Read Strange Dominions: a collection of paranormal short stories (short story books) for Free Online

the life of him understand why, he felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his troubled shoulders.

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    Rannith eyed Áine with mild suspicion. For untold millennia she had watched over the M’Lauchlin’s fortunes, her unearthly shrieks and wails foretelling the passing of many of the ancient clan. But as they watched the unsuspectingmortal youth something in her demeanour unsettled the Fianna Sidhe warrior .
    The moon had crested and columns of silvery light pierced the woodland canopy, magically transforming its interior. It was a scene that fifteen-year-old Conner M’Lauchlin had witnessed many times and had never tired of.
    A suffusion of wild garlic and lavender scented the evening as he lay beneath the majestic oak. It was the same pervasive odour he had smelt the night his grandfather had died. At his funeral, too, it was conspicuous, causing a gaggle of his ageing aunts to sough of the ‘White Lady of Sorrow‘.
    As to what they had alluded he never found out. Two days later they, along with his grandfather’s ashes, returned to Ireland. Nevertheless, as had happened on each of those occasions, he had an unsettling sense of being watched by unseen eyes.
    From his vantage point on the hill he looked around, but all was calm and serene. Only the gentle murmur of the leaves high in the canopy disturbed the night. Still he could feel the troubling presence close by and decided it was time to leave.
    Taking hold of the rope swing hanging from an overhead branch, he leapt into space. Down he sped, the wind whistling passed his ears in his gathering momentum, the steep embankment dropping abruptly away beneath him. Outwards and upwards he soared, intersecting the dirt track far below in an exhilarating arc that took his breath away.
    At the apex of his climb a resounding crack rang out. The once tense rope recoiled back on itself, and he plummeted earthward into the unyielding woodland floor.
    Seconds passed. Áine remained mute, unmoving and unchanging.
    Rannith turned in bewilderment, wondering why she had not transformed into the wailing hag. Only now did he see the inner turmoil reflected in her eyes. She was struggling against her very nature; fighting desperately against the need to perform the
caoineadh.
    Conner awoke from his brief period of unconsciousness to the frightening realisation that he was completely paralysed. It would be hours before his drunken father would even notice his absence. By then it might be far too late, his fertile imaginings having already conjured up frightening scenarios of how death might overcome him . He thought too of his grandfather, the one comforting and stabilising influence in his chaotic life, and of how he would soon be joining him.
    In the midst of his anguish he heard a soft voice say, “Look, Rannith, he still lives!”
    “Aye, but for how long, Áine?” he heard another say, “He is beyond saving. Do what you must and have done with it.”
    Conner blinked away clouds of tears and gasped in awe at the sight before him. Only in faerie tale picture books had he seen her like before.
    From beneath a cowled, mist-like, cloak intensely green eyes held him spellbound. Her scarlet mantle flowed fluidly on the night breeze as if possessed of a life of its own. Shrouded though she was he could see her delicate form, and her pale face framed by an abundance of red-golden hair.
    He was instantly struck by her height. She was far taller than the images he’d seen depicted in the picture books of his childhood. By his reckoning she was at least two inches bigger than himself.
    She approached the stricken teenager then turned to her companion, gasping, “He sees me!”
    “Aye, and the moon is made of cheese,” he heard the gruff voice quip, his cold eyes narrowing as he came into view.
    Though somewhat smaller than his companion, he was powerfully built and wore a draggletailed calfskin skirt and tunic. A large broadsword was slung casually over