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Speaker 1: Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's

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always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills, and spine

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tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights for those

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ages eight and up, and while our stories are for

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younger years, we are still talking about things that go

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bump in the night, and some children may not be

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able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended

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now for tonights micro Terror. The Hunter's Almanac by Fiona Cosgrove.

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Seamus stood outside class on Monday morning, listening to his

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classmates gossip about the latest kid to contract the mystery

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disease spreading through the school. No way, I wait, Sorry,

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she's fine, said Rowan, one of Seamus's friends.

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Speaker 2: She's just super tired and a bit mean. Seamus chuckled, mean, Yeah,

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she got all annoyed. Did I even went over? Rowhan shrugged. Whatever.

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Her parents gave me cookies. I guess that makes up

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for it, said Seamus. It's weird, is all I'm saying. Ida,

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a mousey girl with blonde pigtails, sprayed her hands with

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blueberry scented hand sanitizer twice. Pele's like the camp person

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in our school to get it. Baby doo's gas leak,

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said Rowan. Seamus bit back a smile. Yeah, definitely a

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gas leak. Brohan and Ida were debating whether a ghas

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leak would make someone tired, wheezy and apparently mean, when

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the classroom door peeled open and folk music heavy on

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the fiddle, dripped out. Before Seamus could look inside, the

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teacher popped into view and, in a cheery voice with

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a thick accent, welcome to them in, Coby in, comey in,

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It's so nice to meet you. She wore a white

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button up cardigan over a green dress with tiny leprechauns

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printed on it, and her bright red hair was pulled

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into a plate that trailed down her back. Rowann elbowed

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Seamus as the class filed in. Check out the holemark bubbit.

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Seamus snorted at the green tinsel decorating the cornices, the

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shamrock bunting hanging from the ceiling, and the cutout pots

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of gold pinned to the noticeboard. I wonder if she's

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got all, he began, but his voice trailed off. The

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teacher had flitted back to her desk, walking straight past

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the whiteboard on the ledge proudly displayed was a green

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leather book with gilded edges and a title emblazoned gold

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Bay of the Emerald Isle. Seamus's chest tightened and he

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felt a familiar scratch in his lungs. He wheezed in

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a deep breath, then instinctively grabbed his inhaler, taking a

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quick puff. Good not you too, Rohan laughed, heading to

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the back of the class. Seamus didn't respond. He eyed

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the new teacher with renewed curiosity, watching as she beamed

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as every kid took a seat. Thank you everyone, she said.

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After most of the kids had sat down, Seamus was

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the last to find his seat next to Rohan, his

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hands white knuckling the desk, his gaze still fixed on

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the book. My name is Missus Flanagan, said the teacher,

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and I should probably noticed mister Chang is not feeling well,

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so I've subbed in for the day. You may also

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have noticed miss planning and wandered around the class, tugging

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at random pieces of green string hanging from the bottom

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of the shamrock, funting that I spent a little time

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decorating this morning. It's quite a special day today. Anyone

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know what day it is shot up all across the classroom.

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Miss Flanagan scanned throws of eager students before landing on ida, Yes,

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i'da nearly bound it out of her seat, Saint Patrick's day.

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That's correct, Miss Flannigan, sheeered my favorite day of the

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whole year, a day to celebrate the cultural identity and

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national pride of the people of Ireland, and to celebrate

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the world of the fay. Seamus's breath hitched in his

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throat the what Rohan said, fairies, breathed Seamus. She said, fairies.

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Miss Flanigan looked at Seamus and smiled, seemingly pleased. That's right,

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faith out all fatties as they are most commonly known

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of a rich lineage in Irish folklore, also known as

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Kotick folklore. Oh, then Rowhann slumped his seat. You mean

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not only do we still have to lurd but we're

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learned about fairies. Okay, Okay, I get it, said Miss Flanagan.

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You hear fairies and you think think Belle Pixie dust,

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glitter wings and magical wishes. Right followed the class nodded,

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except Seamus, who was still staring at the book. But

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fairies in Ireland who were not like this at all.

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In fact, the faithfolk we are known to be the

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darkest of creatures, creatures that cursed families, haunted houses, and

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even stole children, Oh muttered Rohan, sitting up straighter in

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his chair of listening. Miss Flannagan had just started talking

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about Celtic mythology and the Land of the Fay when Seamus,

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unable to hold his tongue any longer, raised his hand.

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Oh yes, said Miss Flannigan. Up the back there the

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book was all, Seamus said, Ah, yes, the book. Miss

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Flannigan walked over to the whiteboard and picked up the

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hefty tome. This beauty is a family heir loom and

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the source of all my knowledge. Seamus's skin tingled. He

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clenched his fists, crippling sense of fear nipping at his heels.

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He hadn't seen a book like that for decades more,

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nor had he seen the odor at one in Who's that,

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ask pointing at the projector screen that had a stilled

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image of a black horse with a leather clad rider

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astride it. In one hand, the rider held a whip bone,

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white constructed of what looked like a human spinal cord

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and in the other its own head. Seamus leaned forward,

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whispering to himself. The dullar hen Ah, the headless Horseman,

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explained Miss Flanigan, more anciently known as the Dullan. It's

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one of the most terrifying dark Faye where's his head?

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Speaker 1: I just squeaked.

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Speaker 2: There are plenty of theories, said Miss Flanagan, everything ranging

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from a fallen soldier to a bloodthirsty deity to a

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ghostly apparition. But she reached for her book, Shamous Tensing

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in a seat. I think the phase real identity is

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something much darker. She clutched the book to her chest

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as she strode around the room. I think the headless

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Horseman is a collector of souls, a guide, if you will,

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into the other world. There were ooh and aws and

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an audible squeak from a few of the girls. Seamus

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listened to Miss Flanagan's explanation of the horsemen, watching as

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she flipped the pages of the book to find the

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chapter on the Dulla. Hand She opened the chapter and

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showed the class the hand drawn picture of the rider

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in his steed and the carriage that he sometimes appeared

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with the pages of the book were the color of

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stained tea, the parchment fragile and fine. Seamus's fingers itched

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to hold it, but he had to tread lightly. Okay, everyone,

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Miss Flannigan addressed the class. This is going to be

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a video playing up the front and some handouts to

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go with them. I'll be coming around to drop off

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the sheets if everyone can get out some pens and pencils.

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The classroom filled with a cacophony of students at work.

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Drawers were pulled open, bags were unzipped, and fins began

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scratching the tops of papers, carving their names into the worksheets.

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Seamus held his breath as Miss Flanagan approached. There you go, boys,

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she said, placing the worksheets in front of them. Wicked,

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said rohan In, immediately writing his name at the top.

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Seamus sniffed the air, the faint scent of something ancient,

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something powerful, drifting off this substitute teacher. He kept his

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eyes down, uncertain of what he was smelling. Quickly he

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scanned the page. On the right side was a list

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of fay everything from selkies to banshees to the obvious leprechauns.

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On the left were their traits, their characteristics. It was

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a worksheet on how to identify faithfolk. Where'd you get

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it from? Seamus blurted out. Miss Flannagan stopped, her brow

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furrowing the worksheets the book. The teacher smiled, her eyes

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warming with a particular kind of fondness. My grandmother when

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she passed. It was given to me as he was

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given from her grandmother before her. Shamus inhaled and he

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could smell it now, the bloodline he was faint, watered

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down over time, lost to this modern world, but it

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was still there, still present, still slithering within her veins.

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Miss Flanagan stared at Seamus for a moment, perhaps waiting

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for a flicker of emotion on his stone face, but

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it was taking all of his efforts to not shipt

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his skin right there in the middle of class. After

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a long pause, Miss Flanagan gave Seamus a quick smile,

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then continued handing out the worksheets. The video at the

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front took the class through the Emerald dial, scanning fields

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of lush green, circles of fungi and toadstools, and soaring

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over mistcovered mountains, all the while showing videos and images

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of the faith folk. Miss Flannagan narrated each image, detailing

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how the banshee would comb her hair as she walked

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moonlit streets, wailing a grief stricken warning of a death

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to follow, or how selkies would hide their gray pelt

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on beaches and walk as a human on land, and

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how marrows often lured sailors into the sea with their

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angelic voices, only to devour them beneath the waves with

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their fish like teeth and scaled bodies. There was one fae, however,

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that was not mentioned. Despite Miss Flannigan clutching her book,

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the pages filled with wisdom passed down through the ages,

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Seamus sat quietly, watching and waiting, calculating his next move.

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By ten thirty, when the bell rang. After listening to

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Miss Flanagan and her seemingly limitless knowledge, Seamus knew what

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he had to do. All right, everyone said Miss Flannigan,

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turning up the lights and pausing the Projector there's fifty

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more time after, he says, to explore the world of

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the fee. Bring your sheets up to the front, then

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grab something you eat, soak up the sun and get

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ready to learn all about the Pookah and the warning

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of the glowing yellow eyes. The class buzzed with excitement

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as kids dragged their bags from their desks and spilled

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into the hallway. You cubby, roe Anne asked Seamus, hovering

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in the aisle. Seamus nodded, sliding his pencil case into

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his bag. I'll meet you out there. Roe Anne followed

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the rest of the kids as they shuffled out of class,

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taking with them the excitement and noise of the morning.

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Miss Flannagan was flipping through her book when Seamus reached

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her desk, a little whiz whistling in his chest. He

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placed his work sheet in front of her, his name

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written in cursive at the top, Seamus, She read, with

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a little perk in her voice. Did you know the

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name Seamus is Irish? Seamus nodded, I did, indeed, he really.

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She leaned back in her desk, hands clasped in her lap.

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Are your parents Irish? Seamus looked down at the book,

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the gold edges shimmering, I said Seamus, letting himself slip

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into his more natural tongue. My mom and dad were

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born an island AS's Eye. We moved here when I

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was just a wee boy. This f's shoulders tightened. Her

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eyebrows twisted into a line across her forehead. That book,

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Ris Flannagan, It's not a book of fatty tales? Did

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you know that the book? It had been a while

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since Seamus last let the glamour slip, but as he

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loosened his grip, he felt the comfort of his old

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skin nudge at his flesh. It's an almanac, Miss f

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shifted in her seat and almanek a guide, if you will,

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said Seamus, on how to destroy us. See miss I'm sudy,

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I'm not quite following, I know, he said, and I

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almost feel bad. He exhaled, releasing the loosest of threads

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from his skin. With a tasty shiver. He blinked back

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his once green eyes, letting the dark swell in his

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body and rise to the surface. He opened them again

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and looked upon Miss Flanagan. He knew the glamour was fading.

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Her body shook, her hands quivering as she leaned away

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from Seamus, her chair sliding back a foot. Seamus took

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the opportunity to pick up the book. It hummed for him,

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energy billowing from the spine. You see, Miss Flanagan, this

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book is not a collection of fairy tales and stories,

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but lifetimes of wisdom and research. Is here is a

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hunter's almanac. Miss Flannigan shook her head. Seamus felt the

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last that the glamour disappear. Pointed teeth pierced his gums,

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sending his human molars clinking to the floor. The tips

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of his ears curled into points, and the bones beneath

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his flesh slipped and cracked, forming sharper edges along his shoulders, hips,

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and feet. Black moles rose to the surface of his face,

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tufts of hair sprouting from them. Woo woo what? Miss

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Flannigan choked back the rest of her words, but Seamus

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was feeling generous. He opened faye of the Emerald dial,

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opened to the last chapter and began to read. Changelings

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grotesque creatures with nimble fingers but weak hearts. They steal

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human children to detain and serve the Fay in the

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other world. In their place, they leave behind a sickly fay.

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They could change the skin and their voice to imitate

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that of an earthly being, but no matter how long

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they live in the light, they will always be tethered

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to the dark. Changelings have the ability to open portals

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to the other world, allowing Fay to move freely between

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our world and theirs. Seamus hissed, his forked tongue flickering

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between his thin lips. He looked up from the book,

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addressing a pale white Miss Flanagan. Grotesque is a strong word.

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How much I like that your ancestors used that one

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beauty I think is in the eye of a holder,

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wouldn't you say? Miss Flannigan's eyes searched the classroom, her

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chest shaking as she drew in a series of painful gasps. Finally,

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her gaze landed on the door. Seamus shook his head.

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Don't Miss Flanagan moved first, springing off her chair. She

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moved fast, surprisingly so, but Shamus, in his faith, m

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moved quicker. Shadows gathered at his fingertips, swirling into a

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dark cloud that knocked over the teacher and sent desks

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into walls. The cloud grew and twisted until a dark

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vortex pried itself open in the middle of the room,

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and the sound of thundering hoofs echoed around them. From

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the dark portal, a midnight steed galloped through the headless

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horseman on his back, raising his spine like whip behind them,

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with an inky apparition of a carriage. Seamus bent down

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to Miss Flanagan, whispering in her ear, I'm almost sorry

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you are no hunt. That is clear what I wager

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your grandmother was. Perhaps she was even part of the

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clan that nearly wiped out my kind in Cork, sending

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a scrambling for new lands. Either way, I cannot risk

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you realizing your power, for I enjoy this world too much.

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But don't worry. There are plenty of your kind in

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our world, and you never know, maybe you'll enjoy it.

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The other world is full of all the fae you

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do so admire. Then, with one heave of his arms,

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he tossed Miss Flannagan towards the carriage. The smoky shadow

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swallowed her whole. Then the horseman turned. He raised his

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whip and brought it down a wisp of a door,

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billowing open just long enough for a creature made of

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all bone, and seeing you with pointed ears and a

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forked tongue to scuttle out on all fours, Seamus nodded

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to the horseman, thanking him in an ancient language. The horseman,

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his head still tucked under one arm, bowed his body. Then,

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with the whip of a spine, the steed reared and

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galloped back through the portal, taking with it the inky

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carriage and the dampened please of the substitute teacher. As

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the last of the carriage disappeared and the portal snapped shut,

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Seamus looked upon the changeling at his feet rise. He instructed.

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The changeling rose, its bones, snapping and crunching into position.

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Seamus pulled the glamour over himself, feeling the familiar tightness

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of human flesh creeped back over his body. The change

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lay watched him, studying him. Then it too, pulled a

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glamour over itself, fair skin, freckles and a thick mane

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of red hair, a green dress, white cardigan, and a

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beaming smile. Perfect, said Seamus. The new Miss Flannagan cleared

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her throat a horrible, wet accordion like sound, and then muttered,

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this body feels squeaky. Sliding the Hunter's Almanac into his bag,

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Seamus chuckled. Yeah. He rolled his shoulders, a series of

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pops running down his spine. It's his own bones, settle,

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you get used to it. Just before we entered the hallway,

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He paused and glanced back. Have we sat Patrick's name?

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Miss Flanagan, The substitute teacher's lip curled, stretching into a sinister,

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in human grin. Have we seen Patrick's day? Say miss?

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She replied, the telltale wheeze creaking in her borrowed luans.

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If you like this story and you'd like to hear

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more from Fioda Cosgrove, visit her website Fiodacosgrove writer dot com.

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Coming up next week on micro Terrors scary stories for kids.

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Remember when Cthulhu ate a cheeseburger a couple of years

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back in the show, Well he's back, and this time

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he's jones in for a hot dog. Kthulhu ate my

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hot Doug's coming at you in one week. In the meantime,

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be sure to head on over to micro terrors dot

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com for all the latest updates. To check out our

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merch store and become one of the Terrified by joining

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copy at the fan club, exclusive book Swarm of Corn,

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participate in the upcoming live QNA with micro Terror's writer

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and creator Scott Donnelly, but so much more. I'm your narrator,

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Darren Marler. Thank you all for being such dedicated micro

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Terrors listeners, and we'll see you next week. Oh Ben,

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I'd be Saint Patrick's today. Don't forget to wear green.

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You know what happens if you don't.

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Speaker 1: Thank you for listening to micro Terrors. Join us each

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Saturday for another scary story. For more fun, visit our

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website at microterrors dot com, where you can get the

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