Prompt: Re-write the first chapter of Junji Ito’s “Sensor” in an Irish setting.
It was about a year ago. I was up in the hills near Muckross House. Da would take me up there when I was small. It’s a beautiful spot. You can see the lakes down below, and Carrauntoohil peaking up from behind you. The Carraunbit means sickle. It’s not a big mountain. The folks in Kenya and Nepal have us well beaten. I climbed it one year with da. I was only a pup, and he was a smoker of thirty years. I looked down on Muckross and the lakes. It was some spot.
Back to that day anyway, I was wandering around Muckross by meself. Da was awat. A forest surrounds the old manor house. I walked into the forest to be away from the tourists, I suppose.
As I walked, there was a bit of a clearing. I felt something touch my face. I thought it was silk. Some poor spider’s home I had barged through. But no, it was a fabulous gold colour. It was delicate, melted away like dry kindling in the fire. It reminded me of the stories. Da used to tell of the other folk. ‘Twas important to keep your wits about you.
I continued on and came upon a young man. Looked in his thirties, save for a few fair strands hidden in the black mop. He was away with it. I gave him no mind and tried to walk on, not wanting to bother him. It was only when I passed, he said, “You’re one of Maher’s, aren’t you?” I don’t know how he knew. He hardly looked at me. “Sure, I might be,” I says back to him. “We were told you’d be coming,” he said. The golden threads danced around him like a cloud of ash.
“You’ll come by the house, won’t you?” he said. An instruction disguised as a question.” I need to be back before the father gets worried,” I said. “T’is no need for that, Seamus, we’ll have you sorted,” he said. I followed the man through the forest. I spotted a well-trodden path. He kept tight to it. He didn’t want to disturb those living in the tall grass.
The trees began to part ways. We arrived at a grand farmhouse. Its roof was thatched with the golden thread. The very same kind that greeted me earlier, A gold veneer covered the roof, fields, and paths. It gave everything a luster. It wasn’t a cheap shine; a craftsman blessed this place.
I thought to myself, where could it all have come from? It would have taken years to gather. Before I could ask, the man already replied, “It is a gift. Tuathail’s spirit blessed this place. His hair normally fades away, but here it stays.”
We continued on. The sights were something else. The thread was everywhere. It draped over crows like a veil; it flowed down the stream. I saw a man praying by the water. A few strands draped over his bald head.
The man brought me to a guest house on the property. I’d say there was room for no more than twenty folks in the little community. “This our guest, Podge?” the barman said. My guide, Podge, gave him a nod. “We’ll have you looked after, don’t worry. We just need a hand tomorrow, and you’ll be grand.” The bartender said. He had these deep eyes you could get lost in. The blue, with strands of gold all around. It was something else. He poured me a pint. I suppose he knew what I liked by the head on me. “I’ll be back in the morning. We need a hand at mass tomorrow.” Podge said. He had already left before I could protest, but who am I to refuse a favor for a priest?
I return to my drink and the bartender. A few other folk dotted the place. They all had that gold shine about them. Podge said he was expecting me. “Have you any idea what he was on about?” I asked the barman. “It wasn’t just chance. Tuathai said you’d come.” He said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Tuathail,” I said. “Tuathail’s gave us this gift. His golden hair connects us all. He said you’d come, and here you are,” the barman said. The gold shimmer of them all. It was like they were all sharing some quiet song among themselves.
The next day, I was the talk of the town. I had breakfast in the pub, and everyone was eager to say hello. I kept things as quiet as I could. Not like me to be the centre of attention. Podge came to fetch me, and we arrived at a barn made up like a church. A few pews from the local timber, a small cross on the altar. It was no cathedral, but some thought was put in.
There was a bustle in the village. Podge brought some order as he stood in front of the altar. He began a mass anyway. I didn’t know if it was a funny regional mass or if I hadn’t been to mass in a while. The sermon was all over the place. Eventually, Podge looks at me. “And to present the body and blood of Christ, Seamus will join me.” The crowd of them was excited. A few whispers.