Speaker 1: Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's
always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills, and spine
tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights for those
ages eight and up, and while our stories are for
younger years, we are still talking about things that go
bump in the night, and some children may not be
able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended
now for tonights micro Terror. The Hunter's Almanac by Fiona Cosgrove.
Seamus stood outside class on Monday morning, listening to his
classmates gossip about the latest kid to contract the mystery
disease spreading through the school. No way, I wait, Sorry,
she's fine, said Rowan, one of Seamus's friends.
Speaker 2: She's just super tired and a bit mean. Seamus chuckled, mean, Yeah,
she got all annoyed. Did I even went over? Rowhan shrugged. Whatever.
Her parents gave me cookies. I guess that makes up
for it, said Seamus. It's weird, is all I'm saying. Ida,
a mousey girl with blonde pigtails, sprayed her hands with
blueberry scented hand sanitizer twice. Pele's like the camp person
in our school to get it. Baby doo's gas leak,
said Rowan. Seamus bit back a smile. Yeah, definitely a
gas leak. Brohan and Ida were debating whether a ghas
leak would make someone tired, wheezy and apparently mean, when
the classroom door peeled open and folk music heavy on
the fiddle, dripped out. Before Seamus could look inside, the
teacher popped into view and, in a cheery voice with
a thick accent, welcome to them in, Coby in, comey in,
It's so nice to meet you. She wore a white
button up cardigan over a green dress with tiny leprechauns
printed on it, and her bright red hair was pulled
into a plate that trailed down her back. Rowann elbowed
Seamus as the class filed in. Check out the holemark bubbit.
Seamus snorted at the green tinsel decorating the cornices, the
shamrock bunting hanging from the ceiling, and the cutout pots
of gold pinned to the noticeboard. I wonder if she's
got all, he began, but his voice trailed off. The
teacher had flitted back to her desk, walking straight past
the whiteboard on the ledge proudly displayed was a green
leather book with gilded edges and a title emblazoned gold
Bay of the Emerald Isle. Seamus's chest tightened and he
felt a familiar scratch in his lungs. He wheezed in
a deep breath, then instinctively grabbed his inhaler, taking a
quick puff. Good not you too, Rohan laughed, heading to
the back of the class. Seamus didn't respond. He eyed
the new teacher with renewed curiosity, watching as she beamed
as every kid took a seat. Thank you everyone, she said.
After most of the kids had sat down, Seamus was
the last to find his seat next to Rohan, his
hands white knuckling the desk, his gaze still fixed on
the book. My name is Missus Flanagan, said the teacher,
and I should probably noticed mister Chang is not feeling well,
so I've subbed in for the day. You may also
have noticed miss planning and wandered around the class, tugging
at random pieces of green string hanging from the bottom
of the shamrock, funting that I spent a little time
decorating this morning. It's quite a special day today. Anyone
know what day it is shot up all across the classroom.
Miss Flanagan scanned throws of eager students before landing on ida, Yes,
i'da nearly bound it out of her seat, Saint Patrick's day.
That's correct, Miss Flannigan, sheeered my favorite day of the
whole year, a day to celebrate the cultural identity and
national pride of the people of Ireland, and to celebrate
the world of the fay. Seamus's breath hitched in his
throat the what Rohan said, fairies, breathed Seamus. She said, fairies.
Miss Flanigan looked at Seamus and smiled, seemingly pleased. That's right,
faith out all fatties as they are most commonly known
of a rich lineage in Irish folklore, also known as
Kotick folklore. Oh, then Rowhann slumped his seat. You mean
not only do we still have to lurd but we're
learned about fairies. Okay, Okay, I get it, said Miss Flanagan.
You hear fairies and you think think Belle Pixie dust,
glitter wings and magical wishes. Right followed the class nodded,
except Seamus, who was still staring at the book. But
fairies in Ireland who were not like this at all.
In fact, the faithfolk we are known to be the
darkest of creatures, creatures that cursed families, haunted houses, and
even stole children, Oh muttered Rohan, sitting up straighter in
his chair of listening. Miss Flannagan had just started talking
about Celtic mythology and the Land of the Fay when Seamus,
unable to hold his tongue any longer, raised his hand.
Oh yes, said Miss Flannigan. Up the back there the
book was all, Seamus said, Ah, yes, the book. Miss
Flannigan walked over to the whiteboard and picked up the
hefty tome. This beauty is a family heir loom and
the source of all my knowledge. Seamus's skin tingled. He
clenched his fists, crippling sense of fear nipping at his heels.
He hadn't seen a book like that for decades more,
nor had he seen the odor at one in Who's that,
ask pointing at the projector screen that had a stilled
image of a black horse with a leather clad rider
astride it. In one hand, the rider held a whip bone,
white constructed of what looked like a human spinal cord
and in the other its own head. Seamus leaned forward,
whispering to himself. The dullar hen Ah, the headless Horseman,
explained Miss Flanigan, more anciently known as the Dullan. It's
one of the most terrifying dark Faye where's his head?
Speaker 1: I just squeaked.
Speaker 2: There are plenty of theories, said Miss Flanagan, everything ranging
from a fallen soldier to a bloodthirsty deity to a
ghostly apparition. But she reached for her book, Shamous Tensing
in a seat. I think the phase real identity is
something much darker. She clutched the book to her chest
as she strode around the room. I think the headless
Horseman is a collector of souls, a guide, if you will,
into the other world. There were ooh and aws and
an audible squeak from a few of the girls. Seamus
listened to Miss Flanagan's explanation of the horsemen, watching as
she flipped the pages of the book to find the
chapter on the Dulla. Hand She opened the chapter and
showed the class the hand drawn picture of the rider
in his steed and the carriage that he sometimes appeared
with the pages of the book were the color of
stained tea, the parchment fragile and fine. Seamus's fingers itched
to hold it, but he had to tread lightly. Okay, everyone,
Miss Flannigan addressed the class. This is going to be
a video playing up the front and some handouts to
go with them. I'll be coming around to drop off
the sheets if everyone can get out some pens and pencils.
The classroom filled with a cacophony of students at work.
Drawers were pulled open, bags were unzipped, and fins began
scratching the tops of papers, carving their names into the worksheets.
Seamus held his breath as Miss Flanagan approached. There you go, boys,
she said, placing the worksheets in front of them. Wicked,
said rohan In, immediately writing his name at the top.
Seamus sniffed the air, the faint scent of something ancient,
something powerful, drifting off this substitute teacher. He kept his
eyes down, uncertain of what he was smelling. Quickly he
scanned the page. On the right side was a list
of fay everything from selkies to banshees to the obvious leprechauns.
On the left were their traits, their characteristics. It was
a worksheet on how to identify faithfolk. Where'd you get
it from? Seamus blurted out. Miss Flannagan stopped, her brow
furrowing the worksheets the book. The teacher smiled, her eyes
warming with a particular kind of fondness. My grandmother when
she passed. It was given to me as he was
given from her grandmother before her. Shamus inhaled and he
could smell it now, the bloodline he was faint, watered
down over time, lost to this modern world, but it
was still there, still present, still slithering within her veins.
Miss Flanagan stared at Seamus for a moment, perhaps waiting
for a flicker of emotion on his stone face, but
it was taking all of his efforts to not shipt
his skin right there in the middle of class. After
a long pause, Miss Flanagan gave Seamus a quick smile,
then continued handing out the worksheets. The video at the
front took the class through the Emerald dial, scanning fields
of lush green, circles of fungi and toadstools, and soaring
over mistcovered mountains, all the while showing videos and images
of the faith folk. Miss Flannagan narrated each image, detailing
how the banshee would comb her hair as she walked
moonlit streets, wailing a grief stricken warning of a death
to follow, or how selkies would hide their gray pelt
on beaches and walk as a human on land, and
how marrows often lured sailors into the sea with their
angelic voices, only to devour them beneath the waves with
their fish like teeth and scaled bodies. There was one fae, however,
that was not mentioned. Despite Miss Flannigan clutching her book,
the pages filled with wisdom passed down through the ages,
Seamus sat quietly, watching and waiting, calculating his next move.
By ten thirty, when the bell rang. After listening to
Miss Flanagan and her seemingly limitless knowledge, Seamus knew what
he had to do. All right, everyone said Miss Flannigan,
turning up the lights and pausing the Projector there's fifty
more time after, he says, to explore the world of
the fee. Bring your sheets up to the front, then
grab something you eat, soak up the sun and get
ready to learn all about the Pookah and the warning
of the glowing yellow eyes. The class buzzed with excitement
as kids dragged their bags from their desks and spilled
into the hallway. You cubby, roe Anne asked Seamus, hovering
in the aisle. Seamus nodded, sliding his pencil case into
his bag. I'll meet you out there. Roe Anne followed
the rest of the kids as they shuffled out of class,
taking with them the excitement and noise of the morning.
Miss Flannagan was flipping through her book when Seamus reached
her desk, a little whiz whistling in his chest. He
placed his work sheet in front of her, his name
written in cursive at the top, Seamus, She read, with
a little perk in her voice. Did you know the
name Seamus is Irish? Seamus nodded, I did, indeed, he really.
She leaned back in her desk, hands clasped in her lap.
Are your parents Irish? Seamus looked down at the book,
the gold edges shimmering, I said Seamus, letting himself slip
into his more natural tongue. My mom and dad were
born an island AS's Eye. We moved here when I
was just a wee boy. This f's shoulders tightened. Her
eyebrows twisted into a line across her forehead. That book,
Ris Flannagan, It's not a book of fatty tales? Did
you know that the book? It had been a while
since Seamus last let the glamour slip, but as he
loosened his grip, he felt the comfort of his old
skin nudge at his flesh. It's an almanac, Miss f
shifted in her seat and almanek a guide, if you will,
said Seamus, on how to destroy us. See miss I'm sudy,
I'm not quite following, I know, he said, and I
almost feel bad. He exhaled, releasing the loosest of threads
from his skin. With a tasty shiver. He blinked back
his once green eyes, letting the dark swell in his
body and rise to the surface. He opened them again
and looked upon Miss Flanagan. He knew the glamour was fading.
Her body shook, her hands quivering as she leaned away
from Seamus, her chair sliding back a foot. Seamus took
the opportunity to pick up the book. It hummed for him,
energy billowing from the spine. You see, Miss Flanagan, this
book is not a collection of fairy tales and stories,
but lifetimes of wisdom and research. Is here is a
hunter's almanac. Miss Flannigan shook her head. Seamus felt the
last that the glamour disappear. Pointed teeth pierced his gums,
sending his human molars clinking to the floor. The tips
of his ears curled into points, and the bones beneath
his flesh slipped and cracked, forming sharper edges along his shoulders, hips,
and feet. Black moles rose to the surface of his face,
tufts of hair sprouting from them. Woo woo what? Miss
Flannigan choked back the rest of her words, but Seamus
was feeling generous. He opened faye of the Emerald dial,
opened to the last chapter and began to read. Changelings
grotesque creatures with nimble fingers but weak hearts. They steal
human children to detain and serve the Fay in the
other world. In their place, they leave behind a sickly fay.
They could change the skin and their voice to imitate
that of an earthly being, but no matter how long
they live in the light, they will always be tethered
to the dark. Changelings have the ability to open portals
to the other world, allowing Fay to move freely between
our world and theirs. Seamus hissed, his forked tongue flickering
between his thin lips. He looked up from the book,
addressing a pale white Miss Flanagan. Grotesque is a strong word.
How much I like that your ancestors used that one
beauty I think is in the eye of a holder,
wouldn't you say? Miss Flannigan's eyes searched the classroom, her
chest shaking as she drew in a series of painful gasps. Finally,
her gaze landed on the door. Seamus shook his head.
Don't Miss Flanagan moved first, springing off her chair. She
moved fast, surprisingly so, but Shamus, in his faith, m
moved quicker. Shadows gathered at his fingertips, swirling into a
dark cloud that knocked over the teacher and sent desks
into walls. The cloud grew and twisted until a dark
vortex pried itself open in the middle of the room,
and the sound of thundering hoofs echoed around them. From
the dark portal, a midnight steed galloped through the headless
horseman on his back, raising his spine like whip behind them,
with an inky apparition of a carriage. Seamus bent down
to Miss Flanagan, whispering in her ear, I'm almost sorry
you are no hunt. That is clear what I wager
your grandmother was. Perhaps she was even part of the
clan that nearly wiped out my kind in Cork, sending
a scrambling for new lands. Either way, I cannot risk
you realizing your power, for I enjoy this world too much.
But don't worry. There are plenty of your kind in
our world, and you never know, maybe you'll enjoy it.
The other world is full of all the fae you
do so admire. Then, with one heave of his arms,
he tossed Miss Flannagan towards the carriage. The smoky shadow
swallowed her whole. Then the horseman turned. He raised his
whip and brought it down a wisp of a door,
billowing open just long enough for a creature made of
all bone, and seeing you with pointed ears and a
forked tongue to scuttle out on all fours, Seamus nodded
to the horseman, thanking him in an ancient language. The horseman,
his head still tucked under one arm, bowed his body. Then,
with the whip of a spine, the steed reared and
galloped back through the portal, taking with it the inky
carriage and the dampened please of the substitute teacher. As
the last of the carriage disappeared and the portal snapped shut,
Seamus looked upon the changeling at his feet rise. He instructed.
The changeling rose, its bones, snapping and crunching into position.
Seamus pulled the glamour over himself, feeling the familiar tightness
of human flesh creeped back over his body. The change
lay watched him, studying him. Then it too, pulled a
glamour over itself, fair skin, freckles and a thick mane
of red hair, a green dress, white cardigan, and a
beaming smile. Perfect, said Seamus. The new Miss Flannagan cleared
her throat a horrible, wet accordion like sound, and then muttered,
this body feels squeaky. Sliding the Hunter's Almanac into his bag,
Seamus chuckled. Yeah. He rolled his shoulders, a series of
pops running down his spine. It's his own bones, settle,
you get used to it. Just before we entered the hallway,
He paused and glanced back. Have we sat Patrick's name?
Miss Flanagan, The substitute teacher's lip curled, stretching into a sinister,
in human grin. Have we seen Patrick's day? Say miss?
She replied, the telltale wheeze creaking in her borrowed luans.
If you like this story and you'd like to hear
more from Fioda Cosgrove, visit her website Fiodacosgrove writer dot com.
Coming up next week on micro Terrors scary stories for kids.
Remember when Cthulhu ate a cheeseburger a couple of years
back in the show, Well he's back, and this time
he's jones in for a hot dog. Kthulhu ate my
hot Doug's coming at you in one week. In the meantime,
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Darren Marler. Thank you all for being such dedicated micro
Terrors listeners, and we'll see you next week. Oh Ben,
I'd be Saint Patrick's today. Don't forget to wear green.
You know what happens if you don't.
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