The Four Clovers of Galway

Jamie pressed his lips towards the end of the bronze bottle and swallowed his fourth beer of the night. This was his last chance at happiness.

      "Mr. Sully. One shot, please!" he called out.

      The bartender nodded. New in town, Jamie felt the jet lag kicking in. Sullivan's Pub was his solitude for the last few hours, but he was determined to stay up

      "I'll have Caitlin take care of those empty bottles!" Mr. Sully reassured with his thick wooly mustache that accentuated his expressions on his face. 

They looked like a collection of bowling pins getting arranged for a hit. 

      "To new beginnings." Jamie hiccupped lifting up the shot glass.

      "Ahem." a girl interrupted. 

The night took an unusual turn as Jamie looked up to find a beautiful redheaded woman sitting opposite from him. She rested her chin on her fist and curved the bottom of her pouting lips into a smile.  

Jamie noticed the oversized green Rovers F.C. jersey and had been wearing and her face painted in the colors of the flag, green, white, and orange. 

"Go Shammy Rovers." she said waving a small flag on a toothpick. "Tsk. Tsk. Y'know, it's bad luck to toast a pint by your lonesome." she shook her head. "Plus that's just flat out depressing'"

Jamie smiled. "Maybe you're right."

"Go-on. I won't be mad if you order me one, now."

      Jamie smiled but didn't respond.

      The redhead laughed. "Oh, do I need subtitles, now?"

      "Oh. No!" Jamie tapped his palm on his forehead. "Don't mind me. I'm just slow. It took me a minute to process that. I'm not used to your accents yet."

      "You'll learn it soon enough Mr. American-boyo. Now hush for a second and listen to good music. I know it's not the grand shite you have back in the states but the Oul fellow can make a hooley of the night."

The harmonicas began to play across the bar.

      Jamie and the rest of the bar watched as the old man in a flat cap who looked about eighty-something played the best damn rendition of the "The Rocky Road to Dublin." he's ever heard back. A contrast from Boston was that everyone joined in singing along in Ireland. He was pleasantly surprised.

This was probably the happiest Jamie had been since he could remember. Since when things were steady with his ex-fiancé. Since before leaving the states and moving out across the pond to a town where sheep outnumbered the people by a landslide.

      "Well then!" The beautiful Irish redheaded woman tapped on Jamie's hand.

Jamie turned over.

      "That's Irish feel-good music for ya, aye? More depressing than the gloomy weather we've grown used to."

      "Hic. It's not so bad..." Jamie hiccupped. "Scuse me, Mister Sully."

Jamie ordered two more bottles. "Now what was your name again?" he inquired.

      "McKenzie, love. And yours?"

      "Jamie."

      "And Mr. Jamie what is it we drinking to?"

      "To new beginnings."

      "Oh, is that so? Leaving something behind?"

       Jamie smiled and stood quiet. 

"Sláinte" she toasted him with her glass. 

The night was perfect. Jamie couldn't stop smiling until that old-bastard Mr. jet lag came knocking again. 9 hours in the plane were rough ones especially when his trip was unplanned. He kept smiling at McKenzie ordering another round, before his eyelids seemed to drop every few moments. 

Then Jamie finally dozed off entirely.

      *****

      "Jamie?" the redheaded repeated. "Wake up!"

Jamie found himself now standing outside in the cold with McKenzie. She held her nose shut because of the regurgitated puddle of bangers & mash from a few hours ago. Jamie apologized profusely. "I'm such an idiot."

      "Nah, you're good." McKenzie smiled.

      Jamie felt he was in a trance.

She was perfect. A tally mark of his ideal woman in terms of physical qualities, freckled-faced, big ocean blue eyes and curly red hair. But, what the hell was she doing with him? "Would you like to maybe explore the town together. We can watch the Shamrock soccer match?"

      McKenzie grimaced. "Red flag number one. Never. Ever. Call it "Soccer."

      James snorted and they both laughed.

      "Oh, you're something else, yank. But, yes. I'd love to."

      She ordered a Taxi. 

"Hows...yur night?" Jamie mumbled to the Taxi Driver.

"American?"

"Y-yessir."

"What're you doing in this town, lad?"

"Searching for something incredible!" he smiled putting his arm around McKenzie.

"Tsk. There's no happy endings in this town. I'd get out while ya can." the driver said. The mood in the car changed, but luckily they had arrived quicker than later.

"C'mon" said McKenzie guiding him out to the door steps. Jamie could barely walk a straight line in his state.

Jamie looked up to find out it wasn't even his house. 

      "Oh." Jamie smiled. To finish off a perfect day, he was getting lucky!

      McKenzie planted a kiss on the side of Jamie's neck before letting him in to her house. She held his hands the whole time until they got into the bedroom.

      "Listen, love. We're both grown-ups here, aren't we?"

"Yes?" Jamie's nodded with dilated eyes.

     "So we both know what we want." she whispered in his ear. 

      Jamie was infatuated. Years in a broken relationship back home and Ireland gave him something he always longed for in less than 24 hours. His luck had finally changed.

They kissed in the hallway as McKenzie helped pull away Jamie's shirt. "Now, get your arse in there!" she pointed to her bedroom still unlit. "I'll freshen up."

When Jamie stepped inside, he immediately felt the coldness of the concrete floor. The air felt musty and suffocating. He realized he was standing in a dark empty room without a bed or furniture. Then he spotted on the floor another person.

And then she struck him before he could react.

Jamie stumbled down and couldn't get up. 

He closed his eyes and stood there on the freezing floor until the next day.

      *****

      Jamie's woke up to his head throbbing, when someone kicked him on his sides. 

      "Oi, wake up, mate! You're embarrassing yourself."

      Jamie puckered his eyes open and saw three men staring down at him.

      These men all looked unkempt with scraggly blonde beards.

   "W-where the hell am I? My head hurts so much." Jamie moaned.

He rubbed his eyes and noticed the three of them had been locked together by a single thick chain running across the ends of the room. His own leg was connected too.

      "Howzit? Names Max", a tall South African man reached his hand out.

      "Jeremy." another man said in a soft-spoken Welsh accent. "Pleasure."

      "Names Brock, mate." said the tall slim Brit. 

      Jamie introduced himself in his raspy morning voice. "Jamie...I'm American."

      "Alright buddy, Just tell him already." said the Welsh man to the Brit. "What's the point in formalities, now? The corpse candle is metaphorically hovering over this building now, alright? We only have two more fecking nights in this shite 9-cubic meter room." The Welsh man turned to Jamie. "Look, we're just going to be turned into mince meat at this point. Don't get too attached, now."

      "What are you guys saying?" Jamie tried to get up. His stomach turned as he immediately took notice of the foul smell from the corner of the room and puked a disgusting leftover of stout and stomach acid.

      "Christ-Hell!," Brock shouted. "I'm stuck here with a bunch of poofs!"

      "Why did you all say we only have two days left?"

      "Two nights," said Jeremy. "It's the story of the local Banshee of Galway. After the eighth night, the story goes four men be sacrificed in the name of the perished villagers."

      "This is fucking bullshit." Jamie stood up. "They just want money. Just give her my wallet or together we could wire a good amount, maybe thirty thousand pounds." 

      "Listen Jamie. This ain't a Michael Bay flick on the telly, mate. The old bitch got magical powers."

      "Magical powers?"

      "Yeah, like JK Rowling's fucking magic powers, mate. I know it all sounds like rubbish, but it's the truth."

      "So she's not a young redheaded woman? She's an old witch?"

      "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Brock smirked.

      "Oh."

Brock laughed maniacally.

      "You can't be serious," Jeremy said. "Why are you laughing now!?"

      "Come on, now. We're all going to die might as well have a little fun." Brock added. "So who shagged the old mummy first?" 

      "Well, nothing happened with me." Jamie admitted.

      Brock started laughing again much harder.

He wasn't amused. He shook his head. "You're psychotic." he said.

      "You couldn't even get old witch fanny, mate? That's comical."

      Jeremy tried to interrupt the bullying.

      "Be lucky, she didn't waste your time, Jamie. I dated her for about two weeks. The Banshee of Galway never revealed herself for a month! Max even longer. He's the one that figured it out, why we're all have blonde hair. It's an old legend that the Norsemen plundered an old Irish town near by. He raped the wives and daughters of the farmers living here. Twisted fucked-up shite. Can you imagine how many blokes have perished in the old Banshees hut? Max can elaborate if he wishes." 

      Brock stood up and paced back and forth. "Funny thing is none of us have any Scandinavian blood in us, mate. This is just pure old-fashioned prejudice. Just thinking of those lads imagining they're all Hunky-Dory and to have their hearts ripped out. It's fucked."

      *****

      Two nights had finally passed, the four of them quickly stood against the wall as they heard Banshee coming down the stairs.

When she walked in they all stared.

"It's time my dears. Four young handsome blondes in my presence? Is this Tír na nÓg? Or am I just daydreaming?"

      Brock mumbled under his breath. "Old hag."

      "Ha Ha. What was that, Brock? You tell the rest how easy you were to get down here? Easiest one night stand. What a proper smart, proper Englishmen. Still coming into our land to drink, feck, and conquer."

      "Oi, you're a cold bitch." Brock stood quiet.

      With a wave of the Banshees hand, she had them all propped up standing straight like a marching chain gang of zombies. They all tried to squirm, the veins of their necks were protruding, and their eyes red with the sweat burning them. They were no match to her powers of manipulation.

      Jamie was leading them at the front, Brock second and, Jeremy and Max followed.

      They walked for a couple of minutes before Jeremy begged.

      "McKenzie, my love. I know about the Vikings. You see that symbol on my arm of The Dara Knot?" he pulled up his sleeves up. "I have Celtic blood!"

      "Oh shut it, Jeremy, you're a total dryshite. You deserve to be burned alive just for being a bore. Time with you was as bland as seltzer water." 

      The four of them continued to march on quietly. Once they arrived to the larger room, illuminated only by an open flame at the center, they saw the old horrifying self-portraits of Banshees weaved together in a tapestry of painted old hair.

      There were others in the room, draped in dark robes and chanting in Gaelic.

      Brock looked around and started to panic. "Sorry for calling you all poofs." he cried out.

      The witched had placed four urns for them besides the brewing flames.  

      Jeremy tried clawing for something in the room but was left with his limbs frozen stiff. The Banshees had forced Jeremy closer and closer into the open flames.  

      "I can't die. I can't die!" Jamie squirmed. "This was my first time outside of the U.S. ! He whimpered with tears trickling down and kicked over the cauldron the Banshee had filled with fluids that made their way into the flames. 

"No!" The Banshee called out as the flames turned another hue.

Jamie didn't get far.

      "You stupid Yank!" McKenzie raised her hand causing Jamie to hover up two feet from the ground before slamming him back down against the floor. Jamie felt the pressure as his chest tightened. Meanwhile, the three other men took their chance. They rushed McKenzie and tried to wrestle her down. 

Jamie tried to dragging himself away with his broken leg with the chain still attached. Max pulled at the Banshee's long grey hair nearly ripping it from her scalp while Jeremy reached his thumbs to her eyes to try and blind her. Brock held onto one of her legs to prevent her from getting anywhere.

      "The fire! Don't blow this chance, now. It's the only way to kill her." Max yelled.

      They all managed to push her into the brewing flames with their last remnants of their energy. McKenzie screamed, the harsh unnerving cry as she burned alive. The four men all pressed their hands against their ears to numb the screeching noise.  

      Max and Brock looked around the room to the rest of them in robes but they had already evaporated. They collapsed from exhaustion shortly after.

      Jamie had been left in a puddle of blood trembling in a fetal position. His bone was protruding from his mangled leg. "Is the Banshee gone?" he cried out. "She died?"

      Brock walked over to reassure him. "We did it, mate. We get another go at this mucked-up life. A new beginning."