An Irish Horror (short story).

An Irish Horror (short story).

The following story is based off of a dream I had about twelve years ago and wrote ten years ago. Sometimes, I get lucky and have a dream that has a beginning, middle, and end, without being completely muddied with irrelevant plot twists; we all know what that's like. The dream took place in Ireland and quickly became a horror story.

Long ago, in a village much like the one we live in today, the most insidious crime Ireland had have witnessed occurred. A lovely woman had recently been engaged to a handsome, wealthy gentleman. The exact type of partner that you want to bring home to meet your family.

On a rather cold and dreary night, the couple ventured toward the woman’s aunt’s humble abode, where her family was gathered to meet their soon-to-be addition to the family. When they arrived, a chilly breeze brought about a flurry of snowfall, creating a dense outlook between the couple’s car and the front door of the house. A street lamp nearby alleviated the thickness of the weather, a small bit gave way to the right path.

The house was large and beautiful, but on this holiday, no room was unused. The man offered a hand to his fiancé and proceeded toward the door. As they approached the door, the man laughed and pulled a chain with a lock from his pocket.

”I forgot I had this in my pocket!”

The woman laughed as he set the chain down outside. They had been seen from a sliding, sash window by her niece. Excitedly, the adolescent girl skipped to the door and greeted them, took their coats, and led them into the living room where the family was clustered.

The family was filled with joy, as they hugged and kissed the cheeks of their next to kin. So much love filled the kitchen with not a worry in the air. Filling the room was the couple, an aunt, an uncle, the fiancé’s mother and father, her grandmother, and the young niece who let them in from the relentless snowfall outside.

During conversation, it came out that the newest member to the family was having nightmares often; his fiancé attested to this, as he would frequently wake her up in the middle of the night, shaking violently. The aunt announced she was a psychologist and extended an offer of help to the man.

After dinner and elongated conversation, the aunt and the man privately entered a study where she conducted most of her therapy sessions. He explained in lucid detail the horrific dreams he had been having. Tales of demons and dragons carrying him off to strange lands of torture and pain surfaced, as well as internal fables of odd objects and symbols he could not fully explain. He never before in his ‘real’ life seen such things and yet, they were as vivid as his awake-reality. She consoled him and told him they were nothing but inner novels caused by stress, probably originating from his rigid work schedule.
He agreed and asked if he could whisper something into her ear that he did not feel comfortable saying too loudly.

“I am the outcome of a withered mind, but I share agape love with my dreams. I wish not to change them; they wish to change you.” He said.

His hands abrasively met with the front of her neck with such a force that only seconds transpired before her eyes bugged outward and the blood vessels in her eyes burst. Silent was her death, but not before a desperate struggle ensued. It was useless, for she was at the mercy of the man’s strong, calloused hands. She fell lifelessly to the floor with bruises on each side of her neck, boasting a resilient purple and red. Like a row of dominoes set in a row, the most horrendous act in Ireland’s history began.

Curious as a cat may be, the uncle entered the room. Confusion befell him as he only saw the sleeping man and not his wife.

“I could have sworn…” he thought while finishing up with the fact that his wife must be in the room somewhere, for he never saw her leave. He looked to a nearby chair and saw that it was without one of its legs and a picture near it was slanted. As strange as this seemed, he drew near to the man he believed to be sleeping. Leaning down, he pushed on the man’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him. With no success, he turned his back and scratched his head. Suddenly his eyes widened as he looked down. A wooden chair leg stuck a few inches out of his lower abdomen.

Blood made its way along the wood until it dripped off of the end and fell to the floor. A sheet flew fast around his head and a hand came over his mouth and over the black sheet. Suffocation arrived quickly for the man; his last breathe was not a heavy one.

“Dreams are merely thoughts begging to be reality” the man said, as he pushed the now breathless man against his wife’s body underneath the bed.

Determined to finish what he had started, he freshened up and calculated a smile to perfection upon his face, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Walking down the hallway in the opposite direction, and at the same time as the man, was his fiancé’s grandmother.

“Hello dear.” She said kindly. “Did you finish up with your session? I’m sure she helped you, she is great.”

“Oh, she helped tremendously. Speaking of help, I found the strangest thing in the bathroom. You must see it with your own eyes!” He happily exclaimed.

She agreed graciously and they headed down the corridor and into the bathroom. Water was filling the bathtub as they entered.

“Oh honey! The bathtub is almost over flowing!” She rushed in the direction of the handle and turned it slightly to an off position. She laughed.

“You weren’t having trouble with the handle were you?” Her old and fragile body turned to face the man. He laughed and shook his head. He walked passed her and stepped into the nearly filled tub. She chuckled and turned her head a little, not knowing what to think of this.

“This water is by far the coldest water I have ever touched.” The man calmly stated.

She extended her arm.

“Let me help you out of there, you’ll catch a cold.”

”You’re right.” He answered and extended his arm toward her.

In a fast motion, he grabbed her by her arm and forced her beneath the freezing water. She exhausted herself trying to reach the surface for oxygen; his strength was beyond her own.

Realizing that her flailing legs were causing noise, he bashed her head in with a close-by hair dryer. The color red swam and moated around her and his body. Her legs twitched, but were no longer noisy enough to be heard outside of the bathroom. He pulled her body entirely into the water and weighed it down with various items to ensure no appendage floated to the top. He stepped out, re-composed, and closed the door as he walked down the hallway.

“Where have you been? Why are you so wet?” His fiancé asked as she bumped into him walking around the corner.

“Your grandmother decided it was time to swim…so she swam.” He said bearing a gentlemanly grin.

“What are you talking about?” She inquired.

“In the pool…” He answered.

Her eyes squinted as she retorted.

“Honey, we don’t have a pool.”

He stared blankly at her; his grin faded from his face and his demeanor. His arms flew upward snapping her neck in a quick motion. Her body toppled to the floor. He moved unnoticed around the house sealing all of the exits.

Standing at the threshold of the front door, he waited until he was noticed.

“Why are you standing there?” The father asked.

He smiled once more.

“Your daughter may need your help.” He blurted out with a chuckle.

As the man moved toward where his daughter had gone and walked out of sight, his guest shut the door and chained it from the outside. The man ran to his car and grabbed a large canister of gasoline and a chain with a lock from his trunk and walked around to the back of the house where he chained the back door, all while throwing gasoline onto the house.

About this time, he heard the father yell. A match was lit and the house was set ablaze. He walked comfortably to his automobile in the icy weather. Behind him, his late fiancé’s parents screamed at the windows. One window was broken, but before an escape was made, the house began to collapse in on itself, burning the living and dead within the house. The man drove away and was never seen or heard of again.

This dream sparked my love for writing horror stories. I tried to not change any of the wording from the original writing, because I wanted to capture and display for you my writing in its adolescence. I've recently begun a full length horror story that I can't wait to share with everyone. Until next time...

Sausage Party.

Sausage Party.

Troye Sivan.

Troye Sivan.