"...all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear
Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,
Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,.."

Chapter 3 - Ghosts

Ronan's description of Mrs. Mulligan was accurate. Extremely accurate. Sarah could easily picture the enormous old woman with the pale hair and those sharp eyes wearing viking horns and swinging a battle-ax, and she did look old enough to have been alive at the time. She was also heavily tattooed, her skin covered in spirals, runes, moon phases, and all sorts of things that Sarah couldn't name. It would have been enough to make even the strangest hippies that floated around Sarah's campus stop and stare incredulously. Sarah even saw tatooed on her left hand a small labyrinth. Her stomach lurched slightly at the sight of it.

She was busily grinding dried leaves with a mortar and pestle and muttering quietly to herself when they walked in. She froze as Sarah walked past and looked at her with grey eyes that were at first bewildered then narrowed to little slits that watched her walk past. Sarah let her hair fall across her face as she quickly turned away, puzzled by such a reaction.

"Is she always this warm and cuddly?" Sarah asked quietly.

"She's really not as scary as she looks." Bridget insisted. "She's harsh, and a little weird sometimes...well, a lot weird, but..." she trailed off and shrugged.

Sarah snuck a peak through her hair. Mrs. Mulligan was still staring.

"It's probably just that she hasn't met you before...don't take it personally."

Just then Bridget's attention was drawn by a person across the room. Sarah followed her quickly to where a girl with dirty blonde hair stood behind a counter waving to Bridget.

"Hey, Erin. How's business?" Bridget asked her.

"Not bad, you managed to miss the noon traffic."

"Lucky us."

Erin glanced curiously at Sarah.

"This is Sarah, she's Morna's niece from America."

"Step-niece really." Sarah explained shaking Erin's hand.

"Well, nice to meet you Sarah." she turned to Bridget. "Having lunch?"

"Yes, I'll have my usual. Sarah, what do you want?"

"Umm..." Sarah hesitated, she could still feel Mrs. Mulligan's stare, and it was making her nervous. "The same."

"And all I want." Ronan said dramatically. "Is a sweet kiss from the fair lass."

He gave Erin a winning smile.

Erin rolled her eyes. "You wish."

He shrugged. "In that case: a roast beef sandwich."

The cafe was very cozy, much more peaceful than the Starbucks that had been the closest Sarah could usually get to a cafe. The walls were white with old fashioned windows taking up most of one wall with a fireplace dominating the opposite wall. There were various wooden tables accompanied by soft couches and chairs, most of which were pulled close to the fire at this time of the year. Mrs. Mulligan was the only person sitting at one of the tables next to the windows, seemingly impervious to the cold, and surrounded by various plants that had obviously been hung to dry. She had finally resumed her grinding to Sarah's relief.

The three of them selected a table near to the counter and after awhile Erin brought over their sandwiches, two coffees, and Bridget's cup of tea. Sarah took an experimental bite of her sandwich and found it was a very delicious egg salad. The wheat bread was wonderfully thick and filling.

"This is great!"

"Yeah, it's what I always order." Bridget said.

"Predictable." Ronan said disdainfully stirring an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee.

They got into a conversation about Sarah's hometown and the two listened with interest as Sarah described what her school was like, about the park where she played with Toby, and about her father and stepmother. She talked about attending the theater with her mother as a child, but skimmed over most of the actual details of her mother.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly realized that Mrs. Mulligan was standing right next to her chair.

"Hello Mrs. Mulligan." Bridget said pleasantly.

"Bridget, good to see you again." her accent was so thick Sarah had to listen hard to understand her. "Ronan, not causing much trouble I hope." she turned then to Sarah. "And you I don't know."

"My name's Sarah," she said and held her hand out politely. "I'm staying with Morna."

"Sarah." Mrs. Mulligan mused, staring hard into Sarah as if she could see every little detail about her. "Yes. Of course. Yes, makes sense. Princess."

"Huh?" she fidgeted, wanting to move away but not wanting to be rude either.

"Is what it means. Sarah. Princess."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

" Names have power, a person should always know what their name means."

Without another word she walked away. There was an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

"That was...different." Sarah remarked.

"That was strange. Even for her." Ronan remarked. Then he grinned. "My name means little seal, because our family is distantly descended from selkies." he leaned close to Sarah. "Every midsummer our great-grandmother would come out of the sea as a seal, and was eventually captured by our great-grandfather when he stole the skin she shed."

"You were named after St. Ronan." Bridget said. "Our great-grandmother was a farmer from a village north of here."

"Oh yeah...St. Ronan. Didn't he curse some pagan to a life of nudity? I could think of a few girls I wouldn't mind cursing to a life of nudity."

Bridget smacked her younger brother's arm.

"Sarah wins though." he said, rubbing his arm and glaring at Bridget. "Apparently she's royalty."

"My high school was full of princesses." Sarah said wryly. "Too many of them acted like it too."

"Does this mean you'll have to change your name when you become 'the queen?'"

"I suppose. As long as it's more interesting than Sarah. Everybody has a best friend, a cousin, or an ex-girlfriend named Sarah. What's a good name that means queen?"

Bridget, to Sarah's surprise, startled rattling them off.

"Regina, Reina, Riona, Malcah, Lareina, Gevirah, Basilia..." she paused, trying to think of more.

"How do you know all of those?" Sarah asked in disbelief. "And how can you remember them all?"

"She has no life." Ronan said simply. "Better not take the name Riona though. Bad luck. Somebody might burn your house down."

"Ronan!" Bridget said sharply. "That is not funny."

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"Riona," Ronan explained. "Was the name of the woman who lived in that house you saw, the woman who died in the fire."

Sarah remembered the charred wall and shivered.

Ronan grinned and leaned in close. "You wanna hear the really creepy thing about that house?"

Bridget sighed but didn't say anything.

"Sure."

Ronan settled back happily in his chair, clearly enjoying the chance to tell a good story.

"You remember I mentioned on the hill that her little boy died with her in the fire?"

Sarah nodded.

"Supposedly he was as strange as his mother. He was heard talking to something whenever he was alone, at least he always seemed to be alone when he was heardHe used to tell people that he was talking to the fae, that they were his friends. When he got mad, if other boys picked on him or somebody made his mother unhappy, strange things would happen to them. They would fall and break their leg, their cow would sicken, or their field would be flooded: just a lot of little strange things."

"A lot of this was, of course, just superstition and bitterness towards Riona." Erin said, coming to sit down with them. Clearly this was a local legend that everybody knew and loved to tell.

"Bitter?" Sarah prompted.

"A lot of it had to do with the political religious turmoil at the time." Bridget explained. "Do you know much Irish history?"

Sarah nodded. She remembered bits from a British history class she had taken.

"Well, at the time there was a lot of anger towards the English. Riona was born and raised in Tarnathy, but did something that was considered a crime by her neighbors: she ran off and married an Englishman. That was a scandal in itself, but then many years later she returned with her child after her husband had died. She was devastated by the death, and her former neighbors were cold towards her, so she settled with her child farther away from the community, out on the hill as you saw.'

"That wasn't all though. Riona was strange, and always had been. As a child she used to spend a lot of time out by herself, making up games and stories she shared with the other children, and spending most of her time out playing in the fields. It was tolerated easily enough when she was little, she was carefree spirit and an adorable girl. When she returned from England, though, it was different.'

"Tarnathy was a catholic community then, largely it still is." Bridget explained. "But it was different back then. People were stricter in their faith, they believed the devil lurked everywhere and that demons were just waiting to seize the souls of any person who doubted God. The old tales of faeries and spirits became one with beliefs about Satan and demons. Riona told stories about faeries and sprites and goblins and other such creatures to her children, and that started to make the people of the town nervous. What made matters worse was Riona refused to attend church and kept her son at home with her. So, not surprisingly, she was believed to be a heretic who was breeding witchcraft in her own home. The fear grew and...well...you've seen the house."

"They burned it." Sarah said, remembering what they had told her earlier in the day. It was burned on purpose.

"One night a group of them burned the place down. The doors were barred from the outside, so she couldn't escape, and she and her little boy were killed." Ronan said. "Supposedly, see, here's the really strange part: They never found his body. His mother's body was recovered, but there was no sign of what happened to him. He wasn't seen anywhere around Tarnathy or any neighboring villages or towns ever again after that night. He was just gone, as if he simply vanished from this world."

Sarah took in a breath as she realized she had forgotten to breathe. She felt strange.

"Nobody knows what happened to the boy?"

"He was given to the goblins." Sarah turned in her chair and saw Mrs. Mulligan hovering close by. "They didn't want him here anymore so the faeries and goblins came and took him."

Sarah felt the stirrings of a fear, a fear she couldn't quite name. Something half remembered clawing at the back of her mind.

"Taken underground to their world to live as one of them." Ronan affirmed. "But some say that he still appears in the wood around his house, that he comes to steal children who are wished away. Or those who called his name."

"And what was his name?"

"His name was..." Ronan paused and looked around as if expecting something to appear. " Gareth!"

Nothing.

Ronan shrugged.

"Bridget and I always tried that when we were little. Never worked."

Bridget and Erin laughed, but Mrs. Mulligan didn't, neither did Sarah.

Gareth.

Sarah's head was pounding now, as if something were trying to crawl its way out of her skull.

"Every kid here tries it sometime." Bridget said. "But it's just a story. Gareth probably died in the fire too and his body was overlooked in the wreckage."

Just a story. Sarah told herself forcefully and the pain in her head seemed to hesitate, then eased away.

"All the same, you have to admit that it's just weird that nobody knows what happened to him."

"Yes." Bridget conceded. "It's weird."

They were all silent for a time, caught in the mysteries of the past.

Gareth. The name wouldn't stop echoing in Sarah's mind. Gareth.

"It's getting late, we should get back." Bridget said at last. Outside the sky was beginning to darken.

"Yes yes, you should be off, all of you, before the shadows come out." Mrs. Mulligan said briskly.

Ronan crossed his eyes and made a subtle motion to Sarah indicating his thoughts on the level of Mrs. Mulligan's sanity. Even Bridget could barely resist the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they headed for the door.

"Come, dear princess, before the dragons come to lock you in a tower!"

Sarah laughed but was brought up short when somebody grasped her suddenly. A heavy hand decorated with an elaborate labyrinth held Sarah's shoulder and she turned to see Mrs. Mulligan looking at her seriously.

"Be careful, young one. Don't be so careless with names. What you end up calling may not be what you were expecting."

Once released Sarah hurried outside after her friends wondering what on earth she had meant by that.

They were halfway to Morna's house when Bridget froze and let out an irritated curse.

"I forgot my purse at the cafe. You two go on, I want to get it before they close for the night."

"Fear not!" Ronan said pompously. "I will escort the lovely Princess Sarah to her abode." he gave a deep bow and held his arm out to Sarah, which she took with an amused smile.

He marched with her down the street glancing back at Bridget's retreating form every now and then. When she was out of sight he quickly pulled Sarah off in another direction.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He grinned.

"Ghost-hunting."

-------------------------

It was completely dark by the time they got to the burned remains of what was once the home of Riona and Gareth, but the moon was large, maybe only a day or two shy of the full moon, and it cast enough light to see by. The place had been sad enough in the daylight, but at night it was eery, a broken haunted place. They had walked part way up the path before Ronan led her off into some overgrown bushes and past some oak trees. The remains of the house appeared suddenly out of the shadows and loomed over them as if asking, why are you here? You dare come to this place? Sarah wasn't sure herself why she had agreed to come, but that tingling memory that had been kindled by the story had urged her here.

"Creepy isn't it?" Ronan commented as if reading her thoughts.

They walked slowly around the house. There was one wall that was still intact and half of one connected to that. Somehow when the ceiling fell during the fire it had managed to land partially on top of the half a wall and create a small overhang that would shelter a person desperate for cover. It was a quiet, mournful place. The fallen stones were covered with moss, the only sign of life that Sarah could see. The wood from the house had long since rotted away, but the stones of the walls were still faintly stained with the dark evidence of fire. Like the standing stones on the top of the hill the place had a deep sense of time, but unlike the stones, which felt like a homage to life and humanity, this was a place of bitterness, anger, and regret for everything that was lost. A testimony of cruelty.

"I'm amazed that it's still standing at all."

"Weird, huh? They say it's a home for ghosts and goblins and that they use their magic to keep it from crumbling completely. Nobody else will come near this place."

Goblins. Whatever was hovering at the back of Sarah's mind stirred again.

"Why would goblins want it?" Sarah wondered out loud. "What would they use it for?"

"Keg parties?" Ronan suggested.

"That must be it." she said, smiling in spite of the gloom.

She tentatively reached out to touch the stone of the single standing wall and her fingers tingled faintly. On a whim she stepped past it into the charred area that had once been the interior. She peered hard into a hollow place in the remaining wall.

"See anything?" Ronan called.

"Of all the areas that could have survived the fire, why the wall with the fireplace?" she wondered out loud.

Ronan walked to her side and looked at it curiously.

"You're right...weird."

Sarah walked closer, her feet almost sinking into the soft earth, wanting to get a closer look. She was about a foot from it, leaning closer to inspect it, when something white suddenly flew out of the black. She gave a loud shriek as something soft brushed her face and backed up so quickly that she knocked Ronan over, who let out a yelp of surprise and fear. They froze, both their hearts pounding, and looked around.

"Look, it's an owl." Ronan pointed to a pale bird staring down at them from a nearby tree.

They both relaxed.

"I thought for sure it was a ghost."

Ronan stood up and pulled Sarah to her feet. Sarah examined the owl's face closely as it stared down arrogantly at her.

"In a way we did. It's a barn owl, see." she pointed. "See the white heart-shaped face and the gold brown wings? Another name for barn owl is ghost owl. Also: silver owl, monkey-faced owl, and church owl, among others."

Ronan looked at the owl, then looked at her.

"If you start going on about the areas where it lives, what it eats, how it digests, how fast it flies, it's importance in the ecosystem, or any other boring fact Bridget would adore and memorize I'm leaving you here."

"Don't worry, most of the research I've done is about the folklore. I was writing a poem about barn owls and the spirit world. My class hated it: they said it was too abstract. The folklore about it is still interesting."

"Such as?"

"It was believed to be a psychopomp."

He looked at her.

"I need that in dummy English."

"Psychopomp, meaning a guide for the souls. They were creatures or spirits who could predict or call the name of those who were about to die, then guide their souls to the next world."

"A tour guide for the dead?"

"Umm...sure...The barn owl got that reputation because with its white face it would scare the hell out of anybody who walked into an old barn or building where they like to nest, just like it with us, and people thought it was a ghost. In folklore they could travel between the worlds, namely this world and the faerie realm, or the world of the dead." she paused. "In England their voice was also supposed to predict the weather. If they shrieked in good weather, rain was coming. If it was cold, fair weather was coming."

The owl was still glaring down at them, blinking its black eyes now and then.

"A combination weatherman and undertaker?" Ronan asked and smirked, amused.

The owl took flight and noiselessly flew low over Ronan, startling and causing him to fall for the second time that evening. Sarah watched it disappear off into the trees.There was loud shriek followed by the desperate squeal of a caught animal, followed by silence.

"Storm coming." Sarah remarked, looking at the clear sky where the moon shone unhindered.

She helped Ronan to his feet and the two made their way down the hill.

-------------------------

The bright warmth of the fire in Morna's house was a wonderful relief to Sarah after her chilling evening. Ronan, unable to resist the urge to joke about her name being "princess" launched into a long maudlin farewell, praising Sarah's beauty, royal dignity, and expansive knowledge of owls and their shrieks. Morna eventually cut him off by yelling at him through the door to either come in or stop spouting bad poetry and go home. With a wink at Sarah he turned and disappeared into the dark.

After telling Morna about her day she finally bid her goodnight and went up to her little room. She didn't sleep well, the story she had been told kept coming up in her mind.

Something wanted her to remember it.

She thought of the owl.

What a fitting second form it would be. For...for him.

The rational part of her mind sleepily wondered who he was.

Him. The king. King? No, they had been talking about a queen today weren't they? Not a real queen though...and there was something about a princess. But the princess wasn't really a princess either was she? But there was an owl, and the owl was a king. The owl was a ghost and knew the weather...

Her thoughts faded as she finally fell asleep.

The pale owl hovered in the darkness of her closed eyes as if it were watching her dreams.