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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2115955
by Paul D
Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #2115955
A story within a story.
The Banshee

The Banshee: the Bringer of Death
by Robert Bloch

Robert read the story one more time and made a couple changes. He was satisfied that it was ready for publication. He placed the type-written sheets into a large envelope, sealed it, then made a phone call to Billy Gilbert, the editor of Amazing Stories. The phone rang twice and--

Robert sat on green grass on a tall cliff. The roar of ocean waves below him was no day dream. Across the way, the white cliffs were proof that he was in Ireland. “It's not possible.”

“Who do you think you are?” a woman's voice screeched.

Robert turned. The woman, who wore black streamers, was astonishingly beautiful, and he could see through her. He wanted to deny this terrible vision, but it was just too real. “Maybe I need a vacation.”

The woman roared, “You dare to write lies about me, and I won't stand for it.”

“Lies? I have no clue what you mean.”

The Banshee: the Bringer of Death. Is that not the title of your newest story?”

“Well, it hasn't been published yet.”

“I would have you know that I'm the bringer of life—not death.”

Robert wanted to laugh at her absurd statement, but held his derision to himself. “Can you explain that assertation?”

“People are trapped in this miserable world. I bring the fortunate ones into a happier place.”

“There's no proof of life after death,” he countered.

“So, you are one of those who died and came back?”

“I don't need to shoot myself to know it would hurt.”

The Banshee laughed. “You seem to have it all figured out, except I wonder how you explain being here with me?”

“It's no real mystery. I'm dreaming that I'm in Ireland. That's the only explanation that makes sense.”

The Banshee shook her head. “People are all the same. Deny, deny, deny. The truth is like looking in a mirror and refusing to accept your reflection. You proclaim this is a dream of Ireland, but is it?”

“It must be a dream. No one could travel from the United States to Ireland in an instant.”

The Banshee smiled. “You seem so certain of your knowledge—just like the others.”

Robert felt a chill shift through him. Even in a dream the Banshee was a terrifying creature. He questioned why he'd chosen to write a story about her and knew this dream was from his overactive imagination. “I want to wake up.”

Laughter, that sounded like thunder, roiled the air. The Banshee held out her hand. “I am here for you.”

Robert backed away. “I hate stupid dreams.” He pinched his leg. “I'm ready to wake up now.”

Robert's head banged on his desk. He jerked back and looked around. He was in his study. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, lifted the envelope with his story, and dropped it into the circular trash can. “It might have only been a dream—then again--”

* * *

Robert Bloch wrote Psycho and many other scary stories.

506 words
© Copyright 2017 Paul D (pdmarques at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2115955