We Are Shadows: An Irish Ghost Story

Chapter One

Chapter One

Schull, August 2009

As Moira picked her way through the cemetery, no breeze

came off the bay to explain the now-familiar, sudden chill

despite the stifling heat of the day.

Waiting for Deirdre to catch up, she stopped at an area free

of headstone—an acceptable spot to enjoy the picnic their

younger sister, Nuala, had prepared for them. She unfurled the

lightweight quilt she carried, sank down with a sigh, and gave an

involuntary shudder. She glanced back at Deirdre, carrying the

picnic basket. Their eyes locked as Deirdre’s eyebrows raised in

the unspoken question: again?

“I saw that,” Deirdre said, as she plopped down next to her

sister. “I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I’m not,” Moira returned. “I have no clients at the moment,

but I definitely just felt something …”

“Why pick a cemetery for our picnic spot then, if you weren’t

trying to reach someone?”

“I’m drawn to cemeteries. I love the peaceful

atmosphere here—well, peaceful when I can’t feel them reaching

out to me,” Moira said, as she took off her sun hat and fanned her

face, loose curls falling from her messy bun and sticking to her neck.

“Have you seen anyone yet? Or just had the feeling?” Deirdre

was always curious about the process Moira went through when

communicating with …ghosts? The departed? Spectres? Spirits?

She didn’t know what to call them, so she just avoided being

specific. She hoped one day she’d

finally get to meet a departed ancestor as well, but it hadn’t happened

yet. In some ways, she was a bit relieved. It just seemed to come

so easily to Moira, who referred to these phantom visitors as the

Others, as in Otherworldly.

At twenty-four and twenty-five, with only ten months

between them, Moira, the middle child of three girls, and Deirdre

the eldest, were Irish twins. They shared the same grey-green eyes

and auburn hair, though Deirdre’s tended more to strawberry

blonde. They were also close in friendship, developed over the

years as they often sided together against their younger sister,

Nuala, who came along five years after Moira and garnered special

attention as the baby.

Nuala was forever vying for her sisters’ attention

and dreamed of being a bigger part of their lives and pursuits. Her

passion was cooking, which she indulged in regularly, helping out

their mother, Dymphna Gallagher, at Sea Breeze Inn, the family

business.

Deirdre remembered the day, ten years ago now, when she and

Moira were teens walking home from school, and the conversation

between them that transformed her from being a supportive and

protective older sister, to a believer.

“Did you know Nana Brigid had two husbands?” Moira had

said without preamble.

“What? No way. Where did you hear that?”

“Nana told me. She said Da reminded her of her first

husband, who died young because of his smoking and drinking.”

Deirdre had stopped in the middle of the road. “Wait. What

do you mean? Nana died a few years ago. When did she tell you?

And why wasn’t I in on that conversation?”

“She told me recently during one of her visits. Like Julia.” Moira had

a faraway look in her eyes.

Deirdre’s tone brought her back. “You mean it’s real? You

can actually see people who’ve died?” For Deirdre, believing that

Moira believed in her visions had been enough. If they brought

her comfort, what was the harm? But this, this was something else.

She had overheard a conversation once between her parents about

Da’s more and more frequent visits to the pub. Ma had shouted,

“You’re just like Thomas O’Riley! You’ll find yourself in an early

grave and me a widow, like my ma, if you keep this up!” At the

time, Deirdre was confused, as she knew Ma’s ma was married,

not a widow. Deirdre had never told anyone of this eavesdropped

conversation, but now it all made sense with Moira’s revelation.

“You believe me, don’t you?” The shy glance Moira had given

her had touched her deeply.

Deirdre had taken her sister’s face in her hands, and looked

into her eyes, searching for something there that would guide her

next words. Then she’d smiled and said, “Of course I believe you.

And I think it’s amazing!”

Moira’s body had relaxed and a broad smile lit up her face.

Since then, they had not only been sisters and friends, but allies

in this amazing adventure of receiving help and guidance from

the world beyond.

~

“I received a letter from a young man in Tralee a few days ago,”

Moira began as she unpacked the poached chicken with Nuala’s

special red pepper mayonnaise, and the tabbouleh salad. “Just a

minute—I have it here in my bag.”

She handed the letter to her sister, and Deirdre began to

read aloud:

August 4, 2009

Dear Ms. Gallagher,

I heard about you from my friend, Liam, whom

you helped a while back. I was hoping you might help me as well.

I was adopted as an infant. I never knew who my birth

parents were until I got a letter from my birth mother, Eveleen,

when I turned eighteen. It seems my mother was quite the

beauty as a young lass. She had attracted the attention of a local

landowner, a rich and powerful man named John McGuire,

and before she knew it, found herself betrothed at the age of

sixteen. But Eveleen didn’t love him. She was in love with a

young stable hand from the neighbouring village. They planned

to elope, as her family was against that union and wouldn’t give

the required permission.

When her parents discovered Eveleen was pregnant, they

sent her away to her uncle and aunt on the Western coast until

she gave birth. Her family convinced her the best thing for me

was to give me up. I was raised by the only family I’ve known,

the Kennedys of Tralee, who were friends of her uncle. To

further prevent the union, my biological father was encouraged,

or persuaded to take a job in America. My mother never heard

from him again. Her parents were relieved when the landowner

was still willing to marry her despite her condition. He must

have seemed like a godsend to her parents. They were unaware

of his darker side.

Mother had left a letter with her uncle and aunt, and they

carried out her wish to pass it on to me when I turned eighteen.

In that letter she told me about my biological father and the

circumstances of my adoption. She stressed that I not attempt to

contact her, insisting that it wasn’t safe. Then a month ago, I read

in the newspaper that my birth mother and her husband were

killed in an accident. Having never had children of their own,

their estate is now being fought over by several distant relations.

A few days later, I received another letter from Eveleen,

dated just before the accident. I will share her correspondence

with you should you choose to take my case.

The Kennedys have also recently passed, and although

I am still young (21 next month) I am optimistic about my

future. Having this inheritance would be helpful, but for me it is

more about righting the wrong that has been done to my family.

McGuire and my grandparents prevented me from knowing my

birth mother. She was afraid of him and her letters suggest that

he may have harmed my father. I want it known what kind of a

man John McGuire really was and that I am the son of Eveleen

Hobhan and Jeremiah Quinn.

My mother’s letters are not signed with her name or

address; nothing to verify our relationship. I have no way

of knowing what the dangers are that my mother alluded to,

and with her, my grandparents and the Kennedys gone now, I

didn’t know where I could turn for help. Then Liam explained

how you were able to get information for him from your more

unconventional sources.

Enclosed is the article about the McGuires’ deaths for

your information.

Sincerely

Seán Kennedy

(066) 9151988

Tralee, County Kerry, Eire

“Do you have the newspaper article with you as well?” Deirdre

asked.

Moira handed her a crumpled news clipping:

MILLIONAIRE STUD FARM OWNER JOHN

MCGUIRE AND WIFE DIE IN CAR CRASH;

POTENTIAL HEIRS GATHER

The article said that the McGuires were returning home

from an evening event when their Mercedes skidded on the wet

roads and hit a tree. McGuire was pronounced dead at the scene,

but Mrs. Eveleen McGuire was rushed to hospital where she

survived on life support for several hours before also succumbing

from multiple internal injuries.

“So, are you taking the case?” Deirdre inquired after she’d

skimmed the details and handed it back to her sister.

“I haven’t responded yet, but I think so ... I’m already feeling

like a few people are wanting me to,” Moira said as she passed her

sister a plate of the cold chicken and salad.

“Seán’s mother?”

“No, not her yet. Though I’m hoping she makes an appearance.

But the name ‘Jeremiah’ keeps coming into my thoughts. Since I

don’t know any other Jeremiahs, I’m thinking it’s Seán’s father.”

“Can I help in any way? Any research you need done?”

Deirdre worked as a law clerk in Dublin while she studied for her

Bachelor of Civil Law with Irish at University College Dublin. It

was summer break and she had come down to Schull to spend some

time with her mother and Nuala. It had been hard on Dymphna

for the past two years since the passing of her husband, Denis.

Even with Nuala home to help her run things she occasionally

slipped into a melancholy. It took the combined efforts of all three

of her daughters to pull her out.

Moira was also enrolled at University College Dublin. She

and Deirdre shared a flat not far from campus. With her interest

in Irish history, Moira was studying Celtic Civilization. She’d

found it helpful when dealing with some of her more ancient

visitors. She turned from staring out at the bay and focused on

her sister’s question.

“I don’t know enough yet. You could look into this accident

for me, if you’d like. And find out about the heirs that are coming

out of the woodwork. How strong is their claim? How close is their

relationship to John McGuire? Are there wills? That sort of thing.”

“I’m on it. Well, as soon as we get back to Dublin, that is.”

The sisters were quiet for a while, each absorbed in their own

thoughts. Then Deirdre turned to Moira and smiled, “This has sure been

a great visit home, hasn’t it? How do you feel Ma is doing? She

seemed cheerful this morning, don’t you think?”

“I do. You know she doesn’t quite understand what goes on

when I see the Others. But she does respect me when I tell her I’ve

had a ‘feeling’ about something. She thinks I’m quite spiritual, or

something to that effect. Anyway, I told her I felt Da was happy.

I said I’d had a dream about him in which he’d visited me. There’s

no way she’d believe the truth, that himself was standing in my

room not two weeks ago, and we were laughing together like old

times. He told me to tell Ma that he missed her and looked forward to

when they would be together again. He said she was not to worry or miss him too much,

because she had a lot of things left to do here first.”

“And what did she say to that?”

Moira smiled. “She said that was very comforting and she

wished she could see Da in her dreams as well some time.”

“Well, that explains why I heard her singing this morning

as she hung the bed sheets. She hasn’t done that in … years it

seems like.”

“Hey, I need to stretch my legs. Want to walk along the cliff with me?” Moira

invited.

“I’m pretty knackered after staying up late studying. I’ve

got an exam on a summer reading assignment as soon as school

starts. I’m going to stretch out here in the shade for a few minutes …”

Moira put on her sun hat. She hated her freckles and tried

everything she could think of to minimise them. Her mother’s

voice came into her head then, scolding her with the words, ‘a

face without freckles is like a sky without stars!’ She smiled as she

headed across the field towards the cliff edge.

Chapter Two

As Moira walked along the cliff edge, she sensed it first: a

dark foreboding that began as an inkling in her brain but

soon spread to her chest and limbs. By the time she could

no longer move one foot in front of the other, a dark shapeless

cloud had enveloped her and brought her to her knees. She tried

to cry out, “Whaat—?” but no sound emerged. She was about to

black out when she focused on the thought of Nana—her angel

grandmother—and pushed a plea into the ether, “Please, help me!”

At once the blackness lifted and she found herself on her

back, staring up into the puffy white clouds of the warm August

afternoon. As she slowly sat up, she felt a presence behind her,

and turned. There was a shimmer of light at first, then an outline

as her grandmother came into focus.

“Mamó! What was that? In all the times I’ve been visited

by Others, I’ve never felt anything like that.” Moira’s heart was

thumping in her chest as she took in deep breaths to calm herself.

“You’ve never been involved in anything that has drawn the

attention of Dark Ones before,” Brigid O’Brien explained.

“You mean Seán Kennedy’s letter? What is so sinister about

it?”

“Dark spirits on this side of the veil were often men of evil

desires and deeds while living. Just as I, and the Others with whom

you have connected, have freedom to assist our loved ones we left

behind, these entities roam freely as well, unless curtailed by …”

Brigid hesitated a moment.

“By what? You must tell me! I never want to experience that

again. How do I keep them away?”

“There are two options: You seem to have gotten yourself

into something that has stirred up interest. You can let it go and

back away from this case, or …”

“Mamó, you know me. I can’t walk away from something

I know I was called to do—help others in ways no one else can.

What is option two?”

“You’ve already done it: called for help. I am here, and your

other angels are not a few. And what we can’t handle, there are

heavenly hosts standing by to step in as well. Be careful, Moira,

my dear. Not all your enemies will be from the Otherworld. There

are dangers from several fronts you may be facing. I must go, but

before I do—”

With arms raised high, she spoke with authority: “May the

gates and doors and paths be opened between our worlds, and may

the gates and doors and paths be closed to all those who would

do us and our loved ones harm.”

And then she was gone.

Chapter Three

“Deirdre!” Moira’s voice carried across the field on a chill wind.

Deirdre sat up and looked around, trying to get her bearings after

her brief nap. As Moira came closer, Deirdre saw that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a—oh! Come, sit

here next to me. I’ve not seen you have this kind of reaction before.”

Deirdre frowned as she grabbed hold of Moira and pulled her

down onto the blanket next to her. She wrapped her arm around

her and said, “Tell me.”

“It was horrible. A darkness that filled me with dread and

despair. I didn’t hear or even see a person, only this cloud of evil;

that’s the only way to describe it.” Moira sat on the quilt and hugged

her knees to her chest. “But Nana B came and made it leave. She

warned me that Seán’s case may be more dangerous than anything

I’ve—we’ve—encountered yet.”

“What will you do? What’s our next step? Did Nana have any suggestions?”

“She did not. I think we proceed as planned. If we’re on the

wrong track, we’ll get some guidance, I’m sure. At least that’s how

things seem to work; we make an effort to figure things out for

ourselves then help comes as we progress.

~

“Moira! Wait for me! Ma said I could play at your house.” Five-year-old

Julia called out to her friend from her driveway across the street,

her blonde curls bobbing as she manoeuvred her new bike with her feet.

Moira found herself back in her five-year-old body, sitting on

her bicycle in her parents’ driveway, watching her best friend start

across the street.

“I’m waiting for Deirdre to ride with me to the shop for a lolly. Can you go with us?”

Julia’s reply was drowned out by the screech of brakes as the

shiny black BMW came barrelling around the corner. Moira watched

the familiar tableau of herself and Julia frozen in place, heads turned

towards the sound.

At the moment of impact, Moira woke up with a shudder.

No matter that this recurring dream was one she had memorised

by now, it still caused her heart to race whenever she relived the

last moments of her best friend’s life. Those around her at the time

wondered at her lack of apparent grief, going on as usual having

pretend tea parties and outings with her friend, Julia. But why should she grieve

when it had only been a moment after the accident before Moira had felt Julia standing beside her,

both of them looking at Julia’s bent and broken little body in the road?