Immortal Love

I was born and bred in Ireland, the country of legends, of tales, of fairies, of little people, of leprechauns, the home of the legendary Tuatha de Daanan or Sidhe. I was raised on these legends, learning them at my grandmother's knee, but I never expected to have one of these legends come to life when I was a young woman.

One of the legends my grandmother liked to tell was the legend of the Dearg-due or Celtic vampire. Of course she always told her legends in Gaelic which somehow made them all the more interesting and scary but since what happened to my family, happened in the twentieth century, I'll tell our story in the English we learned at school.

Our story begins when my brother and I were sixteen. Like all students, we were glad to be released from school for the summer. Since our parents worked and our grandmother was the only one home during the days for the summer, we were pretty much guaranteed the freedom to do as we wished when our chores were finished for the day. We lived on a farm outside of town. Although we could ride our bikes into town and see our school friends, we spent most of our summer days roaming the countryside around our home. We were twins, nurtured in the same womb, and sharing our lives from before we were born, so it was not unusual for us to roam together. My brother and I were closer than siblings, closer than friends, and the summer of our sixteenth year was one I will remember forever.

"Sorcha, Ruairí, its time to get up and eat." Our grandmother's voice floated up the stairs to our rooms. She had been sleeping on the first floor for the past few years when her arthritis got too bad to allow her to climb stairs easily. I smiled at the Gaelic versions of our names on her lips. Although our parents had given us common names, our grandmother always called us by the Gaelic version.

I slipped out of bed and padded across the hall to my brother's room. The patchwork quilt that covered his bed was wrapped around his body so he resembled a mummy. I dug through the blanket until I discovered his tousled hair. Knowing that his head was under there somewhere, I moved his hair until I uncovered an ear. "Rory, Seanmháthair called us for breakfast. You need to get up." A groan answered me and I grinned. "You really do need to get up."

His hand snaked out of the blankets and grabbed my wrist. "I'm awake, deirfiuir. Leave me alone so I can get dressed."

"Be quick. Today I want to explore the far northern pasture where the old church is."

He untangled himself as I turned to walk out of his room. "We have chores to do first."

"The faster you get dressed and come down to eat, the sooner we can go," I replied. I left his room, shutting the curtain behind me.

Our rooms were the only ones in use on the upper floor. The stairs that led from the first floor ended on the second floor as a landing that opened into three rooms. One room still had a door, it had once been our grandmother's room. There had been doors between our rooms at some point but one too many screaming fights that ended in slamming doors had caused our da to remove them and tell our mother to put curtains up. I went back into my room and shut my own curtain before stripping off my nightgown and pulling on jeans and a shirt. I was lacing up my boots when my brother knocked on my door jam. "Are you decent, deirfiuir?" he called through the curtain.

"Yes. Come in," I answered him. Rory was dressed almost identically to me in jeans, shirt, and boots. Surprisingly for fraternal twins, we greatly resembled each other. Both of us had inherited our mother's dark blue eyes and dark hair. Right now Rory's tumbled into his eyes and around his shoulders since he hadn't bothered having grandmother cut it since long before school ended. My own dark hair was pulled back in a long braid that would keep it out of my way while we did chores and explored.

Rory rifled through a box on my dresser and removed a rubber band from it. He handed it to me. "Will you pull my hair back for me?"

I smiled and brushed it out of his eyes. "Yes. Sit down on the bed." I picked up my brush from the dresser and began to comb out his hair. With practiced fingers, well used to doing this for him when he let his hair grow too long, I gathered it up into a ponytail and secured it at the nape of his neck. The entire time I worked he didn't say a word. "I'm done," I told him as I replaced my brush. "Maybe you should have Seanmháthair cut your hair."

"Not now. I'm going down to eat so we can go explore." He loped off down the stairs and I followed him more sedately.

Our grandmother had breakfast on the table when we burst into the kitchen. We slid into our seats quickly and folded our hands for morning prayer. Grandmother crept over to the table and sat creakily down in her chair. "Seanmháthair, are you sure it's all right for us to go exploring this morning?" I questioned, studying her.

Rory looked up from his plate. "We don't mind staying closer to home than we planned."

"No, little ones." Her body was aging but her voice, which had once ruled school rooms, was as strong as ever. Now it cracked with authority as she informed us, "You will stay with your plans. You are not changing them because of me. Now eat up and go get your chores done."

We ate the rest of our breakfast as quickly as we could and stacked our dishes in the sink. Rory went outside to start the farm chores while I finished clearing the table and washed up the dishes. I dried them and put them away, then got two apples from the fridge for us to snack on later. Grandmother had made her slow way into the front room while I worked and settled carefully into her rocking chair in the square of sunlight from one of the front windows. I checked to make sure the phone was in easy reach before kissing her gently on the cheek. "We're going up to the old church, Seanmháthair. We should be back by mid-afternoon at the latest."

"Have a good time. Don't worry about me. I have a book and my knitting. The phone is in reach if I need something."

Before waving to Grandmother and walking out the front door, I picked up my backpack full of sketch paper and pencils so that I could make sketches and rubbings of the tombstones we found. Once outside, I went around to the back of the house where Rory was. Although ours was no longer a working farm, we had a vegetable garden and a pig. Rory had already fed the pig and was weeding in the garden. I avoided the small shoots and made my way to the other end of the small garden. We worked silently, accustomed to each others' motions and rhythms.

When we finished, we washed off at the outdoor pump, then started across the countryside to reach the abandoned church we wanted to explore. The place we were headed to wasn't really on our land but we still referred to it as the northern pasture because it was part of a field that bordered our land to the north.

As much as I wanted to remove my boots, I dared not while we were walking for fear I would cut myself on something unseen in the tall grass. Rory and I walked side by side through the field. Although his legs were longer, he automatically shortened his stride so I didn't have to jog to keep up with him. We crossed the pasture quickly and soon arrived at the old church. I glanced at my watch as we came up the rise and saw that it was just barely ten o'clock.

The church, we suspected, had once been the private chapel of some lord but it had fallen into disrepair years ago. The once proud little building had tried to weather the elements but no one had repaired it for years. With care and upkeep, it would probably still be hosting services each Sunday and weddings and funerals too.

Rory studied the building with the critical eye of a future architect. "I don't think we should go in there, Sarah," he told me after a few minutes. The roof sagged at the peak which had already made me leery of entering the church and Rory's pronouncement strengthened my feeling of unease.

Now that we were here, I wasn't too sure about our grand adventure. Even in bright sunlight, the chapel and surrounding cemetery looked gloomy and foreboding. A gnarled old tree grew close to the fence on the far end. A deep feeling of unease settled over me as we stood in the bright sunlight outside the fence. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," I ventured tentatively.

Rory turned to face me. "One of your feelings?" he asked, a bright smile on his tan face.

I shivered in the warm breeze. "More than that, Rory. I just have the feeling that something awful is going to happen if we go any farther. Let's go somewhere else."

Rory grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the cemetery. "You're being silly. There's nothing here but old gravestones, weeds, and a falling down church. We'll avoid the church, poke around the cemetery, and be home in time to eat lunch with Seanmháthair."

When my brother gets an idea into his head, he is like this great big steamroller that can't be stopped. He rolls over anything and everything that gets in his way. Normally he would talk to me about the feelings I got and try to cajole me out of them but the relentless grip on my arm told me that today was not one of those days. I considered planting my feet and refusing to move but Rory was so much bigger than me that he would either tear my arm off my body or just pull me right over. After a few minutes of considering and enduring the pain of being practically dragged by one arm, I gave up and began walking with him. He stopped pulling when he realized I was cooperating and courteously helped me over the fallen fence.

Once inside the cemetery, I forgot most of my unease because of my fascination with the old tombstones that populated the land. I crouched next to one and began pulling weeds away so I would be able to study it better. Rory wandered off on his own explorations.

After I had cleared off the tombstone, I set down my pack and dug through it. I pulled out paper and a piece of charcoal. I made a rubbing of the tombstone and studied it briefly before moving on to the next one.

I was making a rubbing of the fourth tombstone I had uncovered when I heard a yelp, a crash, and then Rory's voice yelling. I dropped my art supplies and ran towards my brother's voice.

When I reached the tree where he was, he was hopping on one foot and swearing in a mixture of English and Gaelic. A cascade of stones sloped down from the tree. "What happened?" I demanded. I offered him my shoulder to lean on and helped him over to sit on one of the rocks that had fallen over.

He stretched his leg out in front of him and glared at it. "I knocked over the cairn and some of the rocks fell on my foot. I was trying to get up high enough to grab the branch." He pointed to a branch high above my head but an easy reach for him if he stood on something.

I rolled my eyes. "Rory, we decided not to go into the church because it was run down. This tree looks half-dead. Why would you try to climb it?"

He gave me a boyish shrug. "It seemed like a good idea."

I rolled my eyes again. "That is such a boy response. How's your foot feel?"

"Still throbbing. I don't want to take my boot off in case it’s swollen."

"Smart idea, dearthair. Smarter than trying to climb an old dead tree." I helped him to his feet. "Come on, I'll gather up my stuff and help you get home."

Rory leaned on a tombstone while I gathered up my scattered art supplies. I carefully packed them away in their proper places in my pack. When I was done, I stood up and Rory threw an arm around my shoulders. We half-walked, half-hobbled home.

Grandmother must have heard us slam the door because she came into the kitchen as I was settling Rory in a chair. I sat opposite him, raised his injured foot into my lap, and began unlacing his boot as Grandmother asked, "What happened?"

Rory answered, "I slipped on a cairn of stones and one fell on my foot. It just needs some ice."

I doctored Rory's foot, then helped Grandmother make lunch. We rested in the afternoon, Rory with ice on his foot and the telly on and me with a book. Grandmother knitted quietly in her chair.

Rory's ankle was better by bedtime but I still helped him hop up the stairs figuring it was harder to make it up them than it had been to limp around downstairs. With him safely ensconced in his room, I felt safe enough to go into my own room. I knew he wouldn't stir without yelling for me. Rory will act strong and brave most of the time but not when our mother was around to witness it if he was ill or hurt. Since I am the elder by ten minutes, Rory is considered the baby and when Mother is around, he will sometimes act like the baby too.

I was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud crash. I threw off my quilt and bolted across the hall.

A wraith-like being held my brother by the neck of his shirt, its mouth fastened to his neck. Dirt and grime coated it from top to bottom. My entrance must have disturbed it because it looked up at me.

I recoiled in horror.

The thing had once been human and female but not anymore. Gelatinous bags hung where her breasts should have been and her once blond hair was coated with grave dust. She hissed at me as I screamed and a clawed hand raked the air. White fangs flashed in the moonlight as she hissed again. I screamed; I didn't know if it was the second or the third or even the fourth time. Then my brother was falling in slow motion as she flew out the window. I dove towards my brother but he crashed to the floor with a thud before I could reach him.

My arms gathered him into my lap without thinking, ignoring the blood that was soaking into my clothes and my skin. Drawing a breath that tasted metallic from my brother's blood, I began screaming, "Mathair. Aither," over and over again.

Feet pounded up the stairs and then strong hands were prying me off my brother. Strong hands held me as Grandmother called the medics and Mother tried to staunch the blood that gushed from my brother's neck. Strong hands soothed me as I sobbed out my fear that my brother was dying. Strong hands guided me downstairs as bright lights and men in white swept my brother and my mother away. Strong hands lovingly fed me tea to soothe me. Strong hands wrapped me in an afghan that Grandmother had made to still my shaking.

Grandmother came to sit beside me as I rocked. My father took his strong hands outside with his rifle to try to hunt down the being that had attacked Rory. The clicking of Grandmother's knitting needles soothed me as I tried to understand what had happened.

After a few minutes I managed to become coherent enough to question her. I knew that Grandmother hadn't made the trip upstairs but hoped she would be able to answer what I wanted to know. "Seanmháthair, tell me again the legend of the Dearg-due," I requested. That was the only legend that she had told us that I could think of that would explain what happened to Rory.

"The Dearg-due?" she replied. "Is that what you think attacked Ruairí?"

I nodded as the evidence piled up in my mind. "Yes. I think so. Would you tell me the legend again?"

Grandmother settled her knitting in her lap and prepared to tell the story. "Long ago, longer ago than anyone alive can remember, the Celts ruled Ireland," she began in the shanachie tradition.

Now there was a woman of the Celts called Deirdre. She was a lovely young woman but always sad. Deirdre was in love with the loach's son but the son was an evil and cruel man and did not love her in return. She pined for him daily and made sure her chores often put her in his way. Finally she saw that nothing she did would win his love. In her despair, Deirdre climbed to the highest point she could find and threw herself off it. Donn, the god of the dead, did not welcome suicides in Tech Duinn and by killing herself, Deirdre brought down a curse on her soul. She became the dreaded Dearg-due, the "red blood sucker". Deirdre was cursed to walk the world for the rest of eternity never knowing rest. In addition, she was required to drain the blood of mortal men or face a torment more awful than any hunger she ever knew in life. Once every ten years she was required to drain the blood of a mortal man of her own family. Her hunger would overcome her and cause her insanity if she did not drain this man. As she longed for a man in life so she was doomed to always seduce men in death.

Grandmother looked up at me when she had finished the tale. "Your brother is a mortal man of her own family. She cannot rest until she has killed him. You are descended from her family through your mother's blood."

"I'll search her out then and destroy her," I declared. I could not imagine life without my brother, who was like my other half. Even now I felt the ache of knowing he wasn't in the house with me, but instead was lying hurt in the hospital in town.

"There is no way to kill the Dearg-due," Grandmother explained to my dismay, "and there is only one way to stop her."

I nodded, preparing myself for the worst. "Anything, Seanmháthair, I would do anything to save my brother."

"She cannot be stopped in the day and she can only be stopped by a female of her line." She looked at me to be sure the words sunk in.

I nodded again. I meant what I said, I could not allow my brother to die and take a part of me with him. "I understand, Seanmháthair. I am willing to do whatever it takes."

"You must go to her gravesite tomorrow night as the moon rises. Then as she watches, and don't worry she will be there, you must rebuild the cairn of stones over her grave, call her by name, and tell her you are the protectress of the McAllister line." I recognized the name as my mother's maiden name and our middle name. "Demand in the McAllister's name that she return to the grave and disturb your brother no more."

I nodded a third time. "I understand." I stood up and kissed her leathery cheek. "Thank you, Seanmháthair. I will take your advice to heart. I am going to get some sleep and then prepare for tonight." I could see the light already beginning to creep over the horizon outside and knew that a long day and night was coming for me.

I left Grandmother rocking in her chair and climbed the stairs to my room. On the landing I paused and then turned into Rory's room.

Blood spattered the room, creating a reddish hue in the morning light. I tiptoed across the room, avoiding the worst of it and crawled into Rory's bed. Curling up in his blanket, I soon fell fast asleep.

Mom shook me awake as darkness fell. "What are you doing in Rory's room?" she asked. The concern for me was evident in her voice as she settled on the bed next to me.

"I felt better sleeping in here. I felt closer to him." I sat up, my head muzzy with sleep and frowned. "What are you doing home? Is Rory okay?"

She smiled and smoothed the hair that had escaped my braid. "Rory's resting peacefully. They were able to get enough blood into him quickly to replace what he lost. If it had been much more, they wouldn't have been able to save him." She pulled me into her arms. "Your brother is going to be just fine."

I looked outside and realized how late it really was. I threw off the blanket and scrambled out of Rory's bed, grabbing the nearest clothes as I moved, not caring that they weren't mine, and began to tug them on. "Not if I don't hurry. I have to go, Mathair. I have to go stop the Dearg-due."

"Those are Rory's jeans, Sarah, they aren't going to fit you. What are you talking about?"

"Rory was attacked by a Dearg-due last night. I need to go stop her."

She sighed. "Sarah, I never liked your grandmother telling you those stories. You don't seriously believe them, do you?"

I went across the hall and got a pair of jeans from my own room. Then I went back to Rory's room to finish our conversation. "I know what I saw and I know what Seanmháthair told me. I believe her, Mom. I have to do this."

Mom must have seen that there was no dissuading me. "I understand, I think. Here." She reached up behind her and took off the necklace she always wore. The silver was warm against my skin as she pooled it in my hand. "Take this. It was your grandmother's. I hope it protects you."

I untangled the cross and chain she had given me and fastened it around my own neck. Then I hugged her tightly. "Thanks for your understanding."

"Go quickly. The moon rises in two hours."

A brief smile crossed my features as I realized that she knew the tale that Grandmother had told me and possibly believed it a little herself.

I didn't waste anymore time. Pulling on my boots, and quickly tying them, I raced out of the house. I paused only long enough to grab a flashlight and my pack. I knew I couldn't run all the way to the church as much as I wanted to, so I contented myself with walking as briskly as I could.

Just as the moon began to peek over the hills, I entered the graveyard. My flashlight's beam bounced across the stones and weeds as I picked my way through the graveyard. In the dim light, my feelings of foreboding and uneasiness from earlier increases a million fold. Shivering slightly from the brisk breeze that had sprung up, I kept walking. I reached the fallen cairn just as the Dearg-due began to rise.

She hissed at me as I approached the fallen rocks. I quickly began to gather up the rocks that my brother had knocked over, straining a bit with the weight of some of them. The Dearg-due approached me, hissing like a snake, her hands reaching out like a monster from a bad horror flick. My mother's cross swung free from my shirt as I bent over to grab one of the stones.

She drew back from the cross for a moment but then looked at it almost in puzzlement. One clawed hand reached towards it and I stumbled backwards, tripping over stones and tree roots. As I tried to escape her, I remembered my brother. My resolve tightened and I scooped up the closest stone. My arm reared back of its own volition and the stone flew true.

It slapped into her with a fleshy sound, raw meat hitting a cutting board before dinner. She reeled back and I grabbed another stone, prepared to throw it. She was leery now and I was able to finish replacing the stones of the cairn. Every so often I would threaten her with one to keep her back.

As I piled the last of them back into place, I spoke, "Deirdre of the McAllisters, I call you by name. In the name of the McAllister, I declare to you that I am Sorcha McAllister White, protector of the McAllister line. I command you to return to your grave in the name of the McAllister and disturb us no more." As I finished the last word, I laid the last stone on the cairn.

With an unearthly wail, the Dearg-due was sucked back into the grave she had risen from. Satisfied that I had once again entombed her in the ground, I turned to where I had dropped my pack on the ground. I dug out a piece of paper and some markers, then made a sign. Here lies Deirdre of the McAllisters, I wrote. Unloved by the man she loved, she took her own life. Respect the grieving. Rest in Peace.

I attached the note to the tree with a nail, knowing that I would return later with a proper stone for her. Hopefully she would now be allowed to rest in peace and not be disturbed again.

Packing up my supplies, I took one last look around the graveyard. Pale moonlight gave it an eerie glow but somehow it looked less sinister now. Hefting my pack and pointing my flashlight towards home, I left the churchyard.


Most of the following Irish-Gaelic translations are from http://www.irishgaelictranslator.com/phrases/family.php
seanmháthair--grandmother
mathair--mother
athair--father
deirfiuir--sister
dearthair--brother
loach--warrior/chief
shanachie--storyteller
Tech Duinn--House of Donn

The actual legend of the Dearg-due came from this site: http://vampires.monstrous.com/universal_vampire.htm#dea and reads:
Origin: Ireland. A Celtic legend says that a famous female called Dearg-due (red blood sucker) is buried near Strongbow's Tree in Waterford. In Scotland the vampire legend was called baobhan sith, and lurked in the mountains.
Description: She purportedly arises once a year from her grave to seduce men into her embrace and drains them dry of blood.
Weaknesses: The way to prevent the undead from arising, according to Irish legend, is to build a cairn of stones over its grave.