  “Pucker up, Nicholas,” she cackled as I squirmed to break free. “Just pucker up dear.”

I pressed my hands against her bony shoulders and pushed with all my might. Her bones creaked against the pressure.

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  “Kissy, Kissy. I know that you want to,” the spectre taunted. Her cold stale breath was repulsive. The floral scent now stunk of decay like a bloated dead badger in the sun.

 

  Desperate I pushed against her. Her bony fingers clutched me tightly like fishhooks embedded in the skin. I could not break free. I yelled for the Professor. But my voice was trapped in my throat.

 

  She let go and I fell in a heap on the floor. I scrambled away on hands and knees towards the Professor. I looked back fearing the spectre was following. The beautiful woman had returned. She stood by the window watching in amusement. I tilted my head to the left and she turned back into the corpse. I straightened my head. The beautiful woman reappeared. She was both the hag and the beautiful woman. She was like one of those optical illusions which tricked the eye into seeing either a duck or a rabbit, but once you knew the trick you could see both at the same time.

 

  “Do not fear me young Nicholas Briggs,” said the banshee. “My kiss is only for the male line of the Aldecott family. But for you it might be an escape. For you are meddling in forces beyond your comprehension. But like a moth drawn to the flame you cannot avoid your fate. A surprise visitor seeking help will set you on a dangerous path. Death stalks your future. Tread carefully, for one false step, and you will be wishing that you met my lips.”

 

  The banshee pushed the window open. The storm blew into the room. The curtains whipped around her. The flames in the candles flickered. She took one last look at the dead man in the bed, then lifting her head to the sky like a wolf howling to the moon she let out the most pitiful scream I had ever heard. I pressed my hands against my ears trying to block out her deafening cry. Her screech was painful. I gritted my teeth and screwed up my eyes. It felt like a nail being slowly pushed into my brain.

 

  The scream ceased. I looked up. The curtains flapped in the wind. Rain splattered against the floorboards. The banshee was gone.

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Chapter 4

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  “What on earth is that racket?” the Professor grumbled. I didn’t answer. I was staring at the flapping curtains. “Nicholas, I am talking to you and close that window before Mr Aldecott catches a chill.”

 

  “Sorry, sir,” I muttered. I wasn’t thinking straight. My heart was fluttering. I did not feel frightened. If anything, I felt a giddy excitement. A rush of adrenaline that left me lightheaded. Strangely of all was a longing for the banshee to return, of course not the hideous spectre, but the beautiful woman. Dazed I crossed over to the window and pulled it shut.

 

  “Mr Aldecott?” the Professor said. He threw his book on to his chair and raced to the bed. He pressed his long slim fingers against Mr Aldecott wrist feeling for a pulse.

 

  There was sound of feet thundering along the corridor and up the stairs. Summoned from all over the house by the banshee’s wail, family and servants hurried towards the room. The door swung open and as Edward led the way into the room the Professor looked up and shook his head to their questioning looks.

 

  “I am sorry. He has just passed aw-”

 

  He was interrupted by a cry of anguish as Mrs Aldecott pushed past her son and threw herself on to the bed. Clutching the body of her late husband she sobbed against his lifeless chest. The two sons stood dumbly in the doorway while their sister comfort their mother. Out of respect the staff began to melt away.

 

  “Come along Nicholas, we should leave the family to their grieving,” the Professor said gathering his belongings.

 

  Bewildered I followed the Professor out of the bedroom. The butler led us back into the billiards room. The Professor settled himself into a chair by the glowing embers of the fire and gestured for me to sit opposite.

 

  “You are very quiet Nicholas,” the Professor said. “Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

 

  “I saw something, sir.”

 

  “What do you think you saw?” He said with an air of exasperation. Normally that would be my cue to fall silent and deny seeing anything at all. However, the banshee had robbed me of my wits, and I spoke as much to myself as the Professor.

 

  “The banshee, sir.” I didn’t look at the Professor, I would only see scorn in his eyes, so I stared at the embers. “She was a skeletal hag. She leaned over Mr Aldecott and kissed him. She sucked his soul out of his body. She then turned to me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I wanted her to…”

 

  “Nicholas take your hands away from your mouth while you’re talking.”

 

  Subconsciously I had pressed my fingers against my lips. I wrenched my hand away as if burnt.  

 

  “Before we could kiss, she turned back into the hag. She then let out the scream you heard and vanished.”

 

  “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this,” the Professor said smirking.

 

  “There is?”

 

  “You have had a vivid dream.”

 

  “It was not a dream.”

 

  “There is no need to be embarrassed. It is common in young men to have such dreams.”

 

  “It wasn’t a -” I fell silent. The door opened and Charles and Edward entered the room.

 

  The Professor rose to his feet. “I am awfully sorry about your father. You have my full condolences.”

 

  “Thank you,” Charles said. “I must admit I am relieved that his suffering has finally come to an end.”

 

  “We heard the scream. Did you see it? The beansidhe?” Edward asked.

 

  “Alas no. The scream came from my assistant Nicholas,” the Professor said. I opened my mouth to protest, but the Professor shot me a look to be quiet. “It seems he had a rather vivid dream, and he woke with a scream.”

 

  “I could have sworn it sounded like a woman,” Edward said looking at me sceptically.

 

  “Definitely Nicholas. Rather shrill. A scream a little girl would make,” the Professor said.

The two brothers looked at me. Even though he had just lost his father Charles could not help sniggering. I held my tongue. It was not my place to contradict the Professor.

 

  “The fact his scream coincided with your father’s death just happens to be a coincidence,” the Professor said. “I promise you, Nicholas here, is not a conduit for some sort of prophetic force. He just possesses a rather vivid imagination. As for the beansidhe I can assure you that your father was not visited by such a thing. I was in the room the entire time and I did not witness anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I am confident to say that you can rest safe in the knowledge that there is no such thing as the beansidhe.”

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Thursday, 15th November 1860

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Chapter 5

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  “That was a fruitful night’s work well done,” the Professor said. With a smug smile of satisfaction, he leant back in the carriage seat. “There is nothing better than knowing your expertise has alleviated some backward fear of the paranormal. Fancy well educated gentlemen such as Charles and Edward Aldecott believing in something as absurd as a beansidhe. Well thanks to us, they can live the rest of their lives without the worry that they will be visited on their deathbed by a banshee.”

 

  I gave a weak smile in response.

 

  “You are not still ashamed of screaming in your sleep, are you? I told you; you have nothing to worry about. It is perfectly normal to have bad dreams or dreams of the…” He paused suddenly uncomfortable.

 

  “You were saying, sir?” I prompted.

 

  “Just that you are far too sensitive for your own good. If only you had gone to a private school and got a proper education. That would have toughened you up. Now forget about the bad dream and congratulate yourself on a job well done.”

 

  I nodded and returned to the window. There was no point arguing. The Professor had decided that banshees did not exist and there was nothing I could say to persuade him differently. To make matters worse the Professor had convinced the Aldecott household that I was responsible for the scream. As we left, I had seen the servants smirking at me behind the back of their hands.

 

  The wretched London traffic turned a short distance into a long journey. Over an hour later we came to a stop outside the Professor's home. I was left carrying the Professor’s bags while he marched up the front steps. We had only gone for one night, yet along with his case full of equipment he had packed a bag full of clothing, which he had not touched. Struggling I hauled the luggage into the hall to find the Professor talking with Gertie Stubbs.

 

  At fifteen Gertie was a few months older than me. We had met at a pottery factory that the Professor and I had been investigating. A murderous wraith had been killing her colleagues. Her reward for her assistance had been an education and the opportunity of a different life away from the factory floor. Having to earn her keep she worked around her studies as a maid in the Professor’s house. I had been assigned as her tutor. She was not only my student but my closest friend and confident. She was the only one I could tell the truth about the supernatural incidents I witnessed.

 

  “You have a guest, sir,”  Gertie said.

 

  “Who is it?”

 

  “They didn’t say. They insisted that they urgently require your expertise. I told them you were not in and asked them to return later. But they refused to leave without speaking to you. I showed them to the parlour to wait your return.”

 

  The Professor looked at the closed parlour door and grimaced. An unexpected guest was the last thing he wanted. Believing his time was precious he insisted on only conducting meetings that had appointments. However, he could not leave the person sitting in the parlour unattended.

 

  He sighed. “I had better get this over with. I just hope their business in as urgent as their abrupt manor. I am parched. Bring a pot of tea for us and our guest. Come along, Nicholas, let us see who awaits, and what the devil can be so urgent to demand my immediate attention.”

 

  I hesitated beside the stairs. A feeling of dread crept through me. I knew with a certainty that whoever was waiting had brought with them grave tidings. That they were the surprise guest seeking help that the banshee had warned me against…

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You decide what happens next. Choose who the mysterious guest is, why they are seeking help, and where they are from. Take part below.

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