§142

‘I was walking home one night when a rustle began in a hedgerow to my right. Being from the country, I put it down to a badger or fox out hunting. That thought soon fled when the rustling followed my every step. I increased my pace, so did my unseen friend’s. I got really worried, when, on encountering a gateway in the hedgerow, the rustling transferred to the other side of the road. By now I was petrified, but pig-headed enough to not show it. My companion followed me for another half-mile. Then came the part I will never forget: the hedgerow rose above the road to about my shoulder height. It became sparse, thin, more barbed wire than foliage. I turned my head sideways, and there, blotting out the stars, was a shape about three feet tall. It was bulky at the waist, wide at the shoulders. If it was looking at me, I could not tell, but it stood for a moment, as I did, before I ran the last mile home. If it followed me, I cannot tell, for the blood was thrumming in my ears. When I reached my house, I collapsed in the door. My older brother was up, and he saw my state. He still says to this day that my hair was standing on end.’ ‘Only seen a silhouette. Three feet tall. Stocky. Could not make out attire.’ ‘Rustling among hedgerow. No music, or vocal utterings.’ ‘[Did the place have a reputation?] In Ireland it’s hard to find a place that’s not aligned with some ghost, spirit or otherwordly being.’ [It was a] fairy, me and my brothers have seen what we believe to be ghosts – this wasn’t one.’ ‘Lately I have been researching ancient Irish history – going back to the myths and legends. We have a myth that Ireland was inhabited by a race called the Tuatha De Danann (people of the Goddess Danu) when the Formorians invaded. It’s said the Tuatha De Danann fled underground. Now a myth is a myth, yet each myth carries a kernel of truth. Thank you for taking the time to hear my story.’