#susan: there isn't a banshee in my bedroom

[skyriderwednesday]

False Omens

There was not a banshee, or anything pretending to be a banshee in the attic. The scariest thing about the house's attic is that it had been designated as her bedroom. Or so she thought. -- When Susan's youngest charge claims that there is a banshee in the attic, she is naturally skeptical. After all, the scariest thing meant to be in the attic in this house is her. However, it soon transpires that some spooks are stubborner than others.

(G Rated, 1366 words, Governess Susan)

Also on AO3

Night had fallen. The day’s duties were done. The children were bathed, fed, read to, and put in bed. In front of the bathroom sink, Susan had willed her hair to be braided, and was about to finish brushing her teeth when there was a tap on the door. “Miss Susan?” a small voice said. “Yes?” Susan replied, looking over her shoulder in the mirror. The door opened a crack, and Emily, the youngest of her charges, peeked through it. “There's a banshee in the attic.” Susan set down her toothbrush. “No there isn't,” she said calmly. “Banshees are extinct.” “Do they know?” the child asked, allowing a little more of her face to be seen. Susan turned around and opened the door fully. “I think it would be quite difficult to unknowingly be a member of an extinct species.” “But I heard it screaming…” Emily insisted. Susan studied the mousey little girl, standing in front of her in a pink dressing gown clutching a floppy toy rabbit, and chose her response carefully. “Are you sure that wasn't your brother?” “No!” She shook her head vigorously, knocking a carefully set rag curl loose. “It wasn't Toby!” Susan crouched down, removing one of her own hairpins to put the curl back. “I see, are you sure it wasn't Graham?” She gave her the kind of disparaging look that only a six year old can manage. “Graham sleeps downstairs. It came from the attic.” Mentally, Susan conceded. The baby did sleep downstairs, and it was fairly difficult to mistake down for up. “Emily, do you want me to check the attic?” She nodded, nuzzling her rabbit. “All right, I'll check,” Susan said, standing up. “But even false banshees don't like to be seen by more than one person at once, so you have to go into your bedroom with Mr Rabbit and pretend to be asleep.” Emily thought about this. “I'll come and tell you when it's gone.” She silently conversed with Mr Rabbit, who deemed hiding in the bedroom acceptable. “Very well, go on.” Emily and Mr Rabbit ran off into her bedroom. Susan waited a few moments until she heard the door crack open again. There was not a banshee, or anything pretending to be a banshee in the attic. The scariest thing about the house's attic is that it had been designated as her bedroom. Or so she thought.

Upon setting first foot on the stairs, Susan heard wailing from far away. It's the baby, she thought. But no, it did appear to come from above her. Damn the force of children's belief, they could manifest anything given half the chance and a quarter of an hour too long to think about it.  Once she reached the concerning creak three-quarters up the staircase, the wailing grew louder. She would be having words with the cook first thing in the morning. They had already banned ghost stories twice. And now there's a bloody false banshee in my bedroom… Susan flung open the door. She scanned the room. A long shadow formed in the far corner. “Excuse me,” she said, “this is my bedroom.” There was a faint moan. “Don’t start that. I don’t scare easily and you don’t want to annoy me.” The shadow darkened and lengthened. It extruded from the water-stained wallpaper into a gaunt spectre with an ill-defined pale grey face and grey rags clinging to its misty body. A textbook ghoul. Susan looked at it sideways.  “To my understanding, the last practicing banshee in the city conducts his trade via note,” she said. The ghoul groaned. “You’re a ghoul,” Susan said, “you make stairs creak and rattle the boiler.” The spectre reared back into the corner and let out a high shriek. Susan’s ears shut down defensively. Thank the gods that people unaware of ghouls generally could not hear them, or the adults of the house may have thought she was being murdered. It would be mortifying for them to think she would scream like that. “Stop pretending to be a banshee,” she said sternly.  It stared at her. “Go away.” Nothing. “I’ll use the poker,” she said. Still no response. “If I have to involve my grandfather in this, I'm going to be very upset. My grandfather is a very busy man and calling upon him to resolve a dispute like this will make him late to several important appointments.” Continued nothing. Susan sighed deeply and shut her eyes in resignation. “Very well.”

There were many methods to catch Death's attention, some less humane than others. The one Susan preferred was one of the more polite. It involved covering mirrors and stopping clocks and opening windows. The mirror in this room was already in the wardrobe, which made things easier. Willing her heels to click on the age-worn floorboards, she walked over and stopped the clock on the mantelpiece. Then she opened the window. Finally she placed two age-blackened pennies neatly on the table, and turned her back on the window, the ghoul staring all the while. A chill entered the room and time slowed down. She didn't move, staring forward until she could no longer feel wind on her back and the light returned to normal. GRANDDAUGHTER,  Death said. WHAT IS IT THAT REQUIRES MY ATTENTION? “Hello Grandfather,” she said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your work.” Behind her she knew Death was tilting his head, slightly confused by her formality. IT WAS NO BOTHER, he said. I OFTEN HAVE BUSINESS IN THE CITY. IT WAS JUST A MATTER OF CROSSING THE RIVER. “Still,” Susan said. “I hate to disrupt your schedule.” Death was squinting. I ASSUME THIS IS NOT A SOCIAL CALL. “Unfortunately, no.” AH. THEN HOW MAY I BE OF ASSISTANCE TO YOU? “Are any members of this household due to die in the near future?” I DO NOT BELIEVE SO. WHY EXACTLY DO YOU ASK? “I believe this 'banshee' to be misinformed.” Death turned to look at the creature. He studied it for a moment. THAT IS A GHOUL. he said. Susan turned around to face him. “I know,” she said. “I informed it of that, it refused to listen to me.” YOU ASSUME IT WILL LISTEN TO ME? Susan turned out her hands. “I’m only human, Grandfather. Your words may hold more weight than mine.” Death hummed, rattling the mirror inside the wardrobe. Susan bit her tongue to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. If he broke it, she would have to pay for it. Death turned to the ghoul. YOU ARE NOT A BANSHEE, he said. YOU ARE A GHOUL. It groaned at him. Death straightened, his expression sharpening. CEASE THIS NONSENSE. The ghoul more half-heartedly wailed. BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE. With one final pitiful moan, the ghoul’s form reduced back into shadow and dissipated in the light of the room. Susan allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Grandfather.” YOU ARE WELCOME, Death said. He spread his arms wide. I REQUEST A HUG. All right, she supposed he had earned it. Susan smiled. “Okay, one hug.” She walked into range, and Death’s bony arms wrapped around her. She managed to find his torso amongst the tide of black robes and closed the distance between them, going for the least awkward embrace between a young woman and a seven-foot-tall skeleton she could manage. Death’s head lowered and Susan tried not to wince as he bumped his jaw against her forehead. Kisses were not supposed to be performed by people without flesh, let alone lips. Still, the sentiment was sweet, and she let him let go first. Death smiled. GOOD NIGHT, SUSAN. I LOVE YOU. “I love you too, Grandfather,” she replied. “Good night.” Death turned to leave the way he had come. Time slowed and a cold wind blew. Susan shut her eyes. On the mantelpiece, the clock resumed ticking. Susan closed the window, and opened the wardrobe to check on the mirror. With a frown, she noted that her hair had tied itself up again. Oh well. As she descended the stairs, Susan smiled at the lack of a concerning creak a quarter of the way down.