If you happen to be on Thomas Street in Dublin's medieval quarter of the city at an unearthly hour between midnight and dawn, you may encounter the ghosts of those hung outside St. Catherine's church in the year of Our Lord 1803.
Those footsteps which shadow your own and the shrill cold wind caressing your neck may well be the company of the dead.
Lord Chief Justice Kilwarden met his end on this very street, pulled from his horse drawn carriage. His unfortunate fate to be most inhumanely and barbarously murdered by a rebel banditi on the treacherous evening of July 23 1803.
That shriek you hear as you pass the church may well be the echoes of his death cries as the cutting pikes of the rebel insurgents against English Crown forces hacked and skewered both him and his nephew.
There if you peer closely through the misty veil of darkness is a horseman, James Chapman of his Majesties 21st Royal North British fusiliers, crowded and pulled from his beast and hacked to death.
September 20th 1803 rolls forward on the calendar and takes you by your arm.
The crowds have come to see the King's revenge and you see it too. The young man on the gibbet, Robert Emmet, hung and beheaded for his treachery against English rule. 'Here is the head of a traitor, Robert Emmet!' the hangman cries as the blood continues to pour and flow under your very feet.
This street has the stench of bloody history seeping from the very walls of its buildings and the Church of St Catherine's still stands to this very day in the year of Our Lord 2021.
This street has seen plague and death before and the destruction of Cromwell's bloody reign of terror.
Slow your pace down and walk a bit further and there is the ghost of Lord Edward Fitzgerald being seized by Major Sirr who fatally wounds Fitzgerald.
The smell offending your nostrils is the stench from Dunghill lane or Dirty lane as it was known then. You have now entered an area known as Hell and it here you will encounter a tale like no other ever breathed from terror stricken lips.
The hand of history has clasped your hand and a General in Napoleons army, Napper Tandy, walks alongside you.
You have met with his ghost :
' I met with Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand
He said 'How's dear old Ireland and how does she stand?
She's the most distressful country that you have ever seen
For they're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green'
It is too late for you now as the shadow of death has clutched your heart.
Your footsteps are lost in the darkness. There is a silence. Your heart is racing.
You want to scream but the sound will not out.
Dublin has pulled you to her breast. Not even Napper Tandy can save you now.
A horse drawn carriage pulls alongside you.
There is Lord Kilwarden reaching towards you.
'Get in!' He cries but you dare not. You know the horrible outcome already.
You pray for dawn but it will not come. You have become a ghost of Dublin.
The bells peal and you attend your own funeral. A grotesque reverie erupts.
The sack em ups want you. The fields of Bully's acre await you but you will never see it. You have become a ghost of Dublin and your soul will never rest.
YOU ARE READING
Weird Reads
PoetryPoems & Prose to read when your coffee is on the brew. A mixture of the light and dark in life. Strange writing from the pen of a weird mind. Caution advised before reading.
