Combing for Reasons

I comb the banshee’s long hair until she is calm and silent. She is older than the lowest barren hills. Then, a young girls voice issues from her open mouth. “Daddy.” I’m not her daddy, No one knows her father, unless it be the ever-wailing winds. “Daddy” her voice is getting louder, ceiling light-fixtures begin to tremble, a picture jumps to its death from a cringing wall. “Stop it! No one knows anything!” The banshee dissolves into tears and silence. Moments come and go, the locked house door, swings open with a shattering crack. A little girl is at my front step – the screeching from her mouth is mind-shattering. terrible. Seagulls drop like stones from the sky. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An Irish myth. Some interpretations say that combing the Banshee’s hair is the only way to stop her life-threatening bewailing. She is said to foretell of death, but who or what is unclear. This post might lead the reader to think of child abuse, at least I hope so.