A humanoid—supposedly a woman—wanders Ireland. She has walked for centuries. No one knows exactly when, or where she came around, or even why. Most people don't even know her. That's how much our government wants to keep us in the dark, to leave us as her unsuspecting victims. I take it upon myself to tell you about her; what she has done, what she is doing, and what she will do. No one has ever seen her. No one alive, at least.
The few that have sighted this strange creature have never survived. Glances of this mysterious Banshee have been made all over the country. Some of her victims have, however, been able to record their experiences and findings. Most differ on her appearance, and what this thing looks like. But a few key things are always noticed; along with the same method, what the last thing these people see is.
The few things always mentioned are as follows:
(1) Long hair: normally trailing below her waist. The color seems to change throughout different 'lifetimes', and what the victims prefer.
(2) A beautiful voice: where Banshee got her name from. Every single man has mentioned being attracted to her voice.
(3) A white dress: many wonder whether she's married. As Banshee always, no matter the weather or location, wears a white dress bearing resemblance to a wedding dress. Strangely, it's always thought to be Victorian.
(4) Black gloves: for most victims, this is what's seen as the murder weapon. Many babble on about the gloves.
Victim Account
The most recent account of what happened follows. It was recorded on an old tape, presumably the only thing the poor man could find at the time.
Oh, she was so pretty! Long, flowing black hair framed a beautiful, pale face. Her skin looked smooth, like porcelain. I never got the find out whether it felt the same.
She just stood there, in the middle of the street, hands clasped together over the white dress—which was strange. It looked far older than it should have done. It was styled for the 19th century, but looked as though it could have been made seven hundred years before. Her long, black gloves fitted her hands snuggle, she didn't have an inch of bare arm showing.
She kept calling out to me, a beautiful song that only I could hear. It was all so beautiful, yet so strange. I should have known better than to approach her.
The things we did together, before she got me alone. We'd spent the day in a theme park, riding the ferris wheel, sitting on the lonely horses on the carousel. Before she led me into the forest, persuading me to come have a picnic with her. I had waded in way too deep for my own good.
She turned to me, not long before we had entered. She spoke in her wonderful voice, telling me what she would do. How she would enjoy my screams, how she would laugh at my foolishness. I was bewildered by this. Well, up to the point where she slipped her gloves off, and leaped toward me. As soon as our skin touched, unbearable pain raced through my body. It was sheer luck I managed to escape. I thought I was dead. To be honest, I am dead already. I might as well take my own life.
That was yesterday. Night has fallen, and I see a figure outside. I know she has come for me, but I had to make sure someone, at least, knew what happened to me. All I hope is that it is swift. For now, my dear world, it is goodbye.
The recording continued, despite the man ending his speech. If one were to listen, one would hear the gentle voice of a young woman—supposedly this mysterious Banshee—before screams render it impossible to make out. As they die down, the woman speaks again:
"Don't worry, I'll come for you too." You can almost hear the smile in her voice. "You'll get to have a taste of what wonders behold you once you're dead."