The Last Ride to Ravensdale Woods

"Where to, my sweetie?"

"Enniscorthy town centre, please, near the church if that's not too much trouble. Thanks a million for stoppin' - it's such a relief to find a taxi on a night like this so it is. 'Tis fierce cold, isn't it? I was startin' to think I'd be walkin' all the way, and these roads can be so dangerous for a woman alone, especially with all the stories you hear about what happens to people who wander too far from the roads after dark."

"That's so right, my lovely."

"You must know these parts well, drivin' them every night. I imagine you've seen all sorts of things over the years - strange sights, odd passengers, maybe even some of the old places that most people try to avoid. There's so much history in these hills, so many stories passed down through the generations about things that happened long ago."

"I suppose there is."

"There are stories about this place - about the woods, about the old families, about promises made and broken under the ancient trees. Some places remember everything, they say that the land itself holds onto promises long after the people who made them are gone... This isn't the way to the town centre, is it?"

"Just takin' a shortcut, sweetheart."

"Through Ravensdale Woods? That's interesting - most people avoid those woods at night. There are so many stories about that place, so many warnings. It's said it was where old debts get settled, where promises matter more than people realise. I heard tell about a young girl once, barely twelve, who made a bargain there, Helen was her name."

"I know these roads well enough. Don't ye worry, pretty one."

"Sweet child; lonely, lookin' for friendship in all the wrong places. Found somethin' in these woods that traded her companionship for protection. All she had to do was visit regularly, keep the old ways alive. Simple enough for a child to agree to."

"You don't say. I've been watchin' ye tonight actually. Saw ye walkin' alone, looking for friendship, were ye?"

"Have you? That's... concerning. What exactly are you planning? Helen kept her promise faithfully for four years, you know. Every week, she'd slip away to the woods, bring offerings, share stories. But then she grew up, as children do."

"I don't care about this Helen. I'm talking about a young woman like yerself, perfect opportunity."

"Perfect for what? Helen fell in love, got married, had other concerns. The weekly visits became monthly, then hardly at all. She thought childhood promises didn't matter once you became an adult; on that she was wrong."

"Shut up about this Helen. I don't want to hear about her any more. Nobody will miss ye if somethin' happens. Ye said yerself, things happen here."

"Did I? Well, some of us have been in the same place for a very long time. Helen learned that promises to the old ones aren't so easily broken. There's always a price to pay, always a debt that comes due."

"I am finished with your Helen and your rubbish about debts. Get out here, stand by that tree line, by the path."

"How did you know to stop here? Most people can't even see the path unless they're meant to. Unless they're connected to this place somehow. The woods get smaller every year, this place was once in the middle."

"Stop talking, get out nice and slow."

"Connected by blood, perhaps? Helen paid her debt in the end - died screaming in childbirth at thirty-three, calling out apologies that came seventeen years too late. But debts don't always die with the debtor, do they?"

"I'm done with yer jabber. I don't care about no Helen. Get out the car or I'll cut you up like a Christmas dinner. Don't try anythin' clever. There's nowhere to run out here."

"Run? Why would I run? I've been waiting for this moment for so long. Watching Helen's son grow up angry and bitter, watching the poison spread through his heart. You look just like her, you know."

"What are ye talkin' about? How could ye know me mother?"

"Your voice is getting higher, Thomas. Are you starting to understand? Helen was frightened too, at the end. Realised what she'd done, what she'd brought down on herself and her unborn child."

"Ye can't know about me mother. She died when I was born, but... how do ye know me name?"

"The stories your grandmother told? About Helen meeting something in the woods? About promises made and broken? Those weren't just stories, were they?"

"I never told ye me name. How could ye possibly..."

"I know many things. I know you carry a knife in your jacket - I can smell the iron from here, burns nasty it does. I know what you were planning to do to me tonight. I know the darkness that's been growing in you since you were old enough to understand you had needs."

"This is impossible. Ye were just a woman, just a passenger..."

"Was I? Look at me now, Thomas. Really look at what's happening to me."

"Your eyes... they're different. Older. And your voice, it's... Christ, what's happenin'?"

"The mist is rising from the mound. Can you feel it? The old magic stirring? This is what your mother felt that first night she came here - the pull of something ancient and patient and hungry."

"You're gettin' taller. That's not... people don't just... this can't be real."

"Seven feet now. The glamour is fading, Thomas. You're seeing me as I truly am. Your mother's maiden name was Colfer. Helen Colfer."

"This is some kind of breakdown, some kind of... No, no, no. Those were just grandmother's stories. Just old tales to frighten children."

"She was sixteen when she stopped coming to see me, thirty-three when she died bringing you into the world. I collected what was owed. Her life, her future, her chance to raise the son she died for."

"Ye can't be real. Things like ye don't exist."

"But I let you live, Thomas. Do you know why? I wanted to see what you'd become without a mother's love to guide you. Would you rise above the circumstances of your birth, or would you become exactly what I expected?"

"I need to leave. I need to get away from here, please for the love of god."

"You've answered that question beautifully tonight. Hunting women, planning to hurt them, carrying that knife like your father's anger made manifest. You've become everything Helen might have prevented."

"Please, I'll never come back here. I'll get help, I'll change. I swear I won't do it again, I swear, I swear."

"Will you? Or will you just be more careful next time? Cleverer about choosing victims who won't be missed?"

"I wasn't really goin' to hurt anyone. I just... I get these thoughts sometimes, but I've never actually..."

"The knife says otherwise. The way you chose your route tonight says otherwise. The fact that you've been following me for three miles says otherwise. I can smell death on you, sweet like rotten fruits."

"How could ye possibly know that? Unless ye really are... Oh God, what are ye?"

"I am Aos Sí. I am the keeper of promises and the collector of debts. I am what your mother bargained with and what she betrayed, you would call me ‘Leprechaun’."

"I don't want to die. Please, I know I'm not a good person, but I don't want to die."

"Neither did she. She screamed as the life left her, begged me to spare you, promised me anything if I'd let her live to raise you properly."

"She... she said me name?"

"Thomas. Over and over. The only word she could manage through the pain. She died loving you more than her own life."

"I never knew. Grandmother never told me that part."

"Your grandmother knew better than to speak of Fae or tell the whole truth. She knew I was still watching, still waiting to see what became of Helen's sacrifice."

"What happens now? Are ye goin' to kill me like ye killed her?"

"I won't lay a hand on you myself. But our children... they've been sleeping in the mound, waiting for this moment. They're very hungry."

"Your children? What children? I don't see..."

"Listen. Can you hear them stirring? The earth is shifting; the old stones are singing. They know their half-brother has finally come home."

"Somethin's movin' under the ground. Somethin's comin' up from... Oh Christ, what did ye do to my mother?"

"I gave her exactly what she asked for - children to love. But love has a price, Thomas. It always has a price."

"I can hear them now. Scratchin', climbin'. What do they want with me?"

"Your life force, same as the essence your mother gave to bring you into the world. They've been patient, but patience has its limits."

"No, please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I was goin' to do tonight, sorry for the anger I've carried, sorry for wastin' the life she died to give me."

"Are you sorry for the deed, or sorry you got caught?"

"Both! I'm sorry for both! I let the hate grow inside me instead of the love she died tryin' to give me. I became a monster when I could have been... when I should have been..."

"What she hoped you'd be? Too late for that now."

"Yes. God help me, yes. I threw away everything she sacrificed for. I can see them now - pale things, hungry things, crawlin' out of the dark. Will it hurt?"

"Oh yes. They feed slowly, savouring every drop. You'll feel yourself draining away bit by bit, consciousness fading in and out as they take what they need. It could last years and their teeth are very sharp."

"Will I see her? When this is over, will she be waitin' for me somewhere?"

"Your mother? She has her own children now, our children."

"No... please... tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I finally understand..."

"She doesn't want your apologies. She wants to see her babies fed."

"They're here now. Cold fingers, empty eyes. I don't want this. I don't want to end like this. Please, there has to be another way!"

"There was. Thirty-five years of other ways. You chose this path with every cruel thought, every violent impulse, every neighbour's pet, every woman you followed in the dark."

"I'll change! I swear I'll change! Just let me go and I'll never hurt anyone again!"

"Feed well, my children. He's had thirty-five years more life than he deserved."