Darby flicked his head and a light appeared at the front of the room. It circled around him like a spotlight. “Slight change of plans,” he said. “I will be your guest lector this morning. We have much to cover and an inadequate amount of time to learn it because you weren’t supposed to delve into banshees until next term.”
The class began to buzz with excitement.
“And that,” he sighed, “is precisely why Ardor Westfall suggested we jump the curriculum. For some reason, newburies find these dismally dangerous demons to be fascinating, but I can tell you there should be not such enthusiasm. There have been various sightings of banshees in our territory, and many think it sport to battle them.” The light around him grayed. “That would be as foolish as a human jumping into a tank to battle a great white shark. Something tells me that you wouldn’t be lining up for that one.”
Without warning, a life-size image of a banshee flashed in front of the classroom, resulting in a handful of screams. Alex shivered violently when the maniacal eyes bored into her through the gangly threads of its greasy white hair.
“Banshee,” Darby began, “in the physical world is derived from Irish myth as an omen of death. The Irish weren’t far off. They just had it backwards. A banshee does not warn someone of their imminent death; it can often be the cause.”
Alex’s stomach tightened. She attempted to take notes, but her hand trembled too much.
“A banshee’s shriek can cause heart attacks in the bodied, but only to those who have an uncharacteristically vast sense of hearing. Most humans cannot hear the scream at all, even if the beast is hovering right next to them.”
Alex shivered again.
“Celtic Christians had an even more accurate description for banshees. They called them ‘fallen angels,’ which in a sense is correct. The scariest aspect about a banshee is that you or I could all too easily become one of these decrepitly hollow creatures. A banshee is simply a spirit like us whose mind has been shattered. It still exists but in pieces. Now I’m not saying we’re angels, per se, but we could be mistaken for them.”
It was hard for Alex to believe that this vile being had been born from a normal spirit. The image zoomed in on the banshee’s face. She couldn’t bear to look at it. Her whole being zinged with discomfort.
“Folklore mistakes banshees to be only female, probably due to their frail frames and, sorry to say it, ladies, but female spirits have a higher tendency to lose control of their minds. Don’t shoot the messenger,” Darby said defensively. “I’m just citing statistics. A banshee remains in this world because he or she still has somewhat of a mind, though it doesn’t function. If you notice the features of its face—” Dr. Darby gestured with such vigor that the momentum caused the image to ripple.
The image billowed like an enemy flag, floating towards her. Alex felt heavy, clammy, distressed. She hunched forward and cradled her throbbing head in her hands, and appropriately on cue, a rumble of thunder resonated outside.
“The purple rings under its eyes are something to be thankful for. Banshees have no reason, no thought processes besides the will to survive. They’ve gone back to their primal instincts, like wild animals. They barely function enough to realize that they need sleep, so eventually they just fall to the ground in a heap. The more tired they appear the less strength they have, and thus the better chance of your survival.”
Alex raised a trembling hand.
Darby didn’t seem surprised. “Do you need some air?”
Alex shook her head. If she left class now, there would be nothing else to fill her mind besides the low wail echoing in her ears. “Why are they so strong if they have little brainpower?”
His face brightened in surprise. “Very good question. Just because a banshee can’t control its mind doesn’t mean the power is gone. A banshee has nothing else besides force. It isn’t thinking about what it is doing, nor does it care, since the mind is broken.”
“And by broken, you mean … what?”
“Without repair. A completely maniacal being without a thread of sanity. Unfortunately, we all have demons stitched into the patchwork of our souls. We cannot allow them to become strong enough to rip us apart.”
“Does it happen in life? Or just in the afterlife?”
“Both. Strength of soul has nothing to do with the condition of the mind. A body without mental sanity can still transition into the afterlife.”
“There’s no treatment?”
“There are theories. Research. No cure thus far, however.”
Alex thought of the way the creature thrashed and convulsed in a rain of sparks. “Why the frenzy of electricity?”
Lightning flashed outside and the projection of the banshee flickered.
Darby shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight dress pants. “Fury. They can’t control anything, let alone their feelings.” He took a step closer to Alex. “Do you mind if I ask you a question about the one you encountered? What did you do to anger it?”
Jack guffawed beside her. “I heard she sent it flying across town.”
Reuben scooted his chair even further away from Alex.
“What does it sound like?” Joey Rellingsworth asked.
Alex glanced at Dr. Darby, who gave her the go-ahead by waving his hand.
“It’s hard to describe.” Her peers leaned toward her, listening with morbid fascination. Even Tess widened her bored, hooded eyelids. “The worst part wasn’t so much the sound of the scream, but the pain like arrows being shot into my brain.” Alex cupped her skull with her hands. “I can still feel it if I think about it.”
Darby flinched. “Unfortunately, that never goes away.”
“You’ve heard it too?”
“Only once.” He pulled his sleeves back to reveal a maze of scars. A girl next to him gasped. In some places, circular gray contusions marked his thin arms like rocks had skipped across a lazy lake and left permanent imprints. In others, it looked like a whip had cracked against his skin, indenting his arms without altering the pigmentation, like the skin had simply been scooped out.
“It attacked me even though I didn’t provoke it. It was so close I had to use my bare hands. This is from the electricity.”
Newburies stood up to get a better look at his battle wounds. “How did you survive?” Linton asked.
“I ran at it. I threw my entire body at the creature. I’d been fighting it so long I figured doing so would either kill me much faster or it would save me. Thank goodness it was the latter. It wounded both of us enough to end the fight. When I awoke, all I had left were the scars.” He gently replaced his sleeves. “Such a lengthy exposure should have been detrimental to your mind, Alex. The fact that you sit here with us now is nothing short of a miracle. You must be pretty durable.”
Of half-crazy herself.
“What could’ve happened?” Linton asked.
“If she had been exposed to the scream long enough, it would have driven her to the point of insanity. Within minutes she would have lost everything that makes her who she is, and she would have become one of them.”
Alex could have heard a pin drop in the classroom. No wonder the Patrol had behaved so oddly after they’d found her. They thought her mind had surrendered to the scream.
Joey gasped. “It can’t kill us?”
“Not by wailing.” Dr. Darby shook his head. “Remember, you exist because your mind exists. A banshee’s scream causes the mind to crack into pieces. Those pieces are still alive, but broken apart, they cannot function. It’s a fate worse than death. Your mind no longer belongs to you.” He flicked his hand and the image changed to a drawing of a banshee hovering over a lifeless human form.