The Haunted Grotto. A Story for Christmas

 My mother had to stay in hospital that Christmas, with complications following the birth of my youngest brother in December. My father had to be on duty in the harbour, so my two sisters went to my grandmother, and we older boys were farmed out to various aunts until the new year. I was sent to Auntie Bridget, who lived with her husband Ben Hannigan and their only son Frankie in a townland in the South of the county.
Slievegallon was not so much a town as a scatter of farmhouses and cottages on the side of the hill it was named for. In the summer it could have been a delightful place to spend a few weeks, but in the dead of winter, as a 16 year old city boy, all I could do was mourn the friends I ́d left behind, and the Rugby matches I was now going to miss playing in. And Frankie, my cousin, didn ́t look like being a boon companion. He was two years older than me and played hurling, not Rugby. And while two years difference in age might not seem like a lot, in your teens it can amount to a generational gap in likes and outlook. So, I was not that happy to be there.
The first Saturday night after I arrived in Slievegallon the Hannigans and myself were sitting at the turf fire in the parlour without a word spoken. But such a silence is not surprising. There is something about staring into a turf fire that ́s conducive to silent contemplation. Maybe it’s the knowledge that the remains of trees that died hundreds of years since are now going up the chimney as smoke. But the silence that night didn ́t last long. It was broken by a blood-curdling scream from somewhere out in the dark fields. It lasted for several seconds, stopped, and came again. It sounded like the cry of someone in a pain too great to bear. Auntie Bridget and Frankie crossed themselves and Auntie said a prayer. “God be good to the soul that is meeting its Last Judgement this night”.
She saw me looking at her. “It ́s the Ban Shee” she said; “She always keens like that when someone in a known family is about to die”. Now, I ́m not at all superstitious and I didn ́t, and I don ́t, believe in Ban Shees; or in any other kind of Fairies either. And I don ́t believe in Ghosts or in the “Coiste Bodhar”, the death coach that is supposed to call for the souls of great sinners to carry them down to Hell. It ́s my belief that great sinners are well capable of getting there under their own steam. But still, I was a trifle relieved when Uncle Ben winked at me and whispered, “It was only a sex-starved vixen crying out for a randy fox.” But I could see that Frankie, my cousin, was a true believer, and maybe that was when the idea for what I did later was born.
Although he lived in a farming district Ben Hannigan was not a farmer. He worked at the nearby Sugar-Beet factory, Monday to Friday and with no work on Saturdays, was inclined to visit the local pub on Friday evenings. The Friday before Christmas Day, just as he was leaving the house, he invited Frankie and myself to join him there later. The way to the pub lay along a narrow, unlit boreen, more a cart track than a road. The night was cold but dry and an almost full moon lit up the boreen as well as any street lights would have. And about half way along the track I saw what looked like a grotto at one side. There was a large granite slab about four feet long and about two feet high, resembling a stone altar, and surrounded by hawthorn trees behind and at each side. I stopped to look, but Frankie pulled me away.
“That ́s the Haunted Grotto”, he said “It ́s an evil place and it ́s not a good idea to look at it. A lot of people that did, have seen very bad things there”. Clearly upset, he wouldn ́t say any more, so I let it be and we carried on to the pub.

The publican, Dan Bawn was well known, among the young men of the townland, for ignoring the law that said you had to be over eighteen to be served with a drink. Dan Bawn believed that if you were big enough to reach over the bar counter for your glass, you were old enough for him to fill it. His way of asking me what I wanted to drink, was to ask me if I ́d ever had a drink before. I said that last Christmas morning, I ́d had a glass of Port with the mince pies.
He snorted and said a cold night was no time to be drinking Port. He suggested a Whiskey Toddy instead and made me a well-watered one. I had two. And when I ́d finished the second, Uncle Ben suggested it was maybe time I was heading back home. Frankie was allowed to stay on a bit longer.
Walking back along the boreen the idea of giving Frankie a fright came to me. Whiskey, even when well-watered in a Toddy, does tend to give one ideas, and by the time I arrived at the so-called “Haunted Grotto”, the idea of how to frighten Frankie was fully formed. I turned my jacket the wrong way around and using my cap as a cushion, sat on the stone slab. To begin with, perhaps insulated by the effects of the Toddies, I didn ́t much feel the cold and smiled to myself thinking of how Frankie would jump when he saw me. However, after about 20 minutes I began to feel uncomfortable. The Grotto began to give me an odd “feeling” and combined with being increasingly cold, I started to think, perhaps I should abandon the trick before I froze to death. But then I heard Frankie ́s footsteps coming along the path.
As he came past, he kept his head down, clearly determined not to look at the haunted Grotto, so I clapped my hands as loudly as I could. Startled, he stopped and looked toward me, his face pale and ghost-like in the moonlight. For a second or two he just stared at me. Then he uttered a scream the like of which I ́ve never heard before or since, and started running madly down the boreen towards home. Frankie ́s reaction was way beyond what I ́d expected. and it left me feeling somewhat ashamed of myself. He had run off too rapidly, and had gone too far, for me to apologise then and there, and to reassure him it had only been me in the Grotto. And worse, he was already in bed by the time I got back to the house.
Next morning he was already finishing his breakfast porridge when I arrived downstairs. Given his reaction to it, I still felt ashamed of the trick I ́d played the night before, so I tried to apologise. “Look Frankie”, I said, “that was only me you saw in the grotto last night. I'm sorry I frightened you so badly.” “Oh no”, he said, “I knew it was you, but you didn ́t frighten me.”
He put down his spoon and what he said then, shook me to the core. “What really frightened me” Frankie said, “was what I saw sitting beside you on the altar”

“Merry Christmas”.
-James Wallace-

grotto:  /ˈɡrɒtəʊ/ a small attractive cave.

farm somebody out (to somebody) ​(disapproving) to arrange for somebody to be cared for by other people. Sp. dejar a alguien al cuidado de otros

E.g.

Her children were farmed out at an early age to childminders.

 

townland: (especially in Ireland) a small territorial division of land.

 

boon companion: /ˌbuːn kəmˈpænjən/ a very good friend. 

hurling: an Irish ball game similar to hockey played by two teams of 15 boys or men.

 

turf: peat that is cut to be used as fuel; a piece of this 

peat: a soft black or brown substance formed from old or dying plants just under the surface of the ground, especially in cool wet areas. It is burned as a fuel or used to improve garden soil.

E.g.
peat bogs
peat extraction
a peat fire (= one in which cut pieces of peat are burned)

bog: (an area of) wet soft ground, formed of decayed (= destroyed by natural processes) plants 

E.g.

Like oil, gas and coal fields, peat bogs act as vast carbon stores

conducive to something :/kənˈdjuːsɪv/ making it easy, possible or likely for something to happen. Sp. invitar a.
Chairs in rows are not as conducive to discussion as chairs arranged in a circle.

blood-curdling: /ˈblʌd kɜːdlɪŋ/ (of a sound or a story) filling you with horror; extremely frightening. Sp. espeluznante, aterrador, que hiela la sangre.

E.g.

a blood-curdling scream/story.

A banshee /ˈbænʃiː/ is a female spirit in Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member, usually by wailing, shrieking, or keening. 

keen: to make a loud, high sad sound, when somebody has died. Sp. lamentarse. 

death coach: The death coach is part of the folklore of north western Europe. It is particularly strong in Ireland where it is known as the Cóiste Bodhar (Irish pronunciation: [ˈkoːʃtʲə ˈbˠəuɾˠ]), also meaning "silent coach", but can also be found in stories from British and American culture. It is usually depicted as a black coach being driven or led by a Headless Horseman. 

under one's own steam without assistance from others.     

We're going to have to get there under our own steam.

Do you want a lift or will you get there under your own steam? 

Look, Mom, I can finish this book report under my own steam, OK? I don't need you hovering over me correcting my spelling.

a trifle: slightly.

E.g.

She seemed a trifle anxious. 

He was just a trifle too friendly for my liking.  

vixen: a female fox  

randy: sexually excited
to feel/get randy.

sugar beet: A sugar beet is a plant whose root contains a high concentration of sucrose and which is grown commercially for sugar production. Sp. remolacha azucarera.

 

 boreen: /bɔːˈriːn/ a narrow country road.

granite: /ˈɡrænɪt/ a type of hard grey stone, often used in building. Sp. granito.

slab: a thick flat piece of stone, wood or other hard material. Sp. losa.

E.g.
a slab of marble/concrete

 

hawthorn: /ˈhɔːθɔːn/ a bush or small tree with thorns, white or pink flowers and small dark red berries.

E.g.

a hawthorn hedge

snort:  to make a loud sound by breathing air out noisily through your nose, especially to show that you are angry or think something is silly. Sp. resoplar, gruñir, espetar.

E.g.

 ‘Certainly not, ’ he snorted.     

 to snort with laughter     

 She snorted in disgust

toddy: a drink made with strong alcohol, sugar, hot water and sometimes spices

well-watered: Plentifully supplied or moistened with water.

shaken to the core: If someone is shaken to the core or shocked to the core, they are extremely shaken or shocked. 

E.g.

Leonard was shaken to the core; he'd never seen or read anything like it.