Blackglen Forest held its sway over the residents of Glencullen. Its overbearing pines cast a colossal shadow over the cowering Hamlet. The shimmering blackness engulfed large portions of the town, seemingly grasping it. Each building, soaked in gloom, pleaded for the sun’s rays to breach the impenetrable forest walls.
In Glencullen, there was an evil left unnoticed by the typical observer. To them, the town seemed reserved, yet tranquil. As if the concept of peace had seeped into the fabric of the borough. To the locals however, a grotesque darkness lingered, leaching into the spirit of the town and sucking it dry. The “Glencullenites” were pleasant, albeit cautious of new arrivals. They treated any entrant to a wide smile and a large serving of Irish politeness. Not many people saw fit to stop in Glencullen as the roads were as soft as the silt they were built on and the local delicacies stopped at boiled chicken dinners. However, what Glencullen lacked in attractions it made up for in strange occurrences.
An Garda Síochána have had their hands full over the years with residents suffering the most unfortunate luck. Last Oíche Shamhna was disrupted (and very much ruined) by a spiralling bonfire which consumed the Flaherty house. As routine permitted, the bonfire was held in the centre of the retreating cul de sac, flanked on all sides by the locals’ sheds and shanties. Each family retrieved what they could in the form of flammable scrap, piling it high. This routine happened every year without so much as a cat being thrown into the blaze.
However, on the last occasion, strong winds and a generous dose of petrol, so kindly spared by Johnny Haige, led to a towering inferno. When the petrol was added, it only took a second for the fire to tower over its audience with an audible “Whoosh!” Everyone was astounded by the incalculable size of the flames as they swayed from side to side like ocean waves. All of their joy was soon replaced by a smattering of shock, panic, and unconscious indifference. The oceanic firestorm had launched scorching droplets towards the Flaherty household, eventually dousing it in flames. The Flahertys watched on in horror as their humble, yet noble bungalow turned to soot and ash. The local Fire Brigade, armed with their “Fire Chief Jaguar”, did their best to put out the blaze, but only managed to contain its spread, sacrificing the Flaherty house. This accident put a stop to the local bonfires, for fear of another house being burnt to the ground. The Flahertys moved out soon after. They were optimistic folk, but found themselves in constant despair at the loss of their property. The blame was shifted towards Johnny Haige, but this did not result in any form of prosecution as all the residents, including the Flahertys, had agreed to add the petrol. The Fire Brigade stated the bonfire as the obvious culprit, but there are conflicting reports of that night. One individual, by the name of Cathleen Doory stated she saw a figure looming in the distance behind the Flaherty house, who sprinted away on all fours once she caught a glance of its shadow. While another resident, Patrick Doherty, implored that he saw the brick walls melt under the fever of the flame, a feat that would have required a tremendous amount of heat. These strange reports were recorded in the witness statements, but were sealed away in the case file as the ravings of attention seeking locals. That is, until Johnny Haige was found amongst his own gollop of soot and ash.
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