The Time Warriors and Beyond

TW presents Stormtroopers 2: The Seige

A couple of years ago Irish and Sar Wars fans were introduced to the wonderful fan made Star Wars short Stormtroopers by Michael Fitzgerald. If you missed it click here to see it https://timewarriors.co.uk/2023/03/06/tw-presents-stormtroopers-the-original-fan-film/

The sequel Stormtroopers 2: The Seige debuted back in March at Dublin Comic Con and which has been doing the rounds at the film festivals since. We are delighted to have permission to share this with you guys so check it out and leave your feedback in the comments below.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 3: Far From Home Zombie

By and copyright Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

The zombie rollercoaster continues as the undead continue to give us their view of being a rotting corpse under the control of Mother Nature.
This time round we meet Comic Book zombie and the zombie who thinks the ending of Toy Story 3 is sacrilege. What happens when a zombie’s faith in God is rocked to its very foundation and why is the spirit of Elvis Presley still going strong in the vast
roaming herds?
A zombie tells why the covid pandemic was much preferable to being undead and why having a club foot makes you feel normal as a zombie. Plus more zombie characters than you can shake a stick at.

Available on Amazon now!

Far From Home Zombie

Hell came to Earth the day the apocalypse began. Fires ignited red and gold infernos turning the blue angelic skies dark with wretched dank smoke that smelt of tar and flesh. It clogged the lungs of all those who fell beneath its wraith choking cowl that swept across the land like a dark tsunami. People clawed at their throats as the insidious serpentine smoke poured down into their lungs like an oily liquid. Their screams of the innocent echoed across the land. Blood flowed into once fertile ground and willow trees wept silent tears beneath the burden of yet more human foolishness. If the foliage relied on happiness and joy to grow then they would be mere weeds at this stage. It was a world of fear and dread where the slightest sound could summon cold death swooping in like a vulture. Families were torn apart and the pain of the world was broadcast through the cries of babies.

Now a father would snap his baby’s tiny neck to save the lives of twenty people cowering with the shadow of death mere feet away. I saw it happen. I can’t get it out of my head. I was not prepared for this. It burns my memory even now as a member of the undead. Even zombies get nightmares; some acts disgust even us. The silence after the snap was like a punch in the head. The sound was as delicate as the baby’s neck itself. I watched with numbed shock trying not to scream as acid tears streamed my face as the father closed the limp baby’s eyes as he choked back his own grief. I wanted to throw up but had to hold it down. I can still taste the taste of it in the back of my throat. In the trembling father’s arms I saw every baby I had ever known lying there sacrificed to stop another mass murder. I saw my very own future babies ripped away by the tendril phantoms of this hell. This picture of a proud father cradling his innocent baby should have been one of joy and pride but instead was distorted into a horror movie. I was not prepared for this. They never told me about this.

War is hell was drummed into us but I literally had no idea what bone shattering depravity true hell really could bring.

Now with this shitty damned zombie apocalypse I have been plunged from one war to another. I will never see my family again. I know that; none of my squad will.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 3: The Zombie With All the Answers

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Available on Amazon now!

They came to my village in Poland one cold night in November and took my family from me. In an instant my mother sent from a hardy family driven woman and loyal wife to a twisted hideous crone. Her soft unblemished skin mottled like rotten pears, her teeth became fangs and her eyes burned with a hatred born from Satan himself. Alfie, my younger brother’s blood smeared her face and pieces of his flesh were stuck between those incisors. A taloned hand sharply swung out to the side slashing my father’s throat in a second. I will never forget him sinking to his knees, bloodied hands clasped to his throat, with the most startled expression on his face. I can still hear his gargling death throes as his words shattered like glass in his gaping throat. They were calling to me to run but I could not. His bulging eyes screamed at me to flee. His expression was begging God to deliver his only daughter from his demon possessed wife. His mind snapped under the impact of the image of his once loving wife cradling their children, her beautiful voice singing lullabies to the abomination before him that had ripped the throat from one of those same children. His body trembled as his hands fell away from his throat as the life ran out of him as surely as the blood flowed from the mortal wound. Somehow his survival instincts thought he could stem the bleeding but it was to no avail. The jagged wound was too deep; the jugular severed. His parental natural instinct to save his family was as thick as the growing pool of blood he was kneeling in. It was hopeless. My pale father fell face forward and all I could think of was how his beard tickled when he kissed me goodnight. I still recall that sensation forty seven years later. The memory still brings me comfort and sorrow simultaneously.

Father’s inert body got no attention from the demon as it swung its glare in my direction. I prayed that God would save me and send an angel against this monster. If there were demons like this in the world then God’s warriors couldn’t be too far behind. What had once been my mother advanced towards me, jaws snapping, yellow eyes burning with pus.

Suddenly, the door burst open in an explosion of splinters. A short rotund man with thick blond hair and clad in black stormed into our log cabin. Whirling round, the demon shrieked at him, blood spraying from her hissing jaws like misty dew. I recall to this day how beautiful that actually was; the droplets twinkling like gems as the light caught it.

In that moment I learned that even in horror there is a certain beauty. No matter what the demons try to do to us or try to twist our normality into a weapon against us, Mother Nature would always find a way to reclaim their poison into something beautiful.

I glimpsed a telltale band of white round the man’s neck. He was repeating something, chanting words I was not yet familiar with. Of course I knew right there what the man was.

God truly had answered my prayers.

Three other people flanked the priest also chanting, two men and a woman; three priests and a nun.

All three men were dressed in black. One of the blond priest’s companions was Oriental, the other a man of colour. The nun did not wear the traditional garb of the Sisterhood. Her shiny ginger hair was cut short and bobbed yet not long enough to be grabbed by hand. Her usual holy traditional dress had been replaced by a tight all in one suit with a leather belt round the waist attached to which were weapons. Both wrists were ringed by bracelets like plain silver handcuffs from which extended curved blades with the merest flex of her wrist. She moved like no other nun I had ever met. Her steely gaze was locked on to the demon. She was so agile and impossibly flexible with almost inhuman moves that confused the demon. Confronting the demon, the rotund blond man threw a spray of holy water at the snarling demon making it recoil like it had been stung by acid. Long nailed hands clawed at her face as the green tinged flesh smoked and bubbled. Leaping upwards towards the ceiling, it tried to flee with a screech.

Book Excerpt: The Time Warriors Red Water: Summer’s End

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Available on Amazon now!

“The Celts are master storytellers,” he reassured her. “It’s just Halloween except the supernatural is as real to them as this house.” He smiled. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Besides, what if it is real? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“When does it start?” asked Tyran.

“At midnight the bone fires will be lit as the veil falls. The slain animals bones will be fed to the flames and every home will be lit from that. The souls of our loved ones will feast with us and Samhain will be celebrated.”

Betony came back putting bowls of berries and turnip stew in front of them with plates of cheese and bread. She filled their goblets with some sort of beer which made them grimace with its bitter taste. Varran’s eyes flashed at them to eat and drink respectfully.

The cheese and bread was surprisingly more than edible and they wolfed it down. Tyran wasn’t fussed on the stew but forced it down respectfully. Betony went to clear the dishes but Jacke stopped her with a light touch to the back of the hand.

“Please. Let us, it’s the least we can do.” Betony bowed gratefully. Jacke turned to Michael. “Clear the dishes. You too Varran.” Both men looked at each other startled but did as they were bid. Betony nodded approvingly at the girls.

“All the turnips have been placed and all fires are being extinguished Failbhe.” The Chieftain nodded.

Sionn arrived back and came respectfully into his Chieftain’s home, bowing on one knee. Failbhe looked satisfied as he reported the Druids had approved his request.

“What request would that be?” asked Jacke. He turned and gave her a strange look, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“I took the liberty of sending word to the Druids of your arrival Jacke. They would be honoured if a child of Samhain with second sight were to meet with them and give her blessing to the battle ahead.”

Jacke exchanged a worried glance with Varran who stood by Sionn’s shoulder. She had visions of being sacrificed or some dark ritual being invoked with her being the central ingredient. With a deft gesture, Varran stepped before the Chieftain.

“I wonder Chieftain if I may be allowed to accompany Jacke. I have heard about the Druids but would greatly appreciate this opportunity to meet and talk with them.” Failbhe picked up on the pleading in his voice. Failbhe stood and gripped him by the shoulders.

“I am in your debt Warrior Varran for bringing such honour to us. It would only be right for Jacke’s mentor to accompany her. Sionn will also go with you as my personal guard. Night is falling and you must be protected as guests.” He looked to his soldier. “Take a carriage, it will be more befitting. But be warned, the druids hold their secrets dear. Even I do not know them at all.”

“Excellent!” Varran declared, rubbing his hands together. He gestured to the others. “Please help the clan finish any necessary preparations. We’ll be back soon.”

He bit his bottom lip as he spied their less than happy expressions.

The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon First Look

https://youtu.be/kt96dkHpIYk

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 2: Perception Zombie

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

More Zombies, more trouble. Welcome to book 2 of Zombie Blues who give us their view on the world and life from behind undead eyes. This time round meet Diabetic Zombie, Racist Zombie, the Ice Queen and why is there a zombie with no teeth?

Available now on Amazon

Perceptions Zombie

What do you see when you look at me?

You, to me, are lit up like a stray dog set on fire by mindless thugs in the drunken hours of a late night in a graveyard. Your flames fill my world enticing me forward like a sailor to the siren song. I am helplessly drawn to you like an addict to heroin. I see you as the menu chargrilled by the hatred of Mother Nature.

What do you see when you look at me?

Am I the nightmare you see when you worry about monsters under the bed?

A monster, slobbering and decaying before your very eyes as its deadly jaws snap at you like a great white shark? I am the ultimate abomination from your deepest nightmares.

I can see it myself when this body passes by something reflective like a shop window. From in here I see what I am now on the outside but that’s not the real me. You’re seeing a distorted vision of me built from prejudice. Is it my fault you can’t hear me screaming at you to kill us all? I see the person I used to be. I’m a hapless victim of an unfortunate incident. I should be pitied then put out of my misery.

Can you not see me at all? Is there any semblance of who I was peeking out from behind this rotting flesh that you can see? Do these demon eyes cloak my soul entirely when you stare into my eyes from beyond the reinforced glass that separates us?

It seems that things haven’t changed much despite the bloody apocalypse.

Here’s a thing you haven’t been told yet but I’ll tell you now.

Haven’t you noticed that while our flesh decays (an unfortunate side effect of the heartless tendrils of Mother Nature I’m afraid) that our teeth do not?

Apart from Lily, my denture less friend you met earlier, when was the last time you saw a zombie without a good set of gnashers? I can see that rolling over in your heads like watching clothes in a spin cycle in a washing machine. It hadn’t occurred to any of you before now? Even with all those movies and that television show, The Shambling Undead?

When I look at you I didn’t expect to see that; indolence and lamb mentality. It must be a side effect of that social media my other friend spoke about. Nobody thinks outside the box any more it seems.

It’s simple really. Mother Nature only picked the humans with a full set or nearly full set of teeth. Using her…oh I don’t know…her nature magic (feel free to insert your own adjective there) she made sure her weapons would be the most effective means of completing her plans are secure.

All teeth and gums are reinforced like steel. They will never fall out until all humans are dead. Even if you cut our heads off the jaws are still animated. Add to that our eyes are always intact; how else can we hunt you lot down without eyes and teeth? Perk of the job you might say.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 2: In His Dad’s Eyes Zombie

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Cover by Conaire McMullan

Available on Amazon now!

There was a collective cheer which was suddenly interrupted by the roar of an engine. It was like the roar of Godzilla about to deliver us from evil. Ken and Chang grabbed each side of the doors ready to fling them open the second Anna screeched to a halt.

The second she did James would be bundled into the van along with Mrs Kenner. Ken, Chang, myself and Marjorie would defend Stephen and Ken. Being the biggest of us they would fire our crates of weapons into the van.

Then we would get the hell out of here.

I was shaking, sweating like a glassblower’s arse. Tyres screeched, a horn blew urgently. The doors flung open to a chorus of gnashing and snarling, the song of the dead. We ran outside and began smashing heads.

From up above the crowds didn’t seem that bad but now here face to face it was like Black Friday. They seemed to be everywhere. Chang danced like a ballerina as he weaved and sliced at everyone that came near him. Thick smelly blood began to seep into the ground. I couldn’t think of these things as people. They were filthy spawn to be wiped out so that we could live.

Anna jumped out to help us. James was safely put inside. Mrs Kenner refused to go just yet, ramming some of the zombies with her makeshift chariot like Ben Hur on a budget. All the men couldn’t help but wince when a zombie got it in the nuts. I swore there was a look of surprise on their faces as the knife went in and then a ghost of shock rippled their features.

I was stopped in my tracks for a second as I saw tears run down her determined face. In that instant I knew every thrust was for her beloved Albert.

‘Mrs Kenner, get into the van!’ I yelled.

‘James is safe, that’s all that matters. Save all the children you can!’

With that she began to back off in her scooter yelling at the undead using language that was quite unbecoming of a lady.

We began shouting at her to stop but she didn’t listen. A group of zombies turned in her direction.

Stephen and Ken made to go after her but I yelled at them to keep putting the stuff in the van. A pile of bodies had fallen around us but the dead just kept coming. Their threat lay in numbers; our salvation lay in increasing ours.

‘I am Eleanor Kenner. I am the mother of four beautiful children and the wife of Albert Kenner. He was a rocket in bed and a rocket in life. He was my joy, my soul, my rock. You lot screwed that up so this is payback.’ She trundled back and back as more were drawn to her.

‘Mrs K!; yelled Stephen. ‘Betablocker time!’

I looked at him in confusion and he had the most insane grin on his face. Mrs Kenner gave him the thumbs up.

From the basket on front of her scoot she lifted out a plastic flask and a lighter. She straightened up and nodded to us.

A yellow flame flared from the lighter as she lit a wick attached to the flask.

I heard Stephen yell duck.

I heard Ken shout the van as loaded. We stood watching as the wick fizzed with fire and Mrs Kenner smiled to herself.

She erupted in a storm of fire as the flask exploded. The mushroom took out everything within five feet of her.

‘You can make bombs?’ I gasped seeing new levels in Stephen.

‘Mrs Kenner’s idea. She was special forces in her day,’ he grinned.

‘Never judge a book by its cover, as my Mam used to say,’ I grinned. There was no time to cry. We had to leave. Maybe find those we loved if they were still alive. We had to find the hope in this darkness and restart the world again.

We piled into the van, zombies clawing after us. Their dead flesh made a bizarre sucking squelching sound on the doors as Anna hit the accelerator.

I looked round at them all. All bloodied and tired smelling of smoke and sweat but all alive and together.

‘Look,’ Marjorie said indicating back towards the street.

From the back darkened window we watched the charred remains of Mrs Kenner’s scooter burn. Its twisted frame alive in writhing flames dancing in celebration of our escape. What lay ahead now we didn’t know but we would face it together. We would find others and fight the darkness.

It wasn’t a choice; it was what was meant to be.

Mrs Kenner’s sacrifice would never be forgotten and one day every child would speak her story.

Book Excerpt: The Time Warriors: Fire and Ice

By and all copyright Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

A new collection of short stories featuring the Time Warriors. Think you know everything that happened in series one? Not quite. Join Varran, Jacke, Tyran and Michael as they find face new dangers which will test them to their limits. Six stories including Fire and Ice which was released as a surprise extra in Tempest. In Irish Eyes, we learn more of Varran’s past, in the Gift a distraught Robert meets a woman that can talk to the dead, Jacke is trapped alone in ancient Ireland during an invasion in Trinity while Rachel faces an occupied Earth which has never heard of the Time Warriors. In Twisted Michael and Jacke find the world has changed dramatically and it’s all their fault.

Now available on Amazon

There were dozens of humans working underground he knew and as many slaving away on the surface mining camps. Yuri only hoped they would seize the chance when the reactors fell and escape.

“Question is, how do I take it out?” he said softly to himself.

“Well, if this was the Death Star, it would be a simple matter of turning off the magnetic shields and letting the reactor fall. Then toss in a well timed bomb on a countdown would set this place alight.”

Yuri whirled round, sword igniting in a second inches from the face of a young woman of about twenty three. Her eyes flicked up and down, eyes widening at the tight fitting battle suit. Obviously, she is impressed, noted Yuri.

She was pretty, western with short chestnut brown hair in a bob, hazel eyes staring at him, lean body tensed. Dressed in black combats, trainers and tight scarlet jumper, Yuri found her attractive, the impression of a fiery minx filling his mind.

She ignored the tip of the fire sword, instead locking onto his black eyes, almost challenging him to make a move.

“Does take me to your leader mean anything to you, manga boy?” she quipped, her voice tinged with a slight nervous quake.

The sword lowered slightly but before either could say another word, a barrage of orange laser bolts smashed into the wall beside them, blackening the stone where they struck and sending hot shards spitting at them.

With a defiant cry, Yuri swung his sword, deflecting more bolts into the magnetic fields where they faded in a splurge of oil on water.

Rachel ducked behind him, realizing this samurai was her best bet for survival with his super sword. She looked about for a weapon but there was nothing to hand.

Instead all she could do was duck up over his shoulder. Two levels above them were what looked to her like raptors but more humanoid like, powerfully built like gorillas.

Across the left hand sides of their faces were metallic clamps like elegantly crafted jewels, some replacing the eye. They wore red leather jerkins, their four toed feet bare as thick tails swung behind them.

They were firing their stocky laser rifles and she could see metallic implants dotted along their bodies but there was no missing their savage teeth bared eagerly as they fired at them, punctuated by long red tongues covered in hard nodules that whipped like hungry cobras.

“Can you run?” Yuri yelled to her.

“Faster than you can chafe in that outfit mate!” she replied, ducking again. Nodding at her, Yuri stared at her determinedly with those black eyes.

“Just follow, no matter what!” What the hell does that mean, she wondered? She didn’t have to wonder much longer as he jumped upon the railing as the bolts flew about them.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” she gawped as he held out his hand. She could see the chasm beneath them.

“Would you rather stay here?” he laughed. Terrified she joined him.

“The name’s Rachel just in case we die!” she cried as a new barrage shot by them, their trajectory wavered by the fields.

“I’m Yuri, possible saviour of the world!” he beamed, slipping his arm round her waist and plunging them over the edge.

Book Excerpt: The Time Warriors: The Survivor

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Join the Time Warriors in this second exciting volume as the race against their enemies intensifies. The Family are revealed in the most unexpected place, Michael faces an impossible choice trapped in the 24th century, an old enemy returns, Tyran is lost on a planet of robots with a hidden agenda while a dark secret from Jacke’s past may be the only hope for an alien race. And in the distant past a new enemy emerges as the fight is on with Jack the Ripper. Remember, everything happens for a reason.

The luxury space cruiser, the Adelphi, was part of an exclusive fleet that operated to similar guides to ocean liners and toured collapsing stars, the black hole of Hades, the Solack Empire where six worlds were literally bolted together in a feat of mind blowing engineering and the breeding asteroid fields of the Klafe, giant alien creatures that lived in space like whales and bred in an electrical field that they fed on.

It had seemed perfect, beam aboard having hacked into the main frame computer to register Michael as a logged in passenger and take it easy for a while.

It also gave Varran a chance to gain a bit of information about the future. Of course there were rules. No mention of whom he really was or when he came from. No direct involvement in local affairs and no attempts to find any reference to Xereban in human society. Varran didn’t mind any of them visiting the future but he didn’t want to know anything about what might happen to them.

Perhaps they would one day become open, fully fledged members of Earth society, or maybe not. Maybe something happened and Varran had taken the decision for them to leave Earth in the Juggernaught or maybe not.

The future, he had lectured Michael, was a house of cards. If you knew one of those cards told you how and when you would die, you had to leave it in place and walk away. If you fell to temptation and gained that knowledge, you would be tempted to change that outcome and cause the house to fall. But to Michael, there was a fear Varran was hiding behind his reasoning. Could he be afraid of finding he was still alive and the rest of them long gone?

Everything happens for a reason. It was Varran’s reason for going on and a deeply rooted belief for Xerebans. So far, it had stood him well.

So, Michael had done exactly that and yet he still ended up alone in a ship that had carried over three thousand passengers.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the mint green towel hanging on the rail. As he dried himself off, he remembered a time when he had been afraid to stand naked in public, either at school after gym or at the local leisure centre. It was when puberty had been this scary thing which was only happening to him and everyone else was hung like horses and built like tanks.

He had no reason to feel like that. He realised how trivial it was now. He was quite proud of his hairy chest and knew there was a lean mean sex machine underneath this fluctuating exterior.

He hoped.

He could laugh to himself now but his fear had once given the bullies yet another weapon making him withdraw even more.

Still, they were all dead now, hundreds of years ago and he was a man now who had no inhibitions, not the orphan boy with no back up and terrified of going to school. He recalled the mornings he pretended to be sick just to avoid going there. The dark dread of being there when his gran didn’t believe him and the constant looking over his shoulder when he was there.

He had grown restless after his O levels, a feeling that he didn’t belong at school and there was something else he should be doing. It was like you had lost something but didn’t know quite what it was you had to find to fill the void.

Of course, he never in a million years thought fighting alien threats and time travel was what he was missing from his life but what the hell. He had been given a unique opportunity and he had grabbed it with both hands. It made him feel complete almost; that all the bullying and isolation had been worth it. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, a little voice whispered at the back of his mind.

If there had been one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that it could change in an instant. The fact that he’d discovered he was descended from survivors from a dead planet actually hadn’t been that mind blowing. It was like being told your great grandfather had been from Estonia. It was interesting but didn’t feel like it had any real impact on his life. Bills still had to be paid, he still had to go to work, debt collectors came to the door and his love life was pretty crap.

Chatting up girls had never been his strong point, all thanks to the bullies destroying his self-confidence, almost making him believe his own worthlessness. Worse still, he had fallen for the wrong girl the first time round, spending all his time as her friend and desperately hoping she would love him as much as he loved her. And it was true what they said. Bullying affects you for the rest of your life and in his case, Michael faced most of it on his own, withdrawing into a world of movies, books and a concrete coat of shyness

Forgotten Villains: The Banshee from Darby O’Gill

By Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

I was recently made aware of just how many movies and television shows the younger generation have never heard of, never mind seen. So to that end, we look back at some characters you really need to see before you kick the bucket.

When you mention the word villain immediately images of Darth Vader, Blofeld or the Daleks come to mind. But there are many equally memorable villains that have scared us or made us nervous at some time in one-off moments.

The banshee from the classic Darby and the Little People isn’t a villain in the true sense but she is a threat to Darby (Albert Sharpe) and his daughter Katie (Janet Munro).

As kids, the banshee terrified us. When the electricity went off in a power cut during the winter, we would sit by candlelight as sometimes it took hours to come back, In that time our aunt and mother would tell us stories of spooky and ghostly things that had happened to them over the years. There were stories of dead relatives returning, phantom horse carriages that only showed up during lightning storms and poltergeists.

But the biggest spectral terror lay in the stories of the banshee. Her mournful cry would echo out across the land heralding the death of some unfortunate. My aunt claimed to have seen one perched on an upper floor window ledge, wailing and combing her hair, patiently waiting for the soul to pass. All banshees had long golden hair and a scream to chill your very soul. Families were gather round the bed of their dying loved one clutching rosary beads and praying to God futilely to make the unearthly screaming stop. The banshee is a creature of purpose. Her job is to be near as the dying breath their last. She doesn’t collect souls or possess anyone; all she can do is mourn the upcoming passing. It was said she would target the families with a prefix on their surname like O’Brien or McDonald. Even the Irish spelling of a surname tags you for a visit; Quinn in Orish is spelt O’Coinn or McCuinn so I’m on her list when my time comes.

Imagine a dark winter’s night. The remote countryside is tarred with a blackness that swallows your very ability to see your hand in front of your face. Your home is lit by lamps and curtains are pulled tight. Your nearest neighbour is half a mile away and the cattle and sheep are like statues in blanketed fields. Only owls and bats dot the skies. There is a chill in the air as the wind itself holds its breath. A waxen moon hides behind ink clouds. Suddenly a sorrowful wail echoes out across the dark. The fearful occupants of the house stare in nervous terror at the closed curtains, their hands clasped together in prayer. They know death is on its way as the wails reverberate in their very chests. If they found a comb outside when the day broke, it must be left where it lay because it could belong to the banshee. Darby choose to hide the face and long hair aspects of the banshee but the effect is the same. Not seeing this ghostly face as it hovers down towards you triggers your imagination as to what lies beneath the hood. Many witnesses claim they saw her perched on something near the house wailing and combing that long hair in anticipation of the last beat of a heart.

The banshee is the Bigfoot of Irish and Scottish lore and Darby O’Gill is the only movie that successfully uses Irish myth to scare the life out of the audience. I vividly recall watching it in the Frontier cinema and this huge wailing golden figure bearing down on Darby and the injured Katie ready to take her away in the death coach. Despite the beautiful golden form, the hood hid the face of the banshee as it swoops down from the sky. To us little people she was a giant and we screamed and buried ourselves in our seats. It was as if the banshee was bearing down to grab us. It was a moment of pure cinematic magic that happened nearly fifty years ago but I see it as plainly now as it happened then. It’s part of the reason I fell on love with the cinema and movies.

The banshee is eternal and can never be defeated. She is the guardian of the dead passing into the light. When you hear that scream you know life is about to end and change at the same time. She will not kill or hunt you down. She mourns alongside the family and in a way she brings comfort. She announces the passing of the person and that their suffering will soon be over. The fact the banshee comes from another realm is hope that the dearly departed will also go to heaven. The banshee’s wailing presence is as if she is announcing a new soul going to the light. She is a contradictory being; associated with horror yet their purpose leads to the successful transfer to heaven.

Never again has another person successfully touched an audience with a banshee as Darby did. And in this head and all the heads in that cinema that day, the banshee will forever be alive and well.