Halloween Special 2017

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In the Celtic tradition, two days of the year considered more important than any other. Like the solstices and equinoxes recognized by other ancient cultures, these two days were vital waypoints of the calendar. But unlike those other cultures, the Celts drew their markers not from movements in the celestial plane, but rather from a more earth bound and elemental understanding

of seasonal change. Labieltony, most commonly held on May the first, marks the arrival of summer and its nourishing warmth, the livestock driven out to feast on the rich green pastures, and the countryside resplendent in bloom. Six months later, it is the turn of Sourn to usher in an altogether different part of the year, the season of winter and death, where green becomes brown and spindley trees stands skeletal and bare,

the fields long since harvested, turned barren and dark. Traditionally held on November first, Like Labieltine, Souren is a fire festival, and one that is thought also to mark the beginning of the Celtic year. And so it is that on every October thirty first, on Sourn Eve, a great fire is kindled to celebrate the final cycle of life before rebirth, and from this sacred flame all fires will be relt

to burn anew in the hearth of every home. Today, this ancient new Year's Eve, through the mangle of cultural appropriation and linguistical nuance, is perhaps better known as Halloween, and although its meaning may have changed over the years, it has always remained a boundary of sorts, be that as a point of transition from one season to another, or else in other ways, perhaps a little less tangible, For there are some who believe Halloween to also mark

the time of year when other worlds draw nearest to ours, where fairies and hobgoblins mingle with the witches, and the spirits of the dead wandered the land. It is thought to be an ideal time for divination, too, a window of access to the powers of the spirit world, to

aid spells and the telling of fortunes. If on Halloween you come across a looped branch of briarthorne sticking up from the ground, you might decide to creep through it three times in the devil's name, then afterwards cut a piece of it so that you might take it home and place it under your pillow. In so doing, it is said that you will dream of the one you

will marry. Perhaps it was just such a game that a young girl by the name of Bridget Boland played on Halloween afternoon in Ireland's County Tipperary, And perhaps that night, as she lay her head to rest, a man did come to her in a dream, his handsome face, his dark hair, and his striking blue eyes appearing to her from out of the flames of a fire, and a name whispered like a warning, but long forgotten by the first light of day. You're listening to unexplained, and I'm

Richard McClean. Smith. Bridget had always been different, brighter than most, with little concern for how young women were supposed to behave. She would often be seen walking the country roads without a scarf or a shawl to cover her head, choosing sometimes instead to wear a black straw hat trimmed with a navy ribbon and a large brown feather. Many in the local rural community talked about her behind her back. They thought her queer, and say that she considered herself

a little more special than others. Certainly, it was true that she had the disconcerting habit of looking men directly in the eye, a pagan trait, if ever there was one. But worst of all, she and Michael had been married almost eight years, and yet there was no child to show for it. It isn't known who it was who saw her, or how indeed word got back to Michael, but there was little doubting the description of the woman

from balivad Lee. That afternoon, as the snow covered hills glistened under a cold March sun, she had apparently been seen disappearing into the trees at the back of Scanlon's Field on the bank of Kilna Grannar Hill. The site overlooked by the mystical Sleeve Namon Mountain was well known to be the location of a fairy fort, a portal to the other world, and home to the gentle people, though to many they were anything but. It is said that they first arrived on flying ships surrounded by dark

clouds that blotted out the sun for three days. Named the tour d Danon, they were torn with red blonde hair and pale skin, and blessed with eternal youth. For years, they reigned across ancient Ireland before suffering defeat at the hands of the Milesians and altogether more earthly people. As punishment, they were sent through the many gates and portals that littered the landscape into the other world, a place below

and beyond our own plane of existence. Over time, the tour d Danon became known as the AI's She, the people of the Mounds, or the She for short. The fairy folk. To some, their realm is a place of transcendent beauty, their powers and customs to be celebrated. For others, they were nothing but danger, their thoughts to be avoided at all cost. The slightest act of disrespect might result in the theft of a human child, the body taken away and the spirit removed, replaced by that of a fairies.

It is said that when a fairy takes the soul, it is only a matter of time before the body withers away and die. When Michael was a child, his mother had herself been stolen away by the fairy folk. It had occurred one afternoon, after which Michael had sat at home alone, waiting for days on end, until eventually she was returned, with no recollection of where she had been.

Michael was waiting just so for Bridget. When she returned that bitterly cold Monday afternoon, he noticed with some alarm the appearance of an uncharacteristic, irritable manner and an unwillingness to meet his eyes, how she sat by the hearth but seemed incapable of getting warm. The following morning, Bridget awoke in the grip of a strange fever, a combination of headaches and congestion and the incessant feeling of cold. Bridget remained in bed for the rest of the week,

and by Saturday afternoon her condition had deteriorated further. She speaks of not feeling herself, says Michael to Patrick, Bridget's father, who also lived in the small laborer's cottage they called home. As storm clouds begin to gather outside, Trick, whose wife had passed away only the year before, determined that Bridgie would not suffer the same fate. He pulled on his jacket and walked four miles in the pouring rain to alert the nearest doctor. Two days later, with the doctor

still having failed to appear, Bridget's condition worsened. On the Monday morning, Michael too makes the four mile trek to Fetart, demanding again that a doctor be sent to attend to his wife. That evening, Michael waits in vain for a doctor that never comes up above the shadow of the earth creeps slowly across the surface of the moon, bathing it in a hazy blood red until it was extinguished

completely in a full lunar eclipse. After yet another restless night, as Bridget veered between sleep and delirium, Michael has no choice but to make another arduous trip to Fetart. It is almost eleven hours later on Tuesday evening when Michael arrives back at the cottage, surprised to find Briget's cousin Joanna and his friend and neighbor Jack Donne waiting for him with a look of deep concern on their faces.

Looking past them towards the bedroom, Michael can just make out Father Cornelius Ryan of near by Dragon Church as he administers the last writes to his wife. Father Ryan gives Michael his condonlences as he leaves, but John is surprised when shortly after Michael pulls him quickly to one side. That isn't Bridget, he says. Michael goes on to explain how only a few days ago he had watched as Bridget stood from her bed, appearing a good two inches

taller than normal. Moments later, John took a thread and limped over to Bridget. John knew all too well about the wrath of the she For years, they had plagued his house night and day, at one point even taking him from his home and injuring his back. After dropping him in the yard. Taking the thread, he measured Bridget's legs. Sure enough, Michael was right. One of the legs appeared

to have grown longer than the other. That night, as the fire crackled, Done gathered the family together and informed them in no uncertain terms that it was not Bridgete lying in her bed, but a monstrous changeling. At first light the next morning, Michael made his way to the nearby village of Quiet Lee and to the local herb doctor, Dennis Gainey. He returned a short time later to find Patrick, John and Joanna waiting for him, as well as Mary Kennedy,

Bridget's aunt from across the way. Mary had some bad news. Michael's father had taken ill the previous evening but had not made it through the night. There would be awake that night and kill an all a good ten mile journey away. Michael's face was haggard and drawn. He hadn't slept in days. He sat by the fire and placed the bag of herbs that he had collected from Dennis Gainey on the table as Bridget stirred in the bedroom.

Nobody leaves until this is done, he said. It was just before ten o'clock when William and Minnie Simpson, who had been alerted by the rumors of Bridget's condition, arrived at the Cleary cottage. On their way they were met by Joanna and her daughter Katie, who had been sent to fetch a fresh pail of milk. Joanna explained it was vital that they used beastling's milk, the first milk of a cow who had just given birth. It was the richest and most flavorsome milk, she said, and it

was irresistible to the shea all about. The shutters were drawn and the front door was locked, but William could just about make out the sound of scuffling coming from the inside, but when he banged on the door, there was no response. Finally, at the sound of a voice crying away she goes, the door was flung open. William rushed inside to find a stunned Patrick sitting in silence, illuminated only by the flickering light of an oil lamp.

He nodded towards Bridget's room. Just as a terrible scream rang out from behind the closed door, William pushed it open and gasped. Bridget, dressed in her striped flannel night dress and calico chemise, lay on the bed, struggling under the weight of four men as they tried to stop her from moving. Jack Dunn had her head in his hands, gripping her by the ears to keep her still. Pat Kennedy was sitting on her right arm, while James did

the same with her left. William lay across her legs with all his weight as Bridget kicked and writhed underneath. Just inside the door was Mary and sixteen year old William Ahearne, another neighbor, who stood shivering as he held a solitary candle in the dark. And at the head of the bed stood Michael, holding a saucepan of a green milky substance in one hand and a large spoon in the other. Bridget screamed again as Michael tried once

more to pour the potion down her throat. Finally, he was able to prise it open, pouring the hot liquid down before clamping his hand over her mouth, forcing her to swallow it. Are you Bridget Cleary? Screamed, Michael, wife of Michael Cleary, in the name of God. William Simpson stared on aghast as Bridget moved her head in agreement. He also noticed what appeared to be a fresh burnmark across Bridget's forehead. While on the floor below the bed

lay a still smoldering iron fire poker. Michael yelled for Mary to pass him the old black saucepan that was down by the side of the bed. William drew back at the smell of it, sickly sweet and dark yellow in color. Michael snatched it from Mary and poured the whole thing over his wife. Next, the men lifted her up, and, keeping her legs on the bed, held her head and body before shaking her violently back and forwards. Away with you, they shouted, Come home, Bridget, Boland, in the name of God.

Bridget screamed again as they flung her back and forth, slapping her hands together at the same time. Are you Bridget Boland, they asked again, wife of Michael Cleary, in the name of God, but Bridget seemed unable to reply. John Dunne grew tense. The spell wasn't working. Make down a good fire, he said, and we will make her answer. The men grabbed her from the bed with done, taking her by the head and James by the feet, and

carried her through to the main room. A low fire burned on the hearth as they placed her down gently on to the grate. Patrick Boland helped moved her body clear of the bars as an exhausted Bridget pleaded to be given another chance to state her case. If she doesn't answer by midnight, said John, looking at the clock showing thirty minutes past eleven, she will be lost forever. Are you Bridget Cleary, shouted a desperate Patrick. Answer in the name of God, Yes, dadda, I am the daughter

of Patrick Boland, came the weary reply. Finally satisfied, the Kennedy brothers picked their cousin from the great and returned her to the bed. Are you always taking care of your family? Do you often take care of others and not yourself? Now it's time to take care of yourself, To make time for you you deserve it. TELEDOC gives you access to a licensed therapist to help you get back to feeling your best, to feeling like yourself again. With teledoc, you can speak to a licensed therapist by

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available through most insurance or employers. Download the app or visit teledoc dot com Forward slash Unexplained podcast Today to get started. That's t e ladoc dot com slash Unexplained Podcast. The following morning of Friday, the fifteenth of March, father Ryan arrived surprised to find Bridget in seemingly better health than before a sense of relief was cleared throughout the family that Bridget had been returned to them, But as Ryan proceeds to say mass, Joanna notices a strange look

on Bridget's face. As Ryan administers the Holy Communion. As soon as Ryan has left, Bridget calls out to Joanna. Joanna, she says, staring oddly at her cousin father Ryan, gave me this to save me. She opened her mouth and pointed inside, then pulled out the remains of the blessed sacrament with her fingers and rubbed it into the blanket. When Joanna lays the news to Michael later that afternoon,

it comes as little surprise. He had noticed it too, Not to mention the way that Bridget had kept asking for more milk, how desperate she seemed for it, Michael knew all too well that it wasn't uncommon either for witches to want the beastling milk too. Sensing her husband's dissatisfaction with the previous ritual, Bridget demands that their neighbors, Thomas Smith and David Hogan be brought to make a

judgment in the hope of convincing Michael. Later that evening, Smith and Hogan take a seat by the fire, glancing nervously to each other. As Michael goes next door to collect Bridget. The men remained seated, watching in stunned silence. As a weak and exhausted Bridget shuffles into the room. She pulled up a bench for herself and sat by the fire. Smith asked how she was doing She said that Michael was making her out to be a fairy, that she was some kind of changeling. Tom nodded and

looked to Michael. He could see it too, This wasn't Bridget. A moment later, Patrick, James, and William returned from the wake in somber spirits, but glad to see that Bridget was up and sitting by the fire. But Michael kept a quiet counsel, never taking his eyes from his wife, or whatever it was that claimed to be her. Later, Joanna was preparing tea with bread and jam as she watched Michael leads Smith and Hogan to the door before taking the key from his pocket and locking it behind them.

James and William went to lie down on Patrick Boland's bed, and Mary, who had been taking care of Bridget all afternoon, retires to Bridget's bed to get some much needed rest. Joanna laid the food out on the table and the remaining guests gathered round to eat. Bridget pulled up her bench to sit with them, but refused to take the bread. You've taken me for your mother, Mick, She said, it is her who was taken, not me. The room was

silent save for the crackling of the fire. Then slowly and purposefully, Michael cut out three pieces of bread, spread them with butter and jam, and laid them in front of Bridget. Eat he said. Bridget looked at her husband for a moment before finally picking up a piece and taking a bite. Are you Bridget Cleary, my wife, in the name of God, asked Michael. Bridget stared at her husband as the fire popped and crackled. Yes, she said

through gritted teeth. Michael motioned again to the two remaining pieces of bread, the others watching in stony silence as the light of the oil lamp played about their faces. Bridget took a second piece and swallowed it down. Are you Bridget cleary, my wife, in the name of God, asked Michael Patrick tensed in his chair. Yes, said Bridget again. Michael looked down at the final piece and pushed it towards his wife. Are you Bridget Cleary, in the name

of God, asked Michael. But Bridget said nothing. If you won't take it down, you will go. Then an awful scream as Michael leapt upon Bridget, sending her head cracking against the earth and floor. Jumping on to her chest. He ripped off her clothes, grabbed her by the throat, and stuffed the bread into her mouth. Swallow it, he yelled. Bridget fought desperately, but Michael held firm. Then with his free hand, he pulled a burning log from the fire

and held it against her head. But Bridget's body had gone limp. I think she is dead, he said, turning to Joanna. She's burning, shouted William. The cry brought Mary stumbling into the room, just in time to see the first flames take hold. No one moved as Michael grabbed the oil lamp and tipped it out all over Bridget. Within seconds, the flames shot across her body. Mary rushed at Michael, but he shouldered her back, sending her crashing against the table. Don't you see, he said, She's not

my wife. William made a run for the door, forgetting it was locked, but Clearly pushed him away and pulled a knife from his back pocket. Nobody leaves until my wife is returned. Would you rather have her with the fairies than with me? He cried. Patrick Boland stepped forward. If I can do anything to save my child, I will, he said. Michael explained his plan to Patrick that he would bury the body with her mother and then travel to the fairy fort at Kill na' granna to wait

for Bridget's return. It is there that she will appear riding a white horse, at which point he will rush forward, cut her loose from the straps, and free her finally from the fairy's grip. The others retreated to Bridget's bedroom, where they remained huddled in terror as Bridget's body continued to burn, filling the house with black smoke and the stench of burning flesh. In the Mellie William had fainted

and had to be dragged back by his brothers. Out in the main room, Michael stood in silence, watching his wife burn in the orange light of the flames. Twenty minutes later, they heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of locking. For the next hour, the family remained barricaded in the bedroom as Mary led them all in saying the rosary, only stopping when they heard footsteps approached the bedroom door. Paddy Kennedy came Michael's voice, Come

out now, or I'll drive this knife through you. With a little choice. Patrick opened the door, trying his best not to gag on the smell. Michael motioned for Patrick to help him wrap Bridget in a sheet. Patrick wretched at the sight of the body, or what was left of it. The skin had burned off, leaving the bone sticking out at bizarre angles. A wet mess of intestines

protruded from her stomach. Then Patrick gasped as Bridget's head rolled to the side, revealing a face virtually untouched by the flames, but contorted into the most hideous mask of terrible suffering. Michael grabbed up the corners and thrust a shovel into Patrick's hands. Moments later, they were stood in the pitch black of night, a quarter mile from the house. At their feet a marshy grave three foot in length and two in depth, carved roughly out of the earth.

Michael slung the body inside, pressing it down with his foot before covering it up with branches and soil. Later, he scraped the grease of Bridget from his clothes, gathered the ash and other remains into a bucket, and dumped them onto a heap of manure behind the house. Later that morning, at the church in Drangon, Father Michael McGrath was preparing for Saint Patrick's day mass, when a red

faced John Dunne barged into the church. Bridget was missing, he said, and her husband Michael, who was waiting with Michael Kennedy outside, was in great distress. Dunne asked Father McGrath to fetch Father Ryan. When the priests returned, they found Michael kneeling at the altar, tearing at his head and sobbing uncontrollably. Bridget was missing. He told them she had been taken prisoner by the fairy folk. He begged Father Ryan for his help, hoping that it might not

be too late. A deeply disturbed Ryan consulted with Father mc grath before entering the police barracks opposite the church and returning with Constable Patrick Eden a short time later. Cleary went cold at the sight of the officer and refused to say any more other than that his wife was missing and that he needed help. Constable Eden, suspicious of their actions, would later intercept the men on their return home just outside the village, but they refused to

give any more information. When the men returned to the cottage in ballyvard Lee, they found it empty save for a weeping Patrick Bowland lying on his bed, Michael Kennedy returned to the small thatched cottage over the way, and John Dunn too returned to his home half a mile

up the road. That night, Michael Cleary took the first of three trips, walking under the cover of darkness towards that odd ring of trees on the side of Kilnegrannar Hill, and there, as the waning moon shone its gentle light from above, Michael stood ready with knife in hand, calling out the name of his wife, waiting to cut her

free from a white horse that never came. If you enjoy listening to Unexplained and would like to show your appreciation, you can now help support us by going to Unexplained podcast dot com forward slash support. All donations, no matter how large or small, are massively appreciated. All elements of Unexplained are produced by me Richard McClain smith. Please subscribe and rate the show on night Tunes, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding

the stories you've heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of your own you'd like to share. You can reach us online at Unexplained podcast dot com or on Twitter at Unexplained pod. Now, it's time to take care of yourself, to make time for you. Teledoc gives you access to a licensed therapist to help you get back to feeling your best. Speak to a licensed therapist by phone or video anytime between seven am to nine pm local time, seven days a week. Teledoc Therapy is

available through most insurance or employers. Download the app, or visit teledoc dot com Forward Slash Unexplained podcast Today to get started. That's t e l a d oc dot com Slash Unexplained podcast