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Fiction Corner: The Banshee of Killarney House by Wayne Miller

It had become a game to the local teens. “Let’s go annoy the crazy lady!” Everyone said Killarney House was haunted. Since their coming to America, since they’d constructed the house, every member of the O’Hurlahee family had died there, their deaths foretold by the wailing Banshee that had followed them from their native Ireland. The all heard the Banshee before they died, so the story went. In the ten years since she’d bought the house, Frances hadn’t seen—or heard—any ghost. She had seen plenty of annoying teenagers, though. She’d chase them away; they’d come back. She’d turn the garden hose on them; they filmed her with their cellphones. “You’re making it worse,” friends told her. “Putting on a show for them.” “Horseshit!” Frances always replied. Tonight a carload of the brats sat parked across the street, honking their horn to torment her, calling her name. Frances tried to ignore it but at last her nerves gave out. She seized a frying pan from its peg on the wall and …

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