Note: best enjoyed in the dark under candlelight.
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Some people swore that the Lake Isle of Innisfree was haunted. A very few. But most people didn’t believe it. The lake isle was such a small, secluded, peaceful place. Of course ghosts and fairies didn’t inhabit the little hump of land. The late, great Mr. Yeats himself wouldn’t have written such a famous poem about finding peace, and tourists wouldn’t want to come see it for themselves if it were. But then there were those who had different experiences.
On what seemed like just another day in July, picturesque in the sense that rain did not threaten the land below and the sun shined with glittering force, two young college graduates stood at the end of the narrow dock, the lake isle in their sights.
“There it is.”
“Yep.”
“Well, it’s quaint. Looks peaceful. But I don’t get it.”
“What?”
“What Yeats saw. What’s so great about it? I see no purple glow.”
“It’s not noon. Maybe we should go there, and see for ourselves.”
“You mean, like arise?”
Leo grinned and shook his head.
“I think Yeats was a crazy bastard. Ms. Sidney, too. We spent a whole month talking about this damn poem. I thought, if nothing more, maybe angels would fly out of the trees and sing us a melody.”
“I don’t remember that in the poem.”
“I was just . . . expecting a little more than this . . . thing.”
“Well, we’re standing on a damn dock. Let’s go there. Hell, let’s stay the night even. Camp out.”
“Can we do that?”
Leo shrugged. “I don’t see anything that says otherwise. We came to Ireland on a whim to be adventurous.”
“And drink.”
“Besides, who’s around? No one.”
“Well, I guess that’s true.” Edgar looked around. “There really is no one around. Where the hell is everyone? I haven’t seen anyone since we’ve been out here. Not even a boat. It’s kind of creepy.”
“Who cares? Let’s go.”
And they did just that – “borrowed” a little rowboat and rowed out to the now famous Lake Isle of Innisfree. Once on the miniature, sorry excuse for an island, Edgar was even more disappointed. There was nothing special about this little place – other than the lack of other individuals. With nothing better to do, the two young men found a good, dry spot for their sleeping bags, set up a pitiful fire, and passed between the two of them a half full bottle of Jameson. They were very generous with each gulp, knowing that there was another bottle tucked safely away in Leo’s pack. And as they slowly started to get drunk, they watched the sun fade below the lake.
Edgar was half asleep when he heard a low whisper.
“I will . . . go . . . alone.”
He sat up. “What’d you say?”
Leo had been poking at the dying fire and had not heard him. It was then that Edgar heard a rustle in the bushes. He looked over, expecting to see a raccoon, possum, deer even, but nothing appeared.
“Are there animals on this island?”
Leo shrugged and plopped down on a log. “Sure. It’s nature, right?”
As Edgar was reaching for the second bottle of Jameson, a low growl came out from the trees behind him. He jumped up, knocking over the bottle, and searched through the dark, but again found nothing.
“Watch it!” Leo yelled, saving the rest of the booze from spilling all over the ground.
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
And as if on cue, a voice – coming from neither Edgar nor Leo – said as clear as day, “I will arise and go now.”
The two locked eyes on one another.
“What the hell was that?”
“Who’s there?” Leo called out into the darkness.
But there was no reply.
“Maybe we should put the Jameson away.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
Leo stuffed the bottle back into his pack, but Edgar was sure that what they had heard was more than just alcohol. He was about to voice this thought to Leo when he heard another growl from behind him. As he jumped up once more, this time he saw a dark figure just before it disappeared into the background.
“There’s something out there!”
“It’s probably just an animal.”
Before Edgar could protest, the unknown voice spoke again. “A small cabin build there . . .”
“Hello?” Leo called.
The voice grew angry. “Nine bean rows will I have.”
“Hey man, seriously,” Edgar said to darkness. “What gives?”
“. . . and live ALONE!” it yelled from behind them.
Leo and Edgar jumped around and saw the glowing shape of a man retreating back into the bushes.
“What the hell was that!”
Without waiting for a response, Edgar picked the flashlight up from off the ground. He turned it on and started in the direction the man had gone in, but before he got far, the light went out, and would not go back on. He turned back to Leo.
“I just put batteries in this thing. Whatever’s going on, or whatever joke someone is trying to pull on us isn’t funny.” He turned back towards the darkness. “You hear that? We’re not laughing! Stop being a pussy and come back here!”
“Edgar,” Leo started, but before he could finish, the fire suddenly burned out.
“LIVE ALONE!” the angry voice boomed.
The boys looked around, but could see nothing.
“For peace comes dropping slow,” it continued.
“What the hell . . .” Leo trailed, looking but seeing no source to the voice that seemed to swirl around them.
“Midnight's all a glimmer . . .”
A rock came hurling at Edgar. “Son of a . . .”
“Always night and day . . .”
Another rock struck him in the side of the head.
“Sounds by the shore . . .”
Leo tried to dart out of the way of the invisible attack, but was ambushed by an army of hard clay pellets.
“Peace . . .”
“Stupid ass!” Edgar yelled.
Appearing from vapors, the glowing man came again, charging at Leo and Edgar. “I shall have some PEACE,” it hissed.
Both Leo and Edgar stepped back with fright, and fell backwards over a log. The glowing man hovered over them – a towering man, they could see, with wild grey hair covered in filth, wearing a pair of cracked round glasses with the left eye blacked out and an old, stained suit and a striped bow tie. His one eye glared at them with fury.
“PEACE!” he boomed again.
Leo and Edgar were too frightened to move, afraid of what this ghostly image would do.
“What do you want?” Leo finally stammered.
“Arise and GO!”
With that last word booming in their ears, Leo and Edgar bolted up and ran towards the little boat they had arrived on. As they ran, they heard not only the ramblings of one pissed off ghost, but a loud buzzing as well. The buzz graduated to a roar as a giant swarm of bees oozed out from the trees behind them. The stinging cloud chased after them until they were completely off the isle and rowing frantically towards the mainland.
Though neither one of them wanted to admit it, the ghost looked rather familiar. And after that night, the two college graduates couldn’t look at or hear a certain poem or name without cringing or having their hairs stand on end. Poetry was never the same again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of ghost stories, The Green Ribbon was my favorite when I was little. My friend had the book In a Dark, Dark Room and Other Scary Stories, and every time I went over to her house, I'd snatch it off the bookshelf and gobble it up. Oh, memories.
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