The House on Fionn Grove
When the O’Malley family moved into the weathered Georgian manor on Fionn Grove, they thought they had found a dream home at an unbelievable price. The estate agent had been vague about its history, brushing off the property’s past with a quick, “Just an old place—needs a little love.”
But from the moment they arrived, Ferra O’Malley couldn’t shake a creeping unease. The house loomed on the edge of the woods, its windows staring like blind eyes, walls seeming to whisper when the wind picked up. Her husband, Cillian, always laughed at her worries, “It’s old, Ferra,” he said, ruffling their son Declan’s hair. “Old houses groan!”
Ferra nodded, trying to convince herself it was just her imagination, but she still felt it deep inside her: something in the house wasn’t right.
The House’s Secrets
It began with small things. First, Declan swore he heard footsteps in the hall at night. Then, Ferra found doors ajar that she had locked before bed. The pipes groaned incessantly, and the sound always seemed to come from the basement.
Cillian shrugged it all off by saying, “Settling foundations,”. “You’re too tense, love,” he exclaimed.
But Ferra knew better, for she felt the weight in the air as though the house itself was watching her.
The final straw came one evening when Ferra was unpacking boxes in the dining room. She heard a soft, muffled sobbing, like that of a woman weeping. And what’s more, it came from inside the house! She followed the sound to the basement door, where the sobbing got louder.
She felt it best not to proceed alone, so she called out to her husband, “Cillian?”. But she got no response. Her heart pounded as she reached for the doorknob.
The sobbing stopped.
The Cries Escalate
Days turned into weeks, and the O’Malleys grew accustomed to the eerie wails that would rise and fall at odd hours of the night. Even little Declan began waking up in tears, claiming to have seen a shadowy woman standing at the foot of his bed.
“She was crying,” he whispered to his mother one morning. “But when I asked if she was okay, her face—her face changed.”
“What do you mean, love?” Ferra asked with a trembling voice.
“She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was wrong.”
Ferra felt the icy fingers of dread creep down her spine.
Reaching Out for Help
Quinn came to visit one rainy weekend, sceptical of the tales. She dismissed Declan’s stories as nightmares and Ferra’s fears as overwork. “You’re just letting the new place get to you,” she said, sipping tea in the dimly lit kitchen. “Old houses are like that—drafty, noisy. The creepy stuff is all in your head.”
But that night, Quinn also woke screaming. She swore someone had been sitting on her chest, pressing the air from her lungs. There was no one else in the room.
Declan, hearing her describe the sensation, turned pale. “That is exactly how it feels, mom, when she’s near,” he whispered.
The Wailing Woman
Thus, determined to uncover the truth, Ferra decided to read up on the town’s history. She visited libraries, streamed documentaries, and surfed the internet day and night, finding evidence that pointed to but one woman – a woman who had lived in the house a century ago. Sadly, she was abandoned by her husband after the death of their child, just to be shunned by the community. And thus, a heartbroken, destitute Brigid had thrown herself into the well in the basement, her wails echoing through the stone walls for days before her body was found.
“She’s trapped here,” Ferra told Cillian, concern in her voice. “Her sorrow, her rage—it’s all tied to this place.”
Cillian shook his head. “Ferra, now you’re letting stories get to you. Brigid Callahan is long dead.”
“But she isn’t gone?” Ferra whispered.
The Reveal
The O’Malleys couldn’t deny the truth any longer when Declan vanished one night. They searched the house frantically, calling his name until they heard his voice coming from the basement.
“Mom? Dad?”
The sobbing began again, louder this time and accompanied by a low, guttural growl. The door was jammed, so Cillian broke the door open, and they descended into the darkness; the air grew colder with each step.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Declan, pale and trembling. And behind him was a looming figure, that of a woman.
“Brigid Callahan,” Ferra thought.
“You took my child!” she hissed with anguish and rage.
“We did not!” Ferra cried, mustering up enough courage to step forward. “Brigid, he’s just a boy! Please, let him go! Show some mercy.”
The spirit’s form flickered, but her presence filled the room with an oppressive and suffocating energy.
The Climax
Cillian immediately grabbed Declan and pulled him toward the stairs, but the basement door slammed shut, and Brigid’s wails rose to a deafening pitch. Shadows crawled on the shaking walls like living things, wrapping around Cillian’s legs and pulling him back.
“Let him go!” Ferra screamed.
She remembered the stories and the pain Brigid had endured.
“You lost your child,” Ferra managed to say, with tears streaming down her face, “but he’s not the one who hurt you! It’s not his fault!”
“It’s not fair,” she whispered. “It’s not fair!” It was a brief moment when the spirit paused.
The room grew still as Ferra whispered, “You don’t have to stay here, Brigid; you can find peace.”
A Lesson for All
As Ferra continued to speak to the spirit, the basement began to fill up with a faint, odd light. The spirit’s form softened, and her rage dimmed, turning into sorrow. And with a final wail, she dissolved into thin air. All that was left behind was a sad, broken silence.
The next day, the O’Malleys moved out and left the cursed house behind. But Ferra promised herself that she would share their story with anyone who would listen, warning them of the danger of places steeped in tragedy. She wrote articles about it, published them on her social media, and even spoke about it on Television.
“Not all pain fades,” she would say. “And some wounds haunt the living. Don’t forget to listen to the past, and never, ever ignore its warnings. If a place feels wrong, trust your instincts. Leave before it’s too late.”
