The priest’s boots sink in the peat as he
crosses the threshold of Cluainmhór, the last
holdout of the old ways. The village has not
changed—same crooked cottages, same hush over
the river—but the air hums with something wrong.
A boy vanishes at dusk, his mother’s wail
swallowed by the fog.
The priest finds the boy’s shoe in the bog,
laced with red thread. He remembers the old
stories: how the dead were bound to the land,
their bones kept from rotting by rituals now
lost. But the villagers do not speak of the old
ways. They only watch him, eyes hollowed by
something deeper than grief.
At the pub, the barman pours him a pint of stout
and says nothing. The priest notices the names
etched into the wooden tables—names of men who
died in the War, their deaths marked by a single
line. He touches one, and the wood cracks
beneath his fingers.
That night, the priest dreams of a woman in a
green dress, her face blurred by mist. She
points to the churchyard, where the stones are
fresh. He digs at one, unearthing a jar of dried
flowers and a letter written in his own hand.
The words are unfamiliar, but the ink is still
wet.
The next morning, the priest walks the ridge
where the old well once stood. The ground splits
open, revealing a chamber filled with bones. A
child’s voice whispers, “You left us.” He turns
and sees the boy from the bog, now grown, his
eyes white as bone.
The priest tries to pray, but the words stick in
his throat. The villagers gather at the edge of
the field, their faces lit by the firelight of
the bonfire. They do not ask questions. They
only wait.
He steps into the fire, the heat searing his
skin. The flames part, revealing a path through
the trees. The boy follows, his footprints
leaving no mark on the earth.
When the priest emerges, the village is gone.
Only the church remains, its doors open to the
wind. Inside, the pews are empty, but the altar
bears a single white rose. He kneels, and the
stone under his hands shifts, revealing a tunnel
leading downward.
The priest does not look back. The dead have
claimed their due, and the living must learn to
live without them.
