A BANSHEE SHRILLING

Maria Tokalidis stood on the balcony, on the first floor, of her family's villa house in Wilhelmina. At just one hundred and fifty-seven centimetres she was short by the standards of most Australian women. But was nine centimetres taller than her mother, Konstantina, and older sister, Daphne.

She stood listening to the chittering of night birds who seemed to enjoy the cool breeze on the hot summer night as much as Maria enjoyed it. As much as she loved the sweet smell of pine and eucalyptus trees that wafted in upon the cool night breeze.

Then another moaning, wailing sound started up and the chittering suddenly stopped. As though something capable of terrifying hundreds of chattering birds had suddenly arrived.

But that's impossible, thought Maria: What is there in the Australian countryside that could terrify hundreds of birds? Cats perhaps? But the shrilling, almost whistling sound did not seem remotely like any kind of sound a cat could make, even if there had been many cats in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby region of the Victorian countryside. Which there were not. Farming districts rarely had cats, which farmers saw as parasites that did not earn their keep.

Then as the whistling continued, Maria thought that it was nothing like any kind of whistling that she had ever heard either. She knew that some people thought whistling could be musical, but Maria rejected that absurd notion. Whistling is an obnoxious sound, nothing more! she thought: No more musical than techno-babble or electro!

Then the whistling stopped, and a moaning, whining, almost crying sound started in the silent night. Where the chittering birds had still not started up again.

What a strange sound! thought Maria: And what a strange night! A chill ran up her spine and she was tempted to retreat inside. But it was too hot in the small bedroom and pleasantly cool outside in the night breeze.

Besides the front door is locked and I'm safe up here on the first floor! she thought. But the wailing moaning crying was damned curious, to say the least in Maria's opinion!

Maria stood there, hands wide apart, clutching the metal railing of the balcony, hard enough to make her knuckles glow white. As she continued listening to the moaning groaning she started leaning almost precariously out over the balcony, as though she thought that she could fly like the silent birds which had been chattering happily a short time ago.

Is she singing or crying? wondered Maria, having decided that the singing moaning crying voice was female.

"Come to me," a beautiful voice suddenly called, thinly, yet distinctly through the summer night.

"Who are you?" asked Maria Tokalidis. Thinking that she should be afraid of the voice. Yet realising that she was not.

"Come to me," called the voice again, in a distinct Irish lilt. And without realising that she was doing so, Maria kicked off her slippers and climbed barefoot up onto the metal railing.

"Come to you?" asked Maria, still a little uncertain.

"Come to me," repeated the voice: "Come to me."

Without further hesitation, Maria stepped forward and crashed down onto the concrete below, breaking her neck and dying instantly.


Inside the villa house in Benedict Street, Wilhelmina, Konstantina Tokalidis was getting herself a small glass of ouzo and cola, when something fell past the window.

"What...?" she said, walking across to turn on the patio light. She opened the front door, stepped outside, and started screaming as she saw the broken remains of her youngest daughter.


Over at Deidre Morton's boarding house in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were sitting around in the lounge room. On the TV was playing one of the 'World's Stupidest Stuntmen' DVDs from Sheila Bennett's huge collection. Sheila a tall orange-and-black-haired Goth woman in her early thirties was Chief Constable of the local area. Which made her the number two cop of the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area.

"Well, what're you all think?" asked Sheila, clearly loving the action-packed DVD.

"I just don't see the point to it," said Natasha Lipzing, a tall elderly spinster; the eldest resident in Mrs. Morton's boarding house: "It seems to be just a bunch of very stupid people, doing very stupid things. Not caring whether they live or die."

"My sentiments exactly," said Deidre Morton. A short, dumpy, sixty-something woman, who made most Michelin-star chefs look like amateurs.

"You get my vote," agreed Terri Scott. A beautiful ash blonde the same age as Sheila; who had recently been promoted to Senior Sergeant making her the top cop in the area.

"You get no argument from me," said Freddy Kingston, a tall, obese man. Bald apart from a Larry Fine-Style ruff around the side and back of his head.

"I second the emotion," said Colin Klein, Terri's boyfriend. A forty-eight-year-old London Crime Reporter spending his long service leave in the Victorian countryside.

"But that's why it's so great," insisted Sheila: "It's man's futile fight against nature. Also, there's lots of action and a few hilarious bits. Like when Neil Manheim's attempt to leap across from one skyscraper to another on a motorbike went horribly wrong and he almost castrated himself."

"Hilarious," said Colin, without a hint of humour in his voice.

"Well, I think it's a great show," said Tommy Turner. A short fat retiree, with short blond hair: "It's got everything: drama, suspense, stupid people doing stupid things. Plus the occasional humorous near castration."

"Thank you," said Sheila: "At last someone with a sense of humour."

Looking at her boyfriend, Colin Klein, Terri asked: "Why is it that men laugh like hyænas when another man almost gets castrated? But they don't laugh when it happens to them?

He thought for a moment, then said: "Probably for the same reason that cricketers laugh until they throw up when someone else gets hit in the knackers by a bouncer. But they cry like babies when it happens to them."

"You speak much wisdom, babe," said Terri. She reached into her handbag to pick up her mobile phone which had started chiming: "Hello?"

She spoke on the phone for a few minutes, then said: "Sorry Sheils, I need you to drive me out to Wilhelmina pronto."

"Can't it wait half an hour?" asked Sheila: "Till this is over.

"No, Maria Tokalidis has fallen, jumped, or been pushed from her balcony in Arnold Street and has died.


Forty-five minutes later Terri, Sheila, and Colin arrived at Benedict Street, Wilhelmina, where a small crowd of people had gathered to gawk at the corpse of the young woman. At the front of the crowd was a tall, shapely beautiful woman with long flowing dark red hair and emerald green eyes, which almost flashed with excitement. She wore a long, low-cut white dress, and was barefoot.

As they pushed through the crowd Terri and Co. saw Tilly Lombstrom and Jerry 'Elvis' Green, examining the corpse. Tilly, a tall, curvy brunette in her early fifties was the second in charge and a top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Elvis Green was the local coroner. Nicknamed due to his long black sideburns and devotion to the late King of Rock and Roll.

"Pelvis, Tils," said Sheila Bennett by way of greeting.

"So what's the verdict?" asked Terri Scott.

"She possibly jumped," said Donald Esk. A huge bear of a man with longish brown hair and a large scar down the right side of his face; Don was one of Terri's sergeants: "There are footprints on the railing of the balcony of her bedroom. And they seem to match her feet. Although we haven't taken prints of her feet yet."

"But why would she jump?" asked Terri: "Hadn't she just been accepted into her dream course at a big university in Melbourne?"

"That's what she was geed-up about the last time I saw her ... about a week ago," said Sheila.

"She might have got cold feet," suggested Don Esk: "No pun intended."

"That's no reason to kill herself," said Tilly: "She could have pulled out of the course. Or asked for a six-month deferment to give her time to consider her options."


An hour later they had transferred the corpse of Maria Tokalidis to the morgue in the basement of the Glen Hartwell Hospital. They had also taken plaster casts of Maria's feet, confirming that the footprints on the railing were indeed hers.

"So, unless she climbed up there at gunpoint or knife-point, she seems to have committed suicide," stated Tilly.

"What about Daphne and Konstantina?" asked Terri.

"Konstantina has been sedated and taken to hospital with Jesus," said Tilly. Referring to Jesus Costello (pronounced 'Hee-Zeus'), the head administrator and chief surgeon of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital: "Daphne is up in Melbourne already, ready for the final year of her Uni. course."

"So guess who has to tell her?" said Terri.

"We'll take care of it, if you prefer," said Tilly.

"No, I know the family better than you," said Terri. Not looking forward to having to break the news to Daphne -- who claimed to be named after Daphne in Scooby Doo; although Daphne is a traditional Greek name meaning 'laurel'.


The police continued to take prints from Maria's room and the balcony, as well as numerous photographs of Maria's body before it was transferred to the ambulance. Then the ambulance eased its way through the crowd of gawkers in first gear; having to push some of the rudest gawkers out of the way. Although the green-eyed redhead politely stepped aside to let the ambulance pass.

"At last someone with some respect for the dead," said Cheryl Pritchard, a sixty-plus paramedic driving the ambulance. Unaware of just how wildly wrong she was.


It was nearly midnight before Terri Scott and Co. finally headed for home and much-needed sleep.

Worrying about having to contact Daphne Tokalidis, however, Terri got very little sleep that night.


It was after midnight when Mushee Sonbon, a Japanese Australian in her sixties, who had lived in Victoria for over forty years, was awakened by the sound of a woman's singing.

"Could you turn down your MP3 player?" asked Mushee to no one in particular. She had a single room on the second storey of the Pittsburgh Motel in Willamby.

When she received no reply, she sat up in bed for a moment, listening to the sweet singing, before hunting around under her bed for her slippers. Finding them, she slipped them on then clicked on her bedside lamp.

"Hello?" called Mushee, not expecting a reply.

"Hello," came a reply, in a soft feminine voice from within her room.

"Who are you?" she asked, not feeling afraid, although realising that she should be.

"Who are you?" asked the voice, with a soft Irish lilt.

"My name is Mushee ... Mushee Sonbon."

"That's a pretty name," said the voice. The Banshee (Maeve, pronounced MAYV) started to hum, then to sing softly and very sweetly.

"I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing in my room at this hour?"

"Singing. What are you doing?"

"I was sleeping, until you awakened me with your beautiful singing." Reaching up she clicked on the overhead light.

Revealing a gorgeous woman with long dark red hair, emerald green eyes, and who was wearing a long white, low-cut dress, exposing the top halves of her large, swelling breasts.

"Oh my," thought Mushee. She blushed with embarrassment as she realised that she was sexually attracted to the gorgeous redhead, who had returned to singing gently.

"What is that you're singing?" asked Mushee standing up and backing a little away from the redhead. Not wanting her to sense Mushee's feelings for her.

"An old Irish folk song."

"You sing very quietly."

"I can sing much louder," said Maeve. She opened her mouth widely until her face almost seemed to split in half. Then let out a deafening shriek which ruptured Mushee's eardrums, making blood seep from her ears.

"Aaaaaaaah!" shrieked Mushee.

Then Maeve shrieked again, her beautiful face had turned ugly and green, as had her hair. Her beautiful green eyes had turned blood red.

As she shrieked again, Mushee's brown eyes exploded, making her cry out again in pain and terror, staggering backward, away from the now grotesquely ugly Banshee.

It took two more shrieks to make the capillaries on Mushee's brain burst, so that she finally collapsed to the brown carpeted floor ... dead!


In room 221 on the second storey, Louisa "Dolly" Parton so nicknamed, not only because of her surname, but also because of her long curly platinum blonde locks, plus her 35DD chest, awakened to the sound of the Maeve's shrilling.

"What the Hell was that?" asked Dolly climbing out of bed. She tried to shake awake her husband, Rod, an American by birth, who had renamed the Pittsburgh Motel (formerly the Imperial) after his birthplace in the U.S. However, having trouble sleeping lately he had taken two sleeping tablets that night.

Conceding defeat, Dolly turned on the overhead light and then headed out into the corridor. Where she found over a dozen residents looking about startled by the screaming.

"Does anyone know which room the shrieking came from?" asked Dolly.

"I think it was from Mushee's room," said Leila Feinberg. A thin, shapely, petite brunette, the maid at the Pittsburgh motel.

"Let's find out," said Dolly. She returned to room 221 for a moment to get her passkey, then walked down to room 207. Letting herself in she clicked down the light switch, blinking at the sudden burst of light. Then, seeing Mushee lying upon the faded grey-brown carpet, Dolly strode across and asked:

"Miss Sonbon, are you okay, honey?" She knelt, to pull Mushee over onto her back, then shrieked when she saw the state of the Japanese woman's face: eyes shattered to mush, blood streaked across her cheeks from her ears. Plus a dried stream of blood from her mouth.


Outside the bedroom window, Maeve watched in amusement for a few moments. Then, turning, she flew off into the night sky singing lowly, from pleasure this time.


Ninety minutes later, Terri Scott and Sheila Bennett were kneeling beside the body of Mushee Sonbon, yawning widely as they took pictures with their mobile phones while waiting for an ambulance and doctors to arrive.

"How come when we get called out at ungodly hours, lazybones gets to sleep in?" asked Sheila Bennett.

"If you mean Colin, he isn't officially on the police payroll, as we are," said Terri, standing up. As from outside, they heard sirens from the approaching ambulance.

"I thought you were gonna offer him a job since his long service leave will be up soon? Or didn't Russell Street approve it?"

"Yes, they did..." said Terri: "I just haven't thought of a way to broach the subject yet."

"Well, the first thing you have to do is get him into the sack ... Then after he's had you a couple of times, say, 'Hey, babe, how would you like some of the good stuff every night from now on?' Then when he's panting and nodding his head, you offer him a job as a special investigator."

"Sheils, you are incorrigible!" said Terri, shocked.

"Yes, I don't need incorrigment," said Sheila, as Dolly Parton entered the room. Followed by Tilly Lombstrom, Jesus Costello, Elvis Green, and two paramedics carrying a stretcher.

"Chezza, Strong Arm," said Sheila to the two paramedics: Derek Armstrong, a black amateur bodybuilder in his early forties; Cheryl Pritchard, a tall muscular woman with badly dyed hair, aged sixty-two.

"Jesus," said Tilly, looking at the state of Mushee's face.

"He prefers to be called 'Hee-Zeus'," teased Sheila.

"Thank you and goodnight, Goth woman," said Jesus, already starting to examine Mushee.

After a short examination, Jesus asked: "Have you taken plenty of photos?"

"You know it," said Terri.

"Then we might as well get her straight to the hospital morgue," said Jesus standing.

"Looks like it's gonna be one of those nights," said Derek. He and Cheryl walked across to gently place Mushee onto the stretcher, then carried her out onto the Corridor.

"Don't say that," said Sheila: "We were hoping to get a little sleep tonight.

"I think that's all any of us are gonna get," said Elvis Green as he followed the other medics out onto the corridor.

"Okay let's get started dusting the room?" said Terri as Jessie Baker, Donald Esk, and Paul Bell entered the motel room. All sergeants under her command. Jessie Baker a huge ox of a man with flame red hair; Paul Bell tall and wiry, with stringy raven hair.


It was nearly 5:00 AM by the time that Terri and Sheila arrived back at Deidre Morton's boarding house in Rochester Road, Merridale.

Almost carrying them both up the stairs to their adjoining rooms, Deidre said: "Why don't you two sleep in till nine or ten o'clock?"

"Can't," muttered Terri more asleep than awake: "Got two strange deaths to investigate."

"One in Wilhelmina, one in Willamby," muttered Sheila.

With difficulty, the small lady managed to get the two policewomen into their respective rooms but had to allow them to sleep on top of the covers in their clothing.


It was 9:30 the next morning before Deidre Morton awakened Terri and Sheila for their breakfast. But this time it was Colin Klein who almost carried Terri downstairs. While Freddy Kingston and Tommy Turner managed Sheila between them.

"Here come the walking dead," said Tommy, as they virtually carried the two women into the dining room.

Struggling to stay awake as they ate, Sheila and Terri had almost finished breakfast before realising what time it was.

"Mrs. M., why did you let us sleep so late?" demanded Terri.

"You couldn't have functioned on any less sleep."

"And since I got a full night's sleep last night, I'd better be the designated driver today," said Colin, taking the keys for Terri's Lexus from Sheila who barely even noticed.


They spent much of the day investigating both death sites without reaching any conclusions. Before heading to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"Mushee Sonbon died of a heart attack," announced Elvis Green. Who had performed the autopsy, assisted by Tilly Lombstrom. "Although it's more like her heart exploded! Also, most of the capillaries in her brain burst! Something I've never seen before, let alone in conjunction with a total heart rupture."

"And that doesn't explain her eyes exploding into mush, or her eardrums rupturing," said Tilly.

"So, best guess?" asked Terri.

"We don't make guesses at the GH&DCH," said Tilly: "But it almost seems as though she was hit by some kind of a sonic weapon."

"That means a sound weapon?" queried Colin Klein.

"Yep," said Elvis: "They've been experimenting with sonic weapons since the early 1970s at least. But it's news to me if they've reached the stage of a portable sonic rifle."

"Although if the Yanks had, they're not likely to tell the rest of us," added Tilly: "They do like their little secrets!"

"According to Dolly, it was three to five minutes at most, after the first shrieking noise till they found Mushee," said Terri Scott.

"Well, a sonic weapon could in theory work that quickly," said Elvis: "But if it's that powerful it's a wonder it didn't reduce her entire body to mush."


By the end of the day, they were all fatigued and ready for a sumptuous dinner, then an early night.

"Remember," whispered Sheila, when Colin was out of hearing range: "Lure him to bed, then sock him with the job offer."

"Sheils! I am too dog tired to do any luring tonight," said Terri, as the two women staggered up the steps to their respective bedrooms.


Over at the Pittsburgh Motel in Willamby, the patrons were all long in bed. However, Louisa 'Dolly' Parton was still walking the floor outside the second-storey rooms, wary of going to bed after the horror of the previous night.

"Come on my chestalicious beauty, bedtime," teased her husband Rod, standing in the doorway to room 221.

"I can't go to bed, in case it comes back."

"In case what comes back?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"So you're keeping everyone on this floor awake with your pacing in case something ... you don't know what... comes back?"

"Why don't you take sleeping tablets again tonight if I'm keeping you awake."

Going across to rub his erection up against her prominent backside, he said: "I'm not in the mood for sleeping tonight."

"Oh," said Dolly, allowing him to drag her into the bedroom.


Outside the window of room 134 on the first storey, the redheaded Banshee watched as fifty-eight-year-old Cedric 'Sid' Bowman had sex with (it couldn't be called making love to) his wife Talia. A couple of years younger than Sid, she was equally obese, and the sight of them coupling would have made good footage for any repulsion movie. Neither Sid nor Talia believed in subtlety; rough sex was the only kind possible, as far as they knew.

Maeve looked horrified as she watched and decided it was one more reason to kill them. With surprising strength for her lithe frame, she pulled up the window, which had been left a few centimetres up to allow in cool air on the hot, summer night.

"What was that?" asked Talia as the window squeaked upwards.

"Who cares, now thrust up at me!" demanded Sid.

Unable to bear the horrid sight of the Bowmans coupling anymore, the Banshee started wailing her death shriek immediately.

"What the...?" said Sid. As his mountains of fat began quivering as though his body tides were suffering an internal tsunami.

"Don't ask..." said Talia. Starting to shriek as her own body started rippling as though suffering the same body tides.

Relieved that she had at least stopped their disgusting rutting, Maeve increased the intensity of her shrilling until the excess fat on Sid and Talia's bodies suddenly exploded out of their frames. Until Bowmans and bed alike were awash in slimy yellowy body fat.

"What...?" muttered Sid. In tremendous agony, as his horrifically fat body seemed to explode around him.

Then as Maeve increased the volume and intensity of her shrilling the obese couple started spraying blood from their nostrils and ears. Finally, their anuses and genitals started spewing out blood as did their mouths. Then as their body fat squished off them and seeped onto the floor, their entire dermis started to shift about, as though wanting to escape the horror that was their dying bodies.

Unsatisfied, the Banshee increased her wailing until it was loud enough to awaken the entire motel.


"It's back!" cried Dolly, in room 221. She tried, without success, to push her thrusting husband off her. However, Rod was too close to a climax to stop now, so she had to wait until he ejaculated within her. She finally asked: "Finished."

"Finished round one, Hotstuff."

"Well, round two will have to wait ... It's back!"

"What's back?" asked Rod. Trying to pull Dolly back into bed as she started to climb out.

"We'll have none of that for now, my cockalicious hubby?"

"Cockalicious?" he queried. Reluctantly following his beautiful wife out of bed.

"Well, if you can call me chestalicious..." she explained. She picked up her passkey and started toward the bedroom door.

"Wait for me," called Rod. Hurrying into his slippers, before starting after her.

Covering her ears with her hands as the shrilling seemed fit to deafen them all, Dolly asked the people in the hallway:

"Where is it coming...?"

Then as blood spewed from her nostrils, Dolly allowed Rod to pull her back into room 221.

Rod carried his wife to the en suite to place a cold wet towel up to her nose. Turning on the shower in the desperate hope that it would drown out the deafening shrilling.


Outside in the corridor, four people had passed out, all with nose bleeds. Some with burst eardrums; blood spilling from their ears. One died of a ruptured heart. Two others of brain haemorrhages. The others managed to stagger back into their rooms and locked the doors before passing out.


On the first floor seven people, mainly elderly, lay dead in the corridor. Bloody having spewed from every orifice in their bodies. Others made it back into their rooms, but at that close range, they all suffered from bloody noses and ruptured ear drums. Two had their eyes ruptured into mush, and four died from ruptured hearts or strokes caused by the capillaries in their brains exploding.


In room 134 Sid and Talia Bowman had been reduced to little more than huge piles of yellowy liquefied fat and separated rolls of skin. Their organs and entrails had flowed out of their bodies and flopped onto the floor. Leaving nothing more than fat-stained skeletons on the bed.

"Well, serves you both right for being so gross and disgusting," said Maeve in her sweet, Irish lilt.

Leaving the fat-and-blood-splattered room, she turned and flew gracefully out through the window. Heading off into the forest.


Even once the shrilling wailing stopped, most of the living people in the Pittsburgh Motel were unconscious, or too injured to be able to ring for help. But by four AM Dolly had managed to stop her nose gushing blood and had managed, with difficulty, to revive Ron. She helped him to stagger across to their bed, then picked up her mobile phone and rang 000.


Having gone to bed at 7:30 PM, Terri had had a good sleep and was much refreshed by the time that Deidre Morton knocked on her bedroom door twenty minutes after 4:00.

"Colin?" she called. Still hopeful that she wouldn't have to make the first move.

"No, dear, it's Deidre," called Mrs. Morton: "It's happened again."

"Shit," said Terri. She hurried out of bed and quickly dressed before going to the door.

"Another killing?" asked the ash blonde. Following Deidre down the steps to the kitchen, where Stanlee Dempsey was waiting on the phone.

"A massacre, according to Stanlee," said Mrs. Morton, handing Terri the receiver. Then she headed back upstairs to awaken Sheila Bennett.

"Hello," said Terri. Listening in horror while Stanlee gave her a brief description of what they had found at the Pittsburgh Motel in Willamby.

By the time that Sheila was dressed and they were ready to go, Deidre had packed Sheila a breakfast of six vegemite crumpets. As well as four muffins with margarine and cherry jam for Terri.

"Thanks, Mrs. M., you're a star," said Sheila. Hugging Deidre, before racing outside to start the police-blue Lexus.


Reaching Willamby by a little after six AM, they found that the Pittsburgh was indeed the 'gorefest' that Stanlee Dempsey had described it as over the phone: Fourteen people dead and two dozen others blinded, deafened or suffering from other serious injuries.

All six of the Glen Hartwell Hospital's ambulances were outside, with over a dozen doctors and nurses at the motel, desperately trying to deal with the injured first.

"Looks like we were right about some kind of sonic weapon," said Tilly Lombstrom as Sheila and Terri managed to fight their way into the motel: "Dolly, Rod, and all of the survivors who can still speak, talk of hearing a deafening shrilling, shrieking noise before all Hell broke out."

"High pitched enough to make eyes, eardrums, hearts, and brain capillaries all rupture," said Jesus Costello. Before signalling to the harried paramedics that they could take away the woman he was dealing with.

A ninety-minute drive from Willamby to Glen Hartwell, the Air Ambulance had sent in choppers to transport the most seriously injured. The corpses, and less seriously injured would have to go by land ambulance.

"Wait till you see what's left of the Bowmans," said Elvis Green: "Make sure you have chunderbags with you before going into room 134."


"Chunderbags is right," said Terri, as they stood in the doorway. Staring inwards at the dissolved mess that had once been Talia and Cedric Bowman.


It took all day to transport the dead, and injured to the Glen Hartwell Hospital. And another week before the Health Department would declare it fit to live in. Forcing everyone to stay in the hospital, or find accommodation elsewhere for that time.

Dolly and Rod talked it over at great length while in hospital. They finally decided to sell the motel, under its old name, the Imperial, and move to the United States.

"The end of an era," said Rod, a little sadly. However, he did not want to own a place where so many innocents had died.

"The end of an error, as they say in America, you mean," said Dolly.


Interviewing the survivors, Terri and co. did manage to track down one important fact, from the night of Mushee Sonbon's death:

"I definitely heard a sweet female voice singing, with a light but definite Irish sound to it," said Desiree Thomas. An eighty-year-old resident of the second floor of the Pittsburgh Motel.

"Yes, yes, it was Irish, I'm sure," added Leila Feinberg, the maid from the motel: "Very sweet sounding at first. Then it went up to deafening volume."


"So do we know who sings in a sweet female Irish voice, that can pump up the volume till they make people's organs explode?" asked Colin Klein as they headed back to the police-blue Lexus.

"I don't know," said Terri: "But they might be able to tell us at the Celtic Club in Blackland Street."

"Good thinking, Tare," said Sheila, as they started away from the hospital.

"See, I told you she wasn't just a fantastic arse," said Colin. Getting a playful punch in the ribs from Terri.


At the Celtic Club in Gallipoli Parade, Glen Hartwell they tentatively asked about female Irish singers, who could lull someone to obey them with her sweet voice. Or explode their hearts and organs with a hellish shrilling wailing.

"Sounds like you're talking about a Banshee, Terri," said the bartender, Morris O'Shay. A tall muscular redheaded man, who looked more like a wrestler than a bar-hand.

"Don't they just wail when someone is about to die?" asked Colin.

"Oh, no, no, they come in all persuasions. The evil ones, usually redheads with emerald green eyes, take delight in hypnotising people with their sweet singing, often inducing them to commit suicide. Or they can wail at a thousand decibels, loud enough to wake the dead or kill the living.

"An evil Banshees is usually a tall curvy woman in a long flowing white gown. Low cut to reveal her generous breasts. Which she can use to entice either men or women to do her bidding. She has long flowing dark red hair, which can turn bright green when she is furious, as does her skin. Her beautiful emerald green eyes turn red when she is livid.

"She can hypnotise people with her cries... Or she can release a shrilling shriek to kill people or knock them out... Or to hurl them across the room, or out of windows till they fall to their doom...

"She can fly through the air to chase people, terrifying them to death... Or to escape pursuers!"

"So how can we defeat, capture, or kill a Banshee?" asked Terri.

"Three ways," said Morris: "Firstly, a weapon of pure gold can kill a banshee. A golden blade can kill or mutilate a Banshee."

"Hey, just like the Cybermen on Doctor Who!" said Sheila Bennett.

"Sheils!" said Terri, in her most pissed-off voice.

"Secondly, A Banshee Banishing Spell: A Banshee can be banished, but probably not killed, by a banishing spell. Thirdly: A Celtic Blood Trapping Spell: Certain blood sigils when activated can trap a Banshee. Although again probably not kill them."

"So how do we perform these rituals?" asked Terri.

"It's all mythology, Tare," said Morris.

"You wouldn't say that, if you'd seen what was left of Talia and Sid Bowman over at the Pittsburgh Motel," said Sheila.

"Surely, the Celtic Club has a few old Shamans or Shaman wannabees?" asked Colin Klein.

"Well, Old Mother McCready claims to have powers," said Morris, writing down her address for them.

"Old Mother, yes!" said Sheila: "Anyone whose name starts with Old Mother, or Old Father, always has powers according to all the horror films I've ever seen!"

"Sheils!" said Terri again, as they headed back out to the Lexus: "What was that address, babe?"

"1/21 Calhoun Street, G.H."

"That's at the extreme southern end of the Glen," said Sheila, heading the car in that direction.


1/21 Calhoun Street, was the right-hand half of a sub-divided yellow weatherboard house. It contained a lounge room, a small bedroom, a kitchen, and a small shower room-cum-toilet cubicle.

Reluctantly allowing them into her lounge room, Mother McCready at first denied having any special powers of any kind.

"So you're not the powerful Witchy Woman, that Morris O'Shay said you were?" asked Terri.

"Witchy Woman! How dare he! I am a white witch of tremendous power!"

"I thought you just said you had no special powers?" said Colin Klein.

"Cunning sods!" she said. Listening as they told her what they needed from her: "A Banshee! I can call it here and trap it, but then it's up to you."

"Fair enough," said Terri.

"And I charge a hundred dollars fee, for my time."

"A hundred dollars?" asked Sheila.

"Well, I have to make a living."

"Fair enough," said Terri. She whispered to Sheila and Colin: "No Easter eggs from the force this year."

"But it will take me six or seven hours to prepare all the ingredients," said the old lady.

"We would expect no less for a hundred bucks," said Colin Klein.


It was 8:00 Pm and darkfall was coming rapidly. Maeve flew slowly through the air outside Glen Hartwell as night approached. She soared above the streets, out of sight of most people. The few who did see her assumed that she was a large white bird or a low-flying cloud.

It was by chance that she visited the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital in Biblical Road, Glen Hartwell. She flew slowly around the large complex, not getting too close, but enjoying looking in through the second and third storey windows. Giggling a little as she saw the mutilated victims of her previous night's carnage. Maeve felt no compassion for those she had blinded, deafened, or otherwise hurt. She only marvelled at how many she had managed to damage.

The Banshee had almost flown right around the vast complex when she saw something that angered her. Inside the nurse's break room, she saw the gorgeous visage of platinum blonde nurse, Topaz Moseley.

No woman is allowed to be more beautiful than me! she thought, getting ready to shrill loud enough to blow inwards the hermetically sealed window.


Terri, Sheila, and Colin had just had one of Deidre Morton's succulent dinners and were now pulling up at 1/21 Calhoun Street, hoping that Old Mother McCready was ready to begin calling the Banshee.

"Bout time you got here," said Old Mother, as though they had held her up, not the other way around. Holding out her right hand, she demanded: "Where's my hundred dollars."

Taking the money, she instructed: "Now sit on the sofa, and shut up and don't interfere."

Sitting on the tatty pink and white sofa in the dingy room, Colin whispered: "That's what they mean by Irish hospitality."

"Shut up!" said Old Mother McCready. As she started chanting while mixing a magical potion.


Over at the Glen Hartwell Hospital, gorgeous Topaz Moseley was just making herself a cup of chicken broth, when behind her Maeve the Banshee started to wail.

"What the...?" said the blonde. She turned as the wailing moved up a few hundred decibels and the hermetically sealed window exploded inwards.

"Try to upstage me will you?" said Maeve. Changing from a beautiful green-eyed redhead, into her monster form: green-haired and green-skinned, with glowing red pupil-less eyes. Her once beautiful face now twisted and stretched into a hideous parody of itself: "No one upstages Maeve!"


Over at Calhoun Street, Colin and Terri were watching in interest, while Sheila was bored stupid, while Old Mother McCready performed her Banshee Trapping Ritual.

"Is she banishing it, or trapping it?" asked Sheila.

"I'm calling it here, now shut up!" said the old woman: "It's up to you to kill it."

"Good thing our bullets are filled with golden pellets," whispered Sheila.

"Shut up!" shouted Old Mother McCready.


At the hospital Topaz Moseley had dropped her favourite coffee cup, shattering it, as the shatter-proof glass shattered inwards, spraying her. But without doing more than minor damage, since she had managed to cover her eyes with her hands.

"What the Hell," asked Annie Colfax running into the break room at the sound of the glass shattering.

"Another beautiful blonde!" said Maeve glaring at the thirty-nine-year-old ash blonde.

The Banshee started forward ... then suddenly jerked backward as though she had come to the end of her rope.

Snarling in anger, Maeve tried to fly forward again, then suddenly jerked back hard as though she were attached to a giant elastic band, which had reached its limit and was now pulling her backward.

"No!" shrieked the Banshee. Then to the amazement of Topaz and Annie, she suddenly disappeared backward into the night sky at great speed.


"Is she ever gonna finish?" whispered Sheila, truly bored.

"Shut up and open the window behind you!" ordered Old Mother McCready.

"What for?" asked Sheila. Getting up to do as she was told.

"So the Banshee won't shatter my window when she gets here."

"Oh," said Sheila. Pulling the window wide open seconds before Maeve whooshed backwards into Old Mother McCready's lounge room.

Growling at them in rage, the Banshee started to shrill her death wail.

Then pulling their revolvers, Terri and Sheila unleashed a dozen gold-filled bullets into her.

Shrilling in pain now, Maeve fell over dead and returned to her beautiful guise.

"Now you have to burn her carcase, while I say the rest of the spell over it, so she won't come back to life," said Old Mother McCready.

"Why do we always get the shitty jobs?" said Colin, as the three of them reluctantly reached down to pick up the Banshee.

"Shut up, and carry her out the back!" ordered the old woman: "I ain't burning her in my lounge room."

THE END
© Copyright 2024 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia