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Mibba

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apparition

prologue

She is only seven and yet her world comes crashing down at what she's seen.

From those youthful eyes, she's watched conflicts arise and fade within the very confinements of the house she lived in. How her parents, once young themselves and once in love with each other, had decided that the love had fizzled out. That their narrative that they built together had been nothing but false lies filled with Mama's failed attempts of saving the family name and Papa's drinking issue, while their children, one seven and one eighteen, continued to watch in anguish as it diminished the true values of their family name and honor.

And along with their honor, so came the noticing stares of the neighboring residents surrounding their village. How every time they stepped out into public, someone would watch every little movement as if their family's secrets would come flooding out.

And sometimes, it was bound to. But alas, it never did.

However, as time goes on, secrets continue to evolve into a burning sensation: a sensation where you want to scream every little thing you've seen to the world, with no cares as to whomever listens or whomever cares to watch. That's what her Mama wanted to do and that's the last thing she would do, because of what her Papa had stated: "No one gives a fucking shit about what we do or what we say. All that matters is that you keep your filthy speaking mouths shut."

And that's what her children were forced to do. Her brother, with eyes a bright stone grey color and a sharp, cut jawline to outdo those paternal-given genes, had to hide behind a facade as he attended secondary school just up the road in their village of Ballylongford. The students and teachers that attended would watch him sit alone, picking at the crust of the sandwich Mama threw together last minute as the students would whisper behind his back about their family disputes.

And to be honest, the siblings hated it.

They hated that they had to force themselves to become the "picture perfect family", when no family was perfect at all. There were also the O'Connors, where the boss man in the family had a drinking problem while the wife slept with the town's bartender behind her husband's back. There was the O'Learys, who's daughter had a child out of pure wedlock with the town's misfit gang leader, much to the distaste of her highly religious pastor father. There were more family drama events that hid behind the doors of the villages.

But alas, people only cared about theirs. Because that's what MacCreadys do, attract too much attention for their own good.

So as the night faded faster from the mid-afternoon glow of the village, that's when the truthful sides come out. And to the young girl, that's when the voices began to whisper.

She was only seven and her voices were getting louder as the telly's dialogue went on.

All she wanted to do was focus on the educational program that her big brother had decided to put on for her, eyes lit like a Christmas tree as the noise in the house was only from the telly. Her Mother, who had told her big brother to turn on the television as she cooked dinner for the four of them, was downstairs in the kitchen as she worked happily on the dish of her choice that would hopefully suit the hunger of her children and her obnoxious husband for the night.

Emphasis on the obnoxious, as he soon waltzed into the cottage and slammed the door loudly enough to capture the childrens' attention away from the program before them.

"Franklin?" Her Mother's voice, so sweet and serene like the summertime breeze, remarked as she placed her ladle down on the counter beside her as she watched her husband carefully move himself through the mess he had made earlier during a spat between them both before entering the kitchen with a drunken confidence given to him. Again, emphasis on the drunken as Mother soon realized that Franklin MacCready was holding a bottle of Bruichladdich that managed to make even her own heart sink low into her stomach.

"Franklin... Franklin, darling, how much have ye had to drink?" She had questioned, as her big brother reached for the telly set and pressed the power button to capture the telly screen's picture into total darkness that managed to match the color of the night sky out before them in the old window of their shared cottage room.

"'ot much, Lou. Just a few pints," he croaked, hiccuping audibly as he stumbled towards the counter and placed his bottle down as if it were precious to him. The last time Louisa Sinclair had ever seen Franklin be that careful, was when their daughter had been born only seven years before. God help her for wanting him to start sobering up, as she knew it would never happen anytime soon.

"Bubby?" The youngest child, their daughter, spoke in a thickened accent that was normal for residents of Ballylongford to speak in before her big brother turned to stare at her with those deep set stone grey eyes. "Wha's going on? Is it Papa?"

"I don't know, Bee. Only one wa' to find out," he responded in a similar accented voice, allowing her to hear the comforting nature that it usually had to find itself in before rising onto his feet, "Don't follow me down, Bee. Stay up here where it's safe and sound." And with that, he descended out of the room and down the stairs quietly as the calm before the storm faded from their house as the usual arguments began once again.

"God dammit, Franklin! Answer me now!" Louisa snapped, her tone harsh and frightening as her father turned his deep set grey blue eyes to watch his wife bitch at him for the fifth time this week. "Tell me the truth, how much did ye have to drink?" She repeated for the second time in a row, wishing that he didn't beg for a third time because if he did, there would be Hell to pay for sure.

"'effin hell, Lou. I 'effin told ye the truth already, I had a couple of pints and then a slosh of whiskey. It's no big deal as to how much I drink without ye being 'round," Franklin retaliated, as the brother took another step down the stairs behind shielding himself beyond the wall outside of the kitchen area of the cottage while the voices inside amplified.

"It does matter how much ye drink, Franklin! You have kids here, who wait for you to come back. You want to know what our daughter asked me as the night fell? 'Mummy, where's Daddy? He promised me that he would work with me on schoolwork.' I had to tell Brenna that her Dad was busy working, when in all reality, he was off getting wasted with his friends from work!" Louisa huffed, before finishing up with dinner and grabbing ahold of the dishes before walking over in quick strides to set the table.

As her brother stayed downstairs, all that little Brenna MacCready could hear was the arguing downstairs and the hushed whispers within her head that repeated the same phrase over and over like it was some broken record going off inside the apex of her cranium.

"GO DOWNSTAIRS, GO DOWNSTAIRS, GO DOWNSTAIRS, GO DOWNSTAIRS."
As those words continued to repeat themselves, all the seven year old could do was easily follow the demand as her feet - sock covered and tiny - raised themselves to stand before turning to the bedroom door that her brother left slightly ajar as she opened it carefully. Luckily, no creaking was heard so she could make sure that she got downstairs with absolute ease.

"Brenna's a smart little lass, she can always ask Brogan for help. He's always there to do such a thing, unlike ye!" Franklin pressed, as Brogan MacCready winced at his Father's tone that was directed to his Mother. It reminded him of a drill sargaent, so harsh and brittle that it cracked every foundation that this family had set for themselves. He also wondered if anybody outside in the village was listening, because that's all he was going to hear in the morning at secondary school: The MacCready family was fightin' again, who's got bets on what happened this time?

"I do everything for them in your absence! I do the schoolwork, I do the cooking, the cleaning, everything! It is you who ends up leaving us on the burner, doing God knows fucking what as you drink your liver into failure and fuck pathetic harlots on the corners in front of The Horse and Hound!" Louisa intimidated, pointing at him with every word she restated towards him. It was then that Brenna finally made it downstairs to the ground floor of the cottage, before the sound of a bottle smashing and liquid splashing soon after that it meant the argument had gone too far.

"Take it back, Lou." Franklin warned, as he wielded a broken piece - the neck of a shattered Bruichladdich bottle he had been so careful, so delicate with - in the direction of Louisa's sudden attitude shifting form. Her eyes, dark green and shimmering with pure Irish fire within their orbs, continued to glow brightly as the fire failed to die out as she glared at him.

"I fuckin' said what I've heard, Frank."

"Mummy?" Brogan's eyes snapped open, his dark stone grey eyes growing nervous as soon as he heard the childlike voice from the steps as he turned to watch as his sister - so young, so naive and careful - take a step into the brutal dispute that was about to be taken place as he shook his head quickly while rushing forward to try and keep his snooping sibling out of harm's way. Louisa had looked up, shocked that her children had been listening in on the conversation that Franklin and her had been having before she turned her attention back to Franklin as if to warn him that their kids were listening.

Something definitely told her that he didn't care, as he swung the jagged end of the bottle to try and capture any part of her flesh to the best of his drunken ability.

Louisa shrieked, something that spooked both her children and even herself, before she took a step back in horror at the sight that replaced her husband; a man, who once vowed to protect her and keep her safe until death do they part, had been replaced with a carbon copy. A carbon copy with similar eyes except the flame inside them were purely murderous and nothing good to be seen, as his face was set in a drunken scowl before he caught her by the shoulder and plunged the jagged bottle's end directly into her lower abdominal area.

"Mummy!"

Oh no, dearest Brenna. Look away!
Louisa thought weakly, with other thoughts trying to clamor together as if to decipher what had happened to her in this moment. The jagged bottle had managed to catch into her soft, pure flesh as a way to seize what she had said to Franklin's drunkard self from ever being spoken again and pulled out, as the crimson red blood leaked like it was a sinful, pureblood waterfall. And it was, to Brogan's eyes, as he shielded Brenna but alas she could see. She could see her Mother's face contorted into pain, as the voices in her head continued to screech as Franklin's weapon drove in again and again to the spot he had claimed as the 'X' who marked the spot.

"SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM!"
And so she did.

And what a marvelous scream that escaped from her lungs, so loud and shrilling as the man who was drunken with the Devil's juice had finally realized what he had been involved in as he stared in horror as Louisa began to sink onto the lineolium floor with her blood being spilled like it was a painter who had spilled fresh, rustic smelling paint on the ground where it was not covered by a tarp. If only Franklin had a tarp, because he knew that one would be needed after this was done.

The young girl, who had watched her Mother sink lower into the floor as if to protect herself, couldn't stop as the voices inside her head managed to fuzz in and out of focus but one word could still be pulled out from the haze.

Scream.

"Lou? Lou, oh my god! Oh my god, baby! I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, as he held her paling face in his hands before replacing them down below on the gaping stomach wound that he had forced onto her with no intention whatsoever. As he tried to focus, all he could hear was the scream that managed to get louder from his daughter's lungs before growing frustrated and turned to his son. "Shut her up and call 999! NOW!"

But Brenna couldn't stop, she wouldn't. Her tears, held in until now, burned streaks of reminders down her chubby face as she held onto her curly, tangled dark blonde locks while the scream managed to amplify tenfold. He was going to pay, she wanted to make him pay! He killed Mama!

But then a warm hand touched her shoulder, as the screams began to diminish carefully like an ending to a powerful ballad of a song while Brogan, who had tears of his own reminders as to what happened, shook her slightly. "Brenna? Brenna, enough is enough! It's time to call them. We must call them!"

"But... but the voices said to hurt him, like how he hurt Mama," she sniffled, crocodile tears continuing down her face as Brogan stared at her admonishingly with their matching eyes watching each other before Brogan arose to rush and find the landline before it was too late. He had to save his Mother, but maybe she had other plans as she ran forward to crash down next to her Mother.
Oh, her Mother! Her poor mother, so frail and pale in between as she looked weakly up towards the crackling ceiling of their cottage. It was then that Louisa had noticed movement beside her and turned to look at her seven year old daughter, as she realized that her screaming had caused blood to leak from her Mother's ears. She hurt Mama, too.... She didn't mean to hurt Mama!

"Banshee..." Louisa muttered lowly, as the name sounded so off to Brenna while watching her Mother slowly take her remaining breaths again and again in front of her. "Mo iníon luachmhar, she resides within you.." Louisa recalls softly, as if her voice was fading and it was as blood began to coat the inside of her mouth before being spat out as she tried to continue talking.

"Mama? Mama, who?" She croaked, her voice raw from the scream she had let out as Franklin looked up to see that Brogan had been calling 999 and rose to his feet before rushing for the door. Sounds of movement escalated from the living room, but Brenna did not care as she reached her hand forward to take her Mother's frosty feeling hand in her tiny ones.

"A bhean béil, my cailín darling. You have her scream... I would know that scream anywhere." She revealed, before the sound of movement mingled in with the red and blue lights outside her cottage while the young child sniffled.

"Mama, I... I don't want the scream. It scares me, I don't want it!" she croaked, as her Mother shook her head.

"You must allow her to, darling. Allow it to help guide you," Louisa croaked again, before the light began to dissolve within her dark green eyes. Oh, how she wishes those dark green eyes stayed alive for much longer and for A&E to get here so they could save her but those were things that would not happen anytime soon.

"No! Mama, I want you t' guide me! I want my Mama!" she sniffled, as her Mother began to loosen her grip on her hand. And with one final set of breathing, she spoke as the door burst open:
"Is breá liomsa tú, mo banshee. Is breá liom tú go dtí an ghealach, na réaltaí agus ar ais arís."
Brenna sniffled loudly, fully understanding what she said before realizing that as soon as she finished, her Mother's hand felt limp in her own as she looked down towards the dead limb and back at her Mother to find that her eyes matched with her body: dead, with a cold glaze that managed to shake her to her very core as she weeped.

"Mama? Mama, wake up!" she exclaimed, as she sniffled and rested her head on her chest while allowing the leaking blood of her Mother's deceased body to stain her white pajama top and light purple colored pajama pants as she continued to plead with Death to bring her Mama back. But alas, as Death swung its scythe for the first time before her eyes, all she could do was one thing.

And that was wail, as police officials, her captured Father, her beloved brother and most importantly paramedics watched on in fear of the banshee that was residing within the kitchen of a broken family.

Notes

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