The Fisherman

Along the coast of Western Ireland people would gather in local taverns and tell old legends around an open fire. As with tradition the landlord would ring the pub bell which meant that no more drinks would be served, the music would stop, door slammed shut and people would all assemble around a round table and trade their own stories which would be started off by the elder people and then others would join in based on their longevity of attendance. Waves crashing up against the rocks and the beam of the lighthouse light circulating the Inn really set the mood.

A man in his late fifties dressed always in fisherman clothes would regularly attend; two drinks of stout planted in front of him, he never spoke at these gatherings besides the occasional sarcastic groan which was just loud enough for people to hear but not loud enough to take offence by it. One night, as each story ended, it went to the next person to the right of the current storyteller, and it came to the fisherman who normally kept his head down but this night he pointed his finger up to signal he had something to say. He stood up cleared his throat and began to talk, maybe he had more than his usual drinks of stout this night but everyone seemed intrigued and leaned in curiously to hear what he had to say.

Spoken like a narrator of a documentary, he went on to tell the tail of his encounters with the banshee that resided by the rocks of the lighthouse. He described her as a skinny old hag with a wrinkled face, long grey hair covering her forehead and wearing only a gown as she would reside on the rocks late at night letting out a deafening wail which only her intended recipient could hear . This scream would indicate that a death would be in your family soon. The banshee was also only visible to whom it wanted to warn and would vanish in a matter of seconds only to be seen again when she had bad news to bear.

The man sat down, finished off his drink and put his hat on before leaving without saying a word. Everyone seemed bewildered by his story and what made his firstly talk but secondly leave in such a hurry. The next night the bell rang and again the gathering took place but this time there was no sign of the fisherman. A week went by but still no sign of the man. A few locals stopped by his cottage home but he wasn't there, everything in his house looked fine, there were no signs of a break-in or that he packed up and left. 

At the tavern he sat at the edge of the bar always and this remained unoccupied in his disappearance. People would talk among themselves as to where he had gone to and this itself turned into a bit of a tale for story time. The landlord was always very curious as to where he went and every morning he would wipe the stool and the bar down where the man sat wondering to himself where he vanished to. He noticed under the bar counter where the man sat that inscribed into the wood was the date 3/12/75, this happened to be the date that the fisherman was last seen. 

The landlord quizzed his clients about what this could mean, with most putting it down to him just writing the day he was gonna leave but something didn't quite add up, all his belonging's were still in his house, his van parked outside and it just so happened to be the first time he had spoken freely at the gathering. One man asked what did he do that day and how was he acting, the landlord responded "The usual came in about 8.30 after his day of fishing, sat down read the paper he brought with him and order his pint of stout, nothing out of the ordinary".  "Check the paper, maybe there's something he seen in that which caused him to disappear" another man croaked back while trying to seemingly inhale all of his cigarette smoke in one breath.

The stash of old papers were stacked in a pile by the bathroom for readers who liked to occupy themselves while doing their "business". The locals rooted through the pile of papers looking for that specific one, "found it" said one guy with a huge smile on his face as though he accomplished something to be proud of. As they flicked over page by page they noticed near the end of the paper there was a picture  that was clearly stuck on. It was of the fisherman with a woman and two kids, on the writing underneath it stated "local fisherman John Kavanagh celebrates the catch of the day along with his wife Noreen and kids Sue and Patrick"

The man who now was known as John never mentioned a family, everyone thought of him as a loner. The landlord along with his customers tried to track down the family but when they did so they heard of the passing of each member in recent time, First the girl, then the boy and lastly his wife in what were described as sudden deaths that nobody seen coming. 

Months passed and this local fisherman John turned himself into part of the folklore of this quiet tavern inn, there are many theories as to what happened, each of them relayed to newcomers every night. Some stick to that he was just a loner who got out of town but many believe that the night of his disappearance John was on his way to the pub and as he was entering he saw the figure of the banshee for the fourth time in his life and on all previous times he lost a member of his family so he knew that tonight was his last so he left the family picture in the paper, inscribed the date under the bar counter, told his story, finished off his extra pint of stout and went home waiting for his demise.