Corey felt it. He had hoped this day would never arrive—he dreaded it. He cursed, grabbed his bag and headed to Cahercasey.

The door was ajar when he arrived. He feared entering. The place had been the site of many battles, but stood proud, a pillar against the evil within. Corey hesitated before going inside. Please let me survive.

After several deep breaths, he entered Cahercasey. Once inside, the door slammed shut. He was the last allowed to enter. He nodded to his kinsmen, then drew his sword.

The wind picked up and the sky went completely black. The only light—an occasional lightning flash. His heart pounded. Corey felt the sweat rolling down his back. He gripped his sword tighter.

Balor the God of Death arose from the well in the center of the Cahercasey bringing with him, the Sluagh, the dead Irish sinners. Before the well shut, Carmin the witch came forth.

Tabhair neart dúinn chun olc a chaitheamh. (Grant us strength to conquer evil.)

This story is prompted by Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo Thursday photo prompt:  #writephoto.

Stop over and give it a try. You might be surprised at what you can compose.

Leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.


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