THE BANSHEE

2

I do not know how long I stood there, watching, unable to move. At some point I must have, as I woke up the next morning in my bed feeling far from refreshed, the memory of last night still burning in my mind.

I dressed and went downstairs to join my family. In the light of day, the stairs seemed ordinary, plain. There was no sign or signal that this was a place where spirits walked and wailed during the night. A haunted place.

I could not resist the urge to bring up the subject over breakfast, though some might frown upon my engaging such a topic in the presence of children, I feel that it was not a sin, as they too must be victims of the woman's nighttime visit.

"How are you this morning, Brother?" Josiah asked, that young and jovial smile of his ever present across his face. "Did you sleep well?"

"I wish I could say that I have, but it seems there was some ungodly creature who decided to scream the night away right outside my window."

At my mention of the woman, Josiah and his wife shared a frightened glance. The look might have been looked over by some, but not by myself, a student of the law. They knew something.

"Ah yes. It's a neighborhood drunk, no more. She does that from time to time. I'm sorry I didn't mention it."

"Mention it! My good brother, all is forgiven. She is not your doing? Then all is well. Tonight I shall retire a little more prepared. Though I can't imagine what happened to that poor wretch to make her so dreadfully sad. Poor, girl."

And that was that on the subject. A common drunk. Though I sensed she might be more than that, I dare not suggest it, logic constrained me. And what could she be, other than a drunk? A memory swam into my mind, of something Josiah told me when I was younger. There is such a thing as a banshee, he said, a woman who wails and cries warning of a death to come. A banshee! The lawyer inside me scoffed at the idea. Children's stories, to keep them good and in their beds. But my memory of the night before would not leave my mind. It haunted me all the day long.

Dread aside, the day was rather pleasant. There was much laughter, as there often is when families come together. I took advantage of my visit to see some of the sights of Petropolis including the Palacio de Cristal, a building made entirely of glass for the sole purpose of demonstrating engineering prowess. It was quite remarkable, and reminded of me of the larger structure that had once stood in Chicago and I very much wished that I could have seen it. After exploring the city for the afternoon I found myself at the Imperial Museum, where the Emperor himself once lived. The most impressive structure to me, however was the church. St. Peter's of Alcantara, an enormous Cathedral that overlooks the city square. I never would have thought coming to Brazil that I would find impressive Gothic architecture, yet here it was standing right before my eyes.

The interior of the church was just as impressive, and after exploring I found myself below ground, reading inscriptions on the ancient tombs in the burial crypt. This is where the last Emperor himself was buried, and as I looked around I found myself suddenly alone. Alone with the dead, I thought, how perfect. It seemed that death was following me everywhere I went. Well, seeing as I could not stay here by myself any longer I quickly made my way to the stairs and as I was reaching the top, the door swung closed all by itself. I tried the handle, but the door was locked tight! Minutes passed, I was alone in the dark and no amount of banging or shouting seemed to be doing me any good. Terror soon began to set in, and I began to think this trip was entirely a mistake. I had just about given up hope and resolved to die here in the dark when I heard footsteps. I resumed my pounding on the door. Evidently, this time someone heard me and the door was thrown open, light poured in.

"Desculpa, amigo. Quanto tempo voce ficou por aqui?"

"I'm sorry, I speak English. I'm an American."

"Ah, American! English."

The man before me was short, balding, with a long, single twisting eyebrow. I don't want to seem judgemental or rude, but he was not a pleasant man to look upon. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, giving him a bug like quality to him. However, he was kind enough and he escorted me back to the chapel where we engaged in a friendly conversation. His name was Vagna, I learned, and he was a bus driver here in the city. His English was poor, but he seemed eager to talk to me and even more eager to learn about America. When I told him that I was a student at Yale, his eyes seemed to grow even larger "Yale...rich, your family, lots of money!"

"Well, I suppose you could say that. Yale isn't cheap."

"No...lots of money...to learn at university."

And so our conversation went. Eventually I grew tired of trying to decipher what the man was getting at and the time was growing late, so I bid him adieu and caught the next bus back to Josiah's house.

As I was walking down the foggy street to the long staircase, I saw something ahead of me on the side of the road. It looked almost like an animal, digging, but it was large and for a moment I was seized with fear. An animal that large could be dangerous. What kind of animals did they have here in Brazil? I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me, I felt a stranger here, in a strange land. I assume most travellers at one point or another feel some level of this as they come to terms with a foreign place. But the fog cleared somewhat and I was able to distinguish that the creature was actually a person, digging in a pile of trash. I approached the person, their face was covered in filthy rags, ridden with holes. As I neared, the thing turned its head in my direction and I saw the face that was hidden from me the night before. The woman's face from the stairs! It was a face that was completely unforgettable, insane pale eyes, a scarred face covered in dirt and warts, and hair that shot out in all directions from miscare. This was no human, this was an animal!