And so it rained.
Rained like never ever before.
Falling hard and straight and long.
Dark clouds lay low in the sky like a hateful pall.
Filling the streets.
And then the posters started.
Like petals fallen from the most hopeless of blooms. Handwritten. Photocopied. Badly printed.
Missing people. People missing people.
Everyone who attended the concert never returned home. Including Inteachán.
Though he knew it was helpless, Mac pinned his poster with the rest of them.
As he walked across Front Square Mac felt now that the world was only different.
He knew the First of the TheFive was here. The disturbance was now unignorable. The weight of this fact caused the world to spin ever so slightly out of kilter.
‘I knew this was always going to happen,’ Mac said to himself. And he steeled himself for the worst.
It started with the weeds.
Loss hits hard and holds firm and deep and long.
After a lifetime of solitude Mac now found himself unable to deal with a brand-new loneliness.
There simply is no substitute for presence.
‘I’m a selfish cowardly fool,’ he told himself.
‘That a man should send a child to stop the darkness.’
‘Look,’ said the Rock Star, ‘she’s awake.’
Inteachán opened her eyes.
‘Where am I,’ she asked the Rock Star. His eyes were hidden behind giant sunglasses.
‘Where we want you to be,’ he replied. The Rock Star smiled.
‘We know all about you, Inteachán,’ he sneered, ‘and your silly baby quest to save the world.’
Inteachán didn’t respond. The Rock Star continued.
‘We know you are the puppet of that old doddering fool of a professor. He says where and you race off on your fool’s errands.’
Inteachán still didn’t respond. The Rock Star loomed large over her.
‘Mac may think he knows what is going on but let me tell you he hasn’t got a clue.’
Inteachán placed another piece of bread on her fork and began to toast it on the open fire while Mac spoke.
‘There is an ancient ley line called St. Michael which extends out from Ireland into Europe and then the Middle East. This line intersects with various sacred sites dedicated to the saint himself.
The most famous amplification point for this particular line is Skellig Michael, the rock that stands in the Atlantic Ocean. Unbeknown to everyone but a few, Croke Park is another amplification point.’
Mac shifted in his armchair and Inteachán felt a slight shadow descend.
‘If the Horn is blown at such a point of amplification then who knows what will happen next.’
Mac looked at Inteachán.
‘It won’t,’ said Inteachán before he could speak.
Inteachán starts to climb the slippery rope. Her small arms are strong. She pulls herself hand over hand. What was once a simple sigh is now a deafening shriek. A shriek that will consume her if Inteachán doesn’t get away.
The rope sways violently. Inteachán climbs faster. The shriek swells again and now starts to fill the night. With a final kick Inteachán is free of the darkness. Quickly now she unties the rope and lets it fall to be swallowed by the Fomhóire’s howl.
Phone Girl And Other Scary Stories
Voices from beyond. Imaginary friends.
Unsettling sights. All this and more …
My mum’s phone rang in the middle of the night. It woke us both up.
‘Go back to sleep, darling,’ she said.
The phone rang again. And again. And again. My mum turned it off. It kept ringing. She put it in the fridge. Still it kept ringing.
‘Who is it, Mum?’ I said.
Mum didn’t know.
‘There’s no name and no number.’
We didn’t go back to sleep. We both sat in the kitchen. The phone was in the fridge. It kept ringing. I started to think about it.
‘Maybe you should answer it, Mum. It might be important.’
Mum nodded. She opened the fridge. She took out the phone.
‘Hello. Who’s this?’
‘You,’ said the voice. ‘You.’
The voice was loud. I heard it without the speaker. It was a little girl. Mum was very confused.
‘Me? What do you mean, me?’
‘No, you,’ said the voice. ‘You.’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘Are you laughing?’
Mum shook her head.
‘Well then,’ said the little girl.
I thought I would speak to the little girl.
‘Who are you?’
‘Her,’ said the little girl. ‘I’m her.’
I looked at Mum. She didn’t know. It was mad. Mum asked another question.
‘Where are you calling from?’
‘There,’ said the little girl. ‘I’m there.’
‘Here?’ said Mum.
‘No,’ said the little girl. ‘There.’
I felt frightened. I looked around the kitchen.
‘You can see me,’ said the little girl. ‘I’m right in front of you.’
Mum was right in front of me. But she wasn’t ringing anyone. She was answering the phone.
‘Why are you calling?’
‘I’m not,’ said the voice. ‘You are.’
Mum got very upset. I felt scared. It made me start to cry.
‘Please don’t keep calling us.’
Mum pressed the red button. She put the phone back in the fridge. It started to ring again. Mum took the phone back out. She was crying. Me too.
‘Why are calling?’ said Mum.
‘I’m not,’ said the little girl, ‘you are.’
A brilliant research student discovers a plot fulminated by demons from another dimension and kills himself in the process. The fate of the world is left in the hands of an elderly academic and a mysterious orphan.
Using the facts surrounding Ireland’s economic collapse in 2008 as its starting point, Terminal Transit is an apocalyptic adventure dealing with death and destruction in a Dublin slowly devastated by demonic intervention.
Can the end of the world be avoided?
Or is this planet simply scheduled for Terminal Transit?
Chapter I ‘The Song of the NotBeSpeak,’
With the terrible truth now trickling from beyond, it is fair to say that the world has reached a dreadful juncture for this is the exact point in the very small history of this very small planet that every single ever prediction of doom, of death, of absolute destruction, every crackpot scheme and half-heard death knoll, every religious rune, sign, portent and symbol ever associated with the apocalypse has now come to pass and anyone in the history of the world who has ever laughed, or scoffed, or doubted and discredited, or mocked and ridiculed, terrorized and tortured or in any other way not seen that the end of the world was indeed coming after all must now be fully prepared to eat their entire words letter by miserable mouth-filling letter as the NotBeSpeak begin their cataclysmic entry.
Bart felt a gentle whispering wind wrap around his foolish pride-bulged heart.
‘The5 have come,’ Bart said inside himself. ‘I am complete and ready to be washed in the warmth of Their love.’
The whispering wind filled him with a comforting darkness.
Inteachán imagined that she was lying safely in her bed. Everything was quite and still and as it had always been. Her parents were asleep in the room beside her and no one was trying to kill anyone. But then her bedroom door opened and in stepped her father.
Mac woke from the tangle of his elderly dreams. He sat up straight in his narrow bed.
‘And so it starts,’ he whispered in the darkness. ‘Butler was right. They are on their way. Inteachán has failed.’
Mac reached over and picked up his spectacles. He swung his tired legs out of bed.
‘And so this is what the end of the world feels like, inevitability and disappointment together.’
Mac looked out into the darkness.
‘We tried. We really did.’
Mac paused and a small tear began to form in his tired eye.
‘I suppose it was always the case that an old man and a young child would be no match for all the cosmic terror that the world has never seen.’
Mac smiled in resignation.
‘When the inevitable darkness comes for you, please be assured that it wasn’t the whole world who simply surrendered.’
‘Listen to me,’ said the enraptured Rock Star and the crowd fell silent. Bart spread his holy arms out wide, inviting his flock to worship.
‘The5 are here,’ he cried. ‘The5 are really here.’
Even though they didn’t fully know why, the crowd began to clap and cheer. Banners were unfurled and began moving, furling slowly in the darkness like the limbs of poisoned trees. Bart punched the air and whooped.
‘Yeah!’ he yelled. ‘Alright! They’re here. They’re really here.’
Bart played the crowd now. He climbed down off the stage and crossed the security divide to where the crowds were pressed up against the fences. He walked along the line, scattering blessings as he passed. A worried roadie followed behind him to make sure that the microphone cable didn’t get snagged. Burly security guards stopped the crowds from getting over the fences.
‘Listen,’ whispered the Rock Star. ‘Who wants to join The5?’
‘We do,’ someone yelled.
‘Who wants a new anointing?’ Bart continued.
‘Yes please,’ shouted someone else.
‘Some new gods to please?’
‘A brand-new cross to bear?’
Bart smiled and headed back up onto the stage.
‘Are you listening, children?’ asked Bart as he took his position in front of the band. Bart pulled out the Flute of Thelema.
‘My beautiful chosen children,’ he purred. ‘This next song is for all the world to sing.’ Bart put the Flute to his lips and signaled to the band.
Now we are at the heart of the matter.
What would you do to save the world?
How far would you go?
Would you go all the way?
Inteachán estimated the gap between her and the Rock Star. It looked an awful long way down. Bart turned around to look up at her. He winked. He knew that she had been up there all along. Their eyes met and held for a very brief second before Inteachán