"The Necropolis"

An excerpt from the journal of Lord Xavier

October 31, in the Year of our Lord 1717

This is Lord Xavier from County Cork, summoned here to this area by my family's Bean Sidhe* whom I have heard these past three days.

The fog lay thick as a blanket on the cemetery as I wander. The full moon, cold, judging, and bright hung high above in solitary splendour, its light trying to cut through it. The wind, cool and crisp, howled and shrieked like a bean sidhe one moment, moaned like a ghost the next as it blew through barren trees, standing like silent sentinels at once ready to reach out and grab you like a highwayman. Off in the distance, for I was lost in thought and fear, I heard the night sounds of a wandering cat, the hooting of an owl, what I thought was the cries and laments of the dead, filled with such sorrow as to break strong hearts with pain, and the seductive calling of faeries, who are said to come out on this night of all nights: the blessed Samhain. On this night, it is said that our beloved dead can pass from their world to commune with we the living in ours when the veil between worlds is the thinnest. This thought has been found in Celtic tradition, so I find myself here is this desolate and dilapidated necropolis, where the headstones are worn and marked with moss. Some have crumbled or toppled over. On the hillside and countryside, I see old cottages in a sad state of disrepair. The thatched roofs long since fallen in, square 4-pane windows with some cracked or broken, others missing entirely with cobwebs everywhere and furniture knocked over, falling apart or in pieces. Combined with the look soot, ash, and age added, the village, if indeed you could call it that, was truly a ghost town. Not only for that, but I have seen not one living person there, yet at night while I'm alone, I have heard piercing wails, the sounds of people dying and crying, the firing of guns, and the sounds of village life at peace, at war, and in defense. I must conclude though. I have heard the lament and announcement of my death by my family's Bean Sidhe, and the villagers calling me to join their ranks…. We are mortals all.

Written for the sake of posterity by Lord Xavier, now Mayor of this ghost town: this City of the Dead, and of the faeries and bean sidhes.

P.S. If you decide to drop by, mortal, I will tell of this place's history, of the people of the sidhe, and fae who reside here.

Mayor Xavier of the City of the Dead

*Bean sidhe is a banshee, a spectre off taking the appearance of an old haggard woman or a young maiden, often a foreteller of death.