"Just hear me out!" He knelt down, lifting the chain and the bench, hooking it back through the eyebolt. Keeping a cautious eye on Cecilia, he sat down gently, wincing as he gave a gentle kick of his legs. The porch swing was silent, gliding back and forth with just the soft rustling of the frame above it. "I know that you like this swing, so I thought I would fix it for you."
Cecilia's ghostly features softened, her hands reaching out to touch the moving chain. She glided gently around Mike, sitting down beside him on the swing. The air by her skin was cool, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft with an Irish lilt to it. Milky eyes staring into the distance, her hand felt along the bench, resting on his knee. "I appreciate it."
"You're welcome. My name is Mike, by the way." Mike tried to stand, but Cecilia squeezed his leg, holding him in place.
"I'm sorry about before." She turned her sightless eyes toward him. "Please stay with me for just a bit. I haven't had anyone to talk to in quite some time."
Mike could think of several things he wanted to do instead, but Cecilia's demeanor was not only drastically different, but he couldn't help but notice just how cute she was.
"Okay, sure. I can stay for a bit."
"Thank you." Cecilia rocked on the swing next to Mike, saying nothing for several minutes. Mike stared at the banshee, more than curious. Her white clothing was simple, but tailor made for her body, and her curls were as white as she was, though they terminated in eerie spikes that spread out around her as if she sat on a Van De Graaff generator.
The chill of her hand was intense through his jeans. Uncomfortable, he slid his hand beneath hers, lifting it slightly.
"I hope this is okay," he told her, as a slight grin crossed her face.
"You're the first man to hold my hand in many years," she informed him. "The last one to do that was-" Her entire body flickered, like a shock had gone through her. "-someone whose name I can't remember."
"Yep." Mike couldn't help but notice how soft her skin was. The longer he held her hand, the warmer she felt. "Now that you're not pissed at me, you don't seem very banshee-ish."
This elicited a frown from Cecilia. "A banshee is what I am, not how I act. It used to be something I was proud to be, a job I was proud to do."
"A job?"
Cecilia nodded. "Every family had its own banshee. It was my job to guide them into the afterlife when they passed. Nobody loves a banshee for what they represent, but they needed us for what we did. Our wails of sorrow were to announce our coming, and we would guide the spirits into the ever after."
"So... the afterlife is real?"
Cecilia nodded. "Very much so. When Emily passed, I was allowed to guide her soul to its resting place."
"That's...wow." That was something to chew on, for certain. "What's it like?"
Cecilia smiled. "You'll find out someday."
"To be honest, I try not to think of it much." Mike winced. "I had a close call when I was younger."
"I can tell. Your soul has a certain polish to it." Cecilia's face broke into a wicked smile. "Tell me, do you-" Cecilia flickered, vanishing from view at the creaking of the front steps. A woman in her forties walked slowly up the wooden stairs, accompanied by a much younger woman. Her long black hair was wound tightly in a bun, but there was plenty left over that it had been fashioned into a long braid beneath it. She wore a simple gray skirt with a modest white blouse. Her dark eyes found Mike, and she paused at the top of the stairs.
"Are you Mr. Radley?" Her tone was formal, the question almost a command.