The wind carries the cry of the banshee…




It is said that the house at the crest of the hill is haunted by an old woman with long white-grey hair and that she wanders through the place in the wee hours of the night, her long silky gown trailing across the floor as she glides from room to room, stopping to look out of the windows to the northwest sky. She pines for her true love in the valley beyond and sometimes the shriek of the banshee can be heard when it seems her heart can bear the anguish no longer. In the still hours before dawn she slips out of the house and has been seen standing outside searching the horizon for him whom she lost. She grows calm with the coming of morning when she is transfixed by cerulean skies for that was the color of his eyes.


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