Tainted by Darkness

A Song For The Feryman

They fear me, fear my kind; I guess they have good reason.

Don't get me wrong, it has nothing to do with how we look. The idea that we're ugly as sin with pallid skin and rotten teeth is a rather insulting misconception. I've been told that I'm very pretty and have always had plenty of male attention. No, if we could be distinguished by our everyday appearance, I fear they would find a way to end our existence. It has been the way of man to destroy the things that he does not understand, or those things he fears, since the very beginning.

I clearly remember the first time my song was torn from me. It was the day after my eighteenth birthday. I was standing in a queue at the supermarket and the guy in front had just set his basket on the conveyer belt. He turned his head and smiled flirtatiously at the girl working the till, but there was something strange about his eyes; they looked dull and empty. I think the term lifeless best describes how they were.

What sounded like a beautiful melody to my ears was nothing short of an ear-splitting screech to those who stood nearby. The bloke in front turned to face me and gave me this petrified look. I'd never seen anything like it before; as if his fear was so deep he couldn't move; couldn't as much as blink. He knew what I was before I did.

My hand flew to my face to cover my mouth in an attempt to stifle the song. It worked to a degree, as he was able to pull his gaze from mine, and had enough presence of mind to get as far away from me as quickly as possible. He didn't notice the car that swerved to avoid the child who'd slipped her hand from her mother's grasp. Nor did he notice the figure standing opposite.

Dressed in black, from his motorcycle helmet to his biker boots, the figure watched it all unfold. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers at me in greeting. I couldn't see his face through the visor, but I got the impression he was laughing at me; laughing at my inability to stop not just my song, but also the chain of events. To any onlooker, he appeared to be just like everyone else who watched - a hapless witness to the accident that took the young man's life.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, but I still heard the thud of metal on flesh intermingled with the sound of skidding tyres. I opened them at the exact moment his head met the concrete pavement after he was tossed into the air from the impact with the car. Blood leached and pooled beneath his head almost instantly.

Screams filled the air and muffled the one battling to leave my mouth as, unseen to any but the figure and me, pale-blue mist rose from the deceased's mouth in a steady flow - his soul departing from its shell. I was torn between letting my song free to lift the veil between the realms as my grandmother had described, and holding it back for fear of discovery. The hesitation cost me my first charge as the figure held a clear, fist-sized globe in front of him. The mist seemed drawn to it, filling the globe in seconds.

He turned and walked into the gathering crowd, lost to my sight among the throng of ogling sadists. While the gore distracted everyone, I too, hurried away.

Grandma was distraught when I told her. "No, that's not right. The Keening shouldn't have started until after the death. We sing to lift the veil so the Ferryman can guide it to the afterlife, what you described sounds more like a warning of an imminent death. Something we don't do."

"So why did it start before then?"

"I'm not sure, but your Aunt Siobhan mentioned something similar happening a few years ago. Start packing some of your things, I'll ring and let her know you're coming."

I didn't argue, you don't disagree with Grandma and not feel her wrath. After the day I'd had, Grandma's anger was not something I needed.

She sent me to live with Aunt Siobhan in the country. Primarily to learn some control of the wail, but also to find out why my song started before the guy had actually died. Predicting the death of random strangers is not something I wanted to have happen in public ever again.