The Causeway Giants Who Gifted Pebbles

The car rolled to a stop on the crunchy gravel path. Billy's mum had driven all the way up to the last shop on the main road, halfway up the headland. She said their bread was the best, so they made the trip every week. There were a few customers walking in and out, the bell over the door clanging every time someone walked through. It smelled of warm bread, which was a comfort against the sea spray outside. His mum bought her usual loaf, a large white circular thing that had a crunchy crust that Billy always loved. They walked back to the car, placing the loaf neatly wrapped in paper in the backseat. 

“Why don’t we go and find some nice pebbles for your collection today?” his mum suggested. Billy excitedly grabbed her hand and they both staggered up the steep staircase that led to the top of the headland. Billy walked across the grass to the edge, his mother trailing behind him trying to wrap a scarf around his shoulders. It was a windy day and the grey sky threatened rain, creating a thick layer of cold air. A few other people were braving the wind but the headland was mostly empty. He could hear the water crash on the rocks below, the thick hexagonal pillars holding steady against the surge. Billy peered down at the earth, the thick headland grass hiding the pebbly ground. He selected carefully, smaller ones to put on his windowsill, and larger ones that his baby sister could spread her hand out on. 

He reached for one, but it suddenly jumped into his hand. Soon all the pebbles began to jump, a thudding sound slowly becoming louder. Billy peered down over the ledge of the headland to the rocks below, his mother stood behind struggling with her own scarf in the wind. The giant men thudded up the stone causeway, large boots causing waves in the sea. They moved slowly, seemingly weighed down by their bulky figures. Their long matted hair hung low, drawing trails in the water behind them. The pebbles around Billy's feet jumped, the force of their footsteps shaking loose more pieces of rock and shells. With each step, rocks broke and the earth shifted, dirt danced as the bedrock below seemed to almost crack. Billy hastily pocketed his collection and knelt to pick at the new stones, shells and sea glass that had been shaken from the ground. 

He looked back up, the giants walked down the coast, the rocks still shaking, the cliffs just holding.  

The Abhartach who liked to Drink

Billy’s dad led him along the crowded sidewalk. The town centre was bustling with people in the mid—morning rush. The pub was starting to fill up with patrons as Billy's dad led him through the floor, between tables already filled with pints and chips. They shuffled their way through to the back room. He kept his pillow and a set of games there for when his dad had to bring him along to work when his mum was out. The backroom was mostly neat, large crates were stacked against one wall and extra chairs filled up the back of the room for when the pub had to expand out into the alley next door. His dad kissed him goodbye and he set up his pillow, the chips his dad had given him and his games. 

Patrons walked past the door, rattling it as they went. Billy ignored it, knowing his dad would be the only one to come into the storeroom. After a few hours, he came in to check on him. 

“Shouldn’t be too much longer son, just helping the other boys set up for the night.” Then he was gone with a rattle. The small window at the very top of the wall leaked soft light into the room. As time passed the room darkened, the light fading as the sun fell. Billy rose from his pillow, stretched his legs and turned on the light, a small glowing bulb that dangled from the ceiling. More people walked past the door as the pub began its evening trade, the door rattling the same every time.

 Footsteps, rattle, footsteps, rattle. 

Billy became increasingly annoyed, he got up for the second time and pushed against the door, attempting to stop its rattling, but to no avail. He opened it — perhaps it could be stopped from the outside? He held onto the hinges as patrons again walked past. Footsteps, rattle. He signed, defeated as more people walked past. 

Footsteps, rattle, footsteps. No rattle. The person walking behind him had stopped, not walking past the door. Billy turned, expecting his dad with a fresh bowl of chips. But sadly there were no chips, only a dead rabbit on the floor. Billy crouched, half disgusted, half curious. As he reached out his hand, another mirrored his own, grabbing the foot of the rabbit and dragging it back into the dark corner of the corridor. Billy looked up, staring through the dark. It was a hooded thing, with only half its face showing, one yellow eye and half a set of fangs. 

It turned towards him and Billy could see the dead rabbit hanging from its mouth, hiding its face's other half. Footsteps sounded behind him, this time it was his dad and this time he was getting more chips. The pub had grown noisy with shouts and laughter as Billy followed his dad. Beers were being carried to what seemed like every table and the bar had grown into a frantic collection of hands and glasses. 

As he held his bowl out, his dad filling it to the brim with chips, he saw it in a small overlooked culvert; still hooded, one yellow eye looking out, with the rabbit between its teeth. 

Sheep, Cows and the Dullahan

Billy sat in the box window of his bedroom, looking down onto the backyard and the grassy field behind it. His mum was home from work today, taking care of his baby sister who had a fever. He sat drawing, his colouring book already half-filled with dragons and dinosaurs. There was a thudding up the stairs as his mum brought up his little sister and placed her in his arms. 

“Watch her while I make us some lunch.” She kissed him on the head and then left. Billy looked down at his sister, she was half asleep but held onto his finger with her whole hand. He carefully placed his colouring book down and shifted himself so she could see out the window.

“See look, there's some sheep, and there's a cow.” She was still half asleep and didn't seem that interested in the sheep he was trying to show her. Billy watched them instead, wandering back and forth across the field until the sheepdog rounded them up and drove them home. The cows were still out though, shuffling slowly, eating as they went. He heard his mum bang cupboards around the kitchen and start chopping, but his little sister didn't rouse. 

He looked back out at the field; a lone rider had replaced the sheep. He didn't seem to be going anywhere, he was just stopped, occasionally shifting, turning his horse to look in another direction. Well, at least Billy thought he must be looking, yet he wondered how he could see; there was nothing above his shoulders but an empty neck, missing a head. 

His black horse shifted beneath him, his empty neck still turning, looking across the field. He carried a round object in his hand, lifted above his shoulders. Billy saw it was his missing head that sat in his hand, perhaps that's how he could see. His mum called his name, walking back up the stairs and taking his little sister out of his arms. 

“Come down now and have some food.” 

Billy pulled his eyes away from the rider who was now slowly moving forwards. His mother didn’t look out the window. 

Down in the kitchen, he ate his sandwich and his little sister was now awake enough to eat her mushy food. He glanced occasionally at the field, which was now half-hidden by their tall fence; he didn't see the rider. His mum took the once again sleepy baby to her crib and cleaned away the plates. Billy jumped out of his chair and walked to his sister. Her fever had gone down and her eyes were now completely closed, sleeping soundly. 

He lifted his head towards the back fence just as the top of a neck was going past, the sound of hooves on the grass below, the head swinging in a black-gloved hand, followed by a cow that had taken an interest in his horse.  

The Friday Night Banshee 

The days were much longer at this time of year and his mum loved to take him to the back deck to catch the last warmth of the sun. His baby sister was still sleeping and his dad was still at the pub that was just opening for Friday night trade. They sat in silence as the sun drifted lower, his mum eventually going inside to start supper, taking his little sister with her. There was an occasional car horn, the sound of tires on the road in the front and the distant moo of a cow in the field behind. 

Billy looked at the back fence, it was overgrown in parts, especially in the corners where the large trees from the field behind had crept over. His dad wouldn't be home till very late; Fridays were always the latest, the mad rush after the busy week. But Billy didn’t mind. The tires on the road grew more frequent, combining with voices, some shouts and some talking. His mum clattered the pots like she had at lunch and called him in. They sat, they ate, and then Billy moved onto the couch, his mum going upstairs to put his little sister to bed. 

He picked up his colouring book again, the dinosaurs needed to be finished. The shouts from the road grew more frequent. They grew louder, joined by the scuffing of shoes and the clinking of bottles. Every Friday groups going to or from the pub would pass by Billy's house.

They never knocked, never jumped on his mum's flowers or scratched his dad's car, just walked past with some loud, boozy laughter. Billy thought one of them might have been a bit lost when he saw a figure walk up the side of the house. 

He stared from his place on the couch, through the large glass windows of the backroom. They hobbled along, the shouts still coming from the street. They kept moving, Billy saw they had a cane, rather than the usual brown paper bag that most of them have. The back porch light caught their top half in yellow light, revealing long grey hair, the rest of her neck and shoulders wrapped in a black shawl. 

Billy stared at the woman. Her uneven walk, the way her hand rested on the top of her cane. He put his colouring book with his half-finished Stegosaurus down on the table as she walked further down the grass. She came to the overgrown corner of the garden and then disappeared through the back gate out onto the field. The shouts from the street continued, car horns blaring as more people made their way home. His mum came back downstairs and began to grab cutlery and plates.

Billy reached again for his colouring book as he saw the woman appear out in the field behind the house. The shouts grew louder from the street out the front, short and playful. 

Another yell came from over the back fence, a high pitched shriek that was longer and less familiar than the Friday night commuters. Billy saw the woman lift her head as she let another out. He turned away as his mum called him to bed, the woman still making her way along the field.