Irish Mist - Sean's Story (Mary O'Reilly Short Story) by Terri Reid (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

arrived at the edge of the woods.  He tried to quicken his pace, but she held him back.

“Just a moment,” she said. “I need to be sure the way is clear.”

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, his voice stronger than before.

“Aye, you will be,” she said. “But I need to be sure for meself. Your people react a little strangely when they see folks like me.”

 She left him, leaning against a large tree, as she surveyed the clearing ahead of them.  “There’s a car heading this way,” she reported to him, calling back to him over her shoulder. “They should arrive here within a few minutes.”

“Mary must have gotten ma and da,” he replied. “They’re probably worried.”

“Well, that’s nice you have parents who care,” she said wistfully.

She hurried back and helped him the remaining steps to the clearing, guiding him along the lower side of a rise, so she was hidden from view.  Stopping at a large boulder, she helped him rest against it.  Placing her hand on his brow, she waited for a moment and then smiled. “You’re going to be fine, Sean the brave,” she said. “I wish you good health and a blessed life.”

Sean had so many questions, but he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. He rested his head against the rock. “But…” he murmured, not able to finish the question.

She bent down and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Sean,” she whispered. “I owe you and I won’t be forgetting.”

He watched her hurry back into the shelter of the woods and then she just disappeared.  That was the last thing he remembered for a long time.

Chapter Five

The lights were low when he finally woke up.  Sean didn’t know if it was early in the morning or late at night.  He looked around slowly and realized he was sleeping on the couch in the front parlor of the cottage and a banked fire glowed in the fireplace.  Why am I sleeping on the couch? he wondered. I don’t remember being sick.

`Then, in the far corner of his mind, almost out of reach, he remembered entering the woods. “The woods!” he exclaimed aloud.

“Sean, you’re awake,” his father said, jumping up from the nearby recliner and hurrying to his son’s side.

His father, usually the epitome of good grooming and tidy dressing, looked awful.  His hair was disheveled, his face was covered with stubble and his clothes looked like he had slept in them for several days.  He pushed his hair out of his face and laid his hand on Sean’s forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Sean did a quick self-assessment. “Um, thirsty and hungry, really hungry,” he said, the woods pushed from his mind by his dad’s unkempt appearance. “Dad, are you okay?  You kind of look like a mess.”

His dad laughed and nodded. “I’m fine, Sean, just fine,” he said, “and feeling much better now that you’re awake and hungry.  What would you like to eat?  Some broth?  A bit of oatmeal?”

Scrunching up his nose at those suggestions, he shook his head. “Can’t I have a burger or some cookies?” he asked.

Timothy leaned forward and rubbed his son’s hair, “Yes. Yes, you can have whatever you’d like,” he said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll whip you up a burger and some cookies.”

“And a shake?” Sean asked, deciding to take advantage of the situation.

“Sure, why not?” Timothy replied as he stood up and walked to the doorway. “Your mom is asleep right now, but your Grandma is awake. I’ll have her sit with you while I cook.”

Sean smiled and wondered what all the special treatment was about, but he didn’t dare ask, in case questioning things might cause them to reconsider.  He started to push himself up to a sitting position, but winced as a pain shot through his arm.  He pushed down the blankets and looked down at the white bandages wrapped around his forearm.

“Do you remember what happened?” his grandmother asked from the doorway.

Sean looked up and shook his head. “I thought I remembered something about the woods,” he said. “But every time I try to concentrate on it, it floats away.”

She came closer and pulled up a wooden chair next to the couch and sat close to his head. “Do you remember the woods?” she asked.

Nodding, he tried to picture it again. “Yes, we were playing hide and seek,” he said slowly. “I wanted to find a great hiding place, so I climbed the fence and went into the woods.”

“And once in the woods, what did you see?” she asked.

“There were, you know, woods stuff,” he replied. “Trees, bushes, rocks and…”

His eyes widened and he quickly turned his hand over and looked at the scrape across his palm. “There was a girl,” he said, staring at his hand. “And she cut me with her knife. She cut me because I was poisoned and we mixed our blood.”

His grandmother took his hand into her own and studied the wound.  “Aye, ‘tis so narrow you wouldn’t know it was a cut, just a wee scrape that didn’t break the skin. A fairy cut no doubt.”

“What?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

She wasn’t teasing.  She wasn’t telling a story.  His grandmother actually believed he’d been cut by a fairy’s knife.  But that was impossible, wasn’t it?  There were no such things as little people.  No such things as fairies. No such things as…

“Well, Sean, you’ll have to make due with grilled cheese,” his father said, as he entered the room carrying a plate filled with food. “Will that work?”

Sean nodded absently. “Yeah, da, that will be great,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” his father asked, looking back and forth between Sean and his grandmother.

Knowing how his father felt about fairy tales, Sean decided not to tell him what his grandmother had just suggested. “What happened to me?” he asked.

Timothy pulled over a TV tray and set Sean’s food on it, then he pulled up another chair and sat alongside his mother-in-law. “Well, the