The Banshee is Never Wrong

It starts the same way each time, an unearthly wail, illusory and omen like, echoing through the portals of my mind.

When it comes, the blood curdling scream permeates my entire being.

It's an airy, aural, form of osmosis that fills every nook and cranny, leaving no stone unturned within my soul.

When I hear the cry, I know what's coming. Someone's going to die. I know. I just know. I'm connected to it through my mother's side of the family. =A0My great-great Grandfather Seamus wrote about the banshee's screams and the fates which follow.

The first time I heard the cry, a local man died the next day in a fiery car crash on Hwy 17. The second time, a lady fell 90 feet from the top of a canyon wall, landing on the jagged rocks below. This morning, at 4:00 o'clock, I heard the wail again. Someone's time is up. It's inevitable.

Tomorrow, I'll search the obituaries. I'll read about some homeless
guy who was swept away by the outgoing tide or some lady who hung
herself from an old oak tree.

I can only hope it's not someone I know... or you... the reader!