Somniphobia
Shannon Devlin, the owner of the Green Man Pub on Old Bridge Road in Puritan Falls, was browsing through the newly released mysteries at The Quill and Dagger bookstore when she felt a strange tingling sensation on her skin. Her gaze immediately darted from the back cover of a Mary Higgins Clark novel to the bookstore window. She could see the Bell, Book and Candle on the other side of Essex Street. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.
When the tingling intensified, Shannon returned the book to the shelf and walked outside. She saw the back of a woman headed up Essex toward the center of town.
Who is it? she wondered.
She crossed the street and walked into the New Age shop. Abigail Cantwell, the proprietor, was putting a supply of incense sticks and burners on the clearance rack.
"Oh, good morning, Shannon," Abigail called, looking up at her good friend. "What brings you here today?"
"A woman walked down Essex Street just a few minutes ago. Was she in your shop?"
"No. The only customer I had all morning was a young man who came in to buy scented candles. Why?"
"I was at The Quill and Dagger, and I sensed her presence. I went out into the street, but all I saw was her back from several blocks away. She's probably just a tourist, but ...."
"But?"
"But she's one of us. I could tell."
"She didn't seek you out?" Abigail asked.
"No."
"Then it's possible she doesn't know she's one of us."
* * *
Three weeks passed during which time neither Shannon nor Abigail gave any further thought to the unknown woman on Essex Street. Then one evening two dinner guests walked into the Green Man, and Shannon felt the same tingling sensation on her skin.
The owner of the pub hurriedly walked to the table where the two were seated, taking the young waitress she employed by surprise since it was not like her employer to wait on tables when the serving staff were on duty. The young server shrugged her shoulders and moved to another table to inquire if the diners wanted dessert.
"Welcome to the Green Man Pub," Shannon announced to the newcomers.
Although the man greeted Shannon genially, the woman beside him was silent.
"This is a nice place," the man said. "It reminds me of a pub I went to just outside of Dublin."
"Thank you. I tried to make the décor as authentic as possible."
"You own the place, do you?"
"Yes," she replied. "My name is Shannon Devlin. Are you folks just passing through?"
"No, we moved to Puritan Falls a few weeks ago I'm Walter Sheedy, and this is my wife, Lisa."
The woman still kept silent, and there was no hint of a smile on her face.
Walter's eyes then went to the menu, and Shannon tactfully moved away from the table. While the couple was deciding what to order, the owner of the Green Man went behind the bar and phoned her friend who was just locking up the Bell, Book and Candle for the evening.
"Hello," Abigail said after reading her friend's name on the caller identification.
"Can you come over to the Green Man? She's here."
"Who?"
"The woman I saw on Essex Street a few weeks back."
"And were you right? Is she one of us?"
"Yes. I'm sure of it. But she hasn't said a word to me, barely looked at me, in fact."
"Well, why don't you say something to her, then?"
"Because she's here with her husband. He seems a pleasant enough fellow, but he's definitely not one of us."
Abigail got into her car, which had been parked behind her shop.
"I'll stop by the pub on my way home. I should be there in a few minutes."
Shannon pressed the END button on her phone and headed back toward the Sheedys' table.
"Have you folks decided what you want?"
"Yes," Walter replied, handing back the two menus. "I'll have the bangers and mash, and my wife will have the shepherd's pie. And to start off, we'll each have a bowl of potato and leek soup."
Shannon again tried to make conversation or at least eye contact with the woman but had no luck.
"I'll put your dinner order in," she told him, "and I'll be right back with your soup and a loaf of fresh baked soda bread."
The door to the Green Man opened, and Shannon was glad to see Abigail, whose short, salt-and-pepper hair had been blown out of place in the autumn wind. There was no need for Shannon to point Lisa out, for Abigail's instincts were as finely honed as her friend's. She immediately took off her coat, walked into the dining room and sat at a table next to the one at which the Sheedys sat.
"It's getting chilly out there," she said, exhibiting no undue interest in either Lisa or her husband.
"I hope this isn't a sign of a cold winter ahead," the man responded.
"I was born and raised in Puritan Falls, and I know everyone in the village. You folks must be new in town."
Abigail looked directly at the woman, who kept her face averted.
"Yes," her husband answered, "we just moved here from New Jersey."
The man then introduced himself and his wife to the owner of the Bell, Book and Candle.
"What do you two do for a living—if you don't mind my asking?"
"I'm a professor of economics at the university in Essex Green, and my wife will most likely be looking for employment after we're all settled in the new house."
By the time Shannon arrived with the soup and bread, Abigail had exhausted all attempts to speak directly with the woman.
"What'll it be tonight, Abby?" Shannon asked her friend.
"Fish and chips and a Guinness."
Abigail bided her time. She was nearly done with her fish when Walter got up and walked to the men's room. Here was her chance.
"So you'll be job-hunting soon. It shouldn't be difficult for someone with your, um, unusual skills to find a job."
"I don't have any special skills except for typing and light bookkeeping. My computer skills aren't that good, and I ...."
"I'm talking about your other skills."
Abigail lowered her voice.
"You must realize your secret is safe with me. Your husband doesn't know, does he?"
The woman stared at Abigail, and her lips firmly closed.
"It must be hard being married to a college professor. That's not the usual type to marry a witch."
"I'm no witch," Lisa said in a soft but firm voice.
"I know a witch when I meet one. I'm not talking about these men and women that put on a pentagram necklace and buy a book of spells and call themselves witches or Wiccans. I'm talking about members of a very old race of people. I'm one and so is Shannon Devlin, the owner of this pub. There are a few others here in Puritan Falls. Why don't you stop by my shop tomorrow when your husband's at work? I'm sure you, Shannon and I will have a lot to talk about."
Lisa's first instinct was to refuse the invitation, but she believed the other woman would not take no for an answer. When she saw her husband heading toward the table, Lisa made an impulsive decision.
"All right. I'll drop by in the afternoon."
Her mission accomplished, Abigail finished her dinner, spoke briefly to Shannon and then headed home.
* * *
The following day Abigail spotted Lisa standing outside the Bell, Book and Candle. She grabbed her cell phone and sent a text message to Shannon at the Green Man.
After hesitating for several minutes, Lisa worked up the nerve to enter the shop.
"I was afraid you weren't going to come today," the shopkeeper said.
"I almost didn't."
"Why don't you come in the back room, and I'll make us some tea?" Abigail said, locking the door and flipping the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED.
"I don't want to take you away from your work."
"Business is slow today anyway."
By the time the water in the kettle began to boil, the bell above the door jingled, announcing that someone had entered. Lisa was startled.
"It's just Shannon."
"Nice to see you again," said the latecomer, who had used her magic to enter through the locked door. "We didn't have a chance to talk last night."
Abigail prepared three cups of tea and produced a plate of brownies she had purchased that morning at The Quill and Dagger's coffee bar.
"It's so exciting to have another witch in Puritan Falls," Shannon exclaimed after taking a bite of her brownie.
"As I told Abigail last night, I'm not a witch."
"You just don't want to believe it," Abigail said. "You can't hide something like that from one of your own kind."
"Didn't you sense, even as a child, that you were different from others?" Shannon asked.
"That's just it," Lisa argued. "I don't want to be different. I want to lead a nice, normal life. I like being married to a college professor and sitting home at night watching television or reading a book while he grades papers. No offense, but I don't want the type of life you two lead."
"Good heavens!" Abigail laughed. "What do you think we do, meet in the woods in the dead of night and dance naked around a fire? We have jobs; we own homes; we pay taxes; we even watch television—not that there's much on these days."
"Movies and books give witches a bad reputation," Shannon added. "All that devil worship and human sacrifice stuff—it's all nonsense!"
"Look, you two seem like very nice people, and I'd like to be friends with you, but can we just not dwell on witches and ancient races? Can't we just talk about ordinary things like fashion, food or current events?"
Shannon and Abigail agreed, and the topic of conversation switched to politics. Since all three women were staunch Democrats, they found a common ground other than the mutual ancient Celtic heritage they shared, and they took the first steps toward becoming good friends.
* * *
On the third Saturday in October, the Sheedys hosted an official housewarming party. Walter invited a few of his fellow faculty members at the university, and Lisa invited the neighbors and her new friends.
"You remember Shannon and Abigail?" Lisa asked her husband when the two women arrived. "You met them at the Green Man Pub."
"Yes, I do. It's good to see you both again."
"Come into the dining room," his wife suggested. "I've got plenty of food. And I've got wine, beer and soda. If you want a mixed drink, there's a bar in the basement."
It wasn't until the party was drawing to a close and more than half the guests had left that Walter got to speak to Shannon and Abigail alone.
"I've been meaning to talk to you both. I'm worried about my wife," he confessed. "She's always had a problem with insomnia, and since we've moved here it seems to have gotten worse. I've suggested she try some mild sleeping pills, but she won't hear of it. Maybe she'll listen to you."
"I'm sure I know of something that can help her," Abigail offered. "We're all supposed to have lunch together on Tuesday. I'll talk to her then."
True to her word, when the three women met at the Chinese Lantern on Tuesday, Abigail mentioned Lisa's difficulty sleeping.
"Insomnia is a problem that's easily taken care of," she said.
"By some kind of sleeping spell, I assume," Lisa said, making light of the situation.
"No, there are herbal teas and methods of relaxation involving breathing patterns. Nothing hocus pocus about it."
"Thank you, but I'm not interested."
"Why not?" Shannon asked. "Do you like tossing and turning at night?"
"I don't need to sleep."
"Everyone needs to sleep," Abigail argued. "Our minds and our bodies need the downtime."
"Not mine. I haven't slept in years, not since I was an adolescent, in fact."
"That's not possible," Shannon insisted.
"You both said that I was a descendent of an old race, just like the two of you."
"Yes, but even witches need their sleep," Abigail said.
"And I told you several times: I'm not a witch. I don't need to sleep because I'm a banshee."
Shannon and Abigail exchanged looks of surprise. Although they knew banshees existed, neither had ever met one.
"So it's natural for you not to sleep?" Shannon asked.
"Not exactly. I can sleep, but I choose not to."
"Why?" both women prompted in unison.
"Because when I'm awake I have remarkable self-control. I never scream. If I sleep, I'm helpless."
"But banshees only scream after someone dies," Abigail said.
"No. Banshees scream to announce a person's death. If I scream in my sleep, someone is doomed to die."
"Surely, you don't blame yourself. People die. It's the natural order of things."
"It doesn't matter. I'm petrified of going to sleep, so you can forget about all your folk remedies. I've made a vow never to sleep again."
* * *
His wife's insomnia continued to plague Walter. When Lisa failed to listen to her friends' advice, he decided to find help elsewhere. A colleague at the college suggested Walter talk to Dr. Lionel Penn.
"A psychiatrist?"
"Yes. Something is preventing your wife from sleeping at night, and she obviously doesn't want to talk to you or her friends about it. Maybe someone impartial, someone trained to listen to people's problems, might help."
Walter first met with Dr. Penn to discuss his wife's condition before suggesting Lisa consult him.
"Hopefully, your wife's inability to sleep is nothing serious," Lionel said. "Perhaps she just has something on her mind that she needs to think through. Worst case scenario is she could suffer from somniphobia."
"Is that serious?" Walter asked.
"All phobias vary in intensity from person to person. Some cases are easily managed or overcome, while others ...."
"To be honest, Dr. Penn, I can't even promise my wife will see you. So far, she's fought all my attempts to help her."
Lionel nodded sympathetically. Many of his patients had to be coerced into making that initial visit. As her husband had feared, Lisa was one of those people. Walter tried every possible approach short of physical force to get her to see the psychiatrist. Finally, he gave up. Ironically, it was the defeated, helpless expression on her husband's face that changed Lisa's mind.
"All right," she capitulated. "If it will make you happy, I'll go see this Dr. Penn. Just don't expect any miracles."
"Don't worry, Dr. Penn has already warned me not to expect an overnight cure."
* * *
At least he's handsome, Lisa thought as she sat opposite the psychiatrist during her first appointment. If I have to sit here for an hour, it'll help having something nice to look at.
Fifteen minutes into the hour Lionel judged her an uncooperative patient. Although she answered all his questions in a polite, friendly manner, she exhibited no desire to be helped.
"You know, Mrs. Sheedy," he said, "some people come to my office just to placate their loved ones. They walk through that door convinced that they're wasting their time. I have a feeling you are such a patient."
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I did come here only because my husband was convinced I needed to talk to someone. I don't. I'm perfectly fine. My poor sleeping habits haven't affected my life in any way."
"They've affected your husband."
"Then maybe he's the one who should be in your office."
Lionel looked at the clock on his desk.
"Well, your husband paid for the hour, what would you like to talk about for the next forty-five minutes?"
Lisa shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't care."
"Your husband tells me you've made friends here in Puritan Falls."
"Yes, I've met two women that I have a lot in common with."
"And what is that?"
Lisa decided to see how the good doctor would handle the truth.
"All three of us descend from an ancient Celtic race. My friends are witches, and I'm a banshee."
Lionel chuckled, and Lisa decided that she would have liked the psychiatrist had they met under different circumstances.
"What's so funny, Doctor? Don't you believe in witches?"
"As a man of science, I would have to say no, but living this close to Salem ...."
"And what about banshees?"
"I don't believe they exist—not even in Salem."
"Well, not only do they exist, but I'm one. That's why I don't sleep. If I scream in the middle of the night, someone will die. I don't want that on my conscience."
Lionel's eyes narrowed. Surely no grown woman in her right mind would believe in banshees, much less claim to be one. But he wasn't entirely sure if she was serious or having a joke at his expense.
"Are you sure you're a banshee and not just a person suffering from somniphobia? There was one man in England who, rather than deal with his fear of sleep, convinced himself he was a vampire. He went to great lengths to support his belief, including filing his teeth and sleeping in a coffin during the day."
"I would think having a phobia is pretty obvious. If I were afraid of the dark, wouldn't I know it?"
"Not everyone recognizes their own fears. Hypothetically, if a child woke up screaming from a nightmare, only to learn that a loved one died, this event—coupled with a familiarity of Irish legends—might lead the child to believe she was a banshee. In reality, it is only a form of somniphobia."
Could it be true? Lisa wondered.
Since the age of thirteen she had been convinced she was a banshee, that her scream could cause death. Had she been suffering from some explainable mental condition all those years?
What I wouldn't give to believe that I'm nothing more than a normal woman with a phobia and not a throwback to the Dark Ages.
"Dr. Penn," she said sheepishly, "If you don't mind, I'd like to come back for another appointment."
"I don't mind at all," Lionel replied, feeling they had made a good deal of progress during the initial visit.
* * *
Throughout the winter and spring, Lisa faithfully kept her weekly appointments with the Puritan Falls psychiatrist. Although she still had not slept, she was becoming more and more convinced that she had been living under a delusion most of her life.
I'm not a banshee; I'm just a woman.
When the spring semester ended, Professor Sheedy and his wife took a three-week trip to the British Isles. Not even the time they spent in Ireland could undo the progress Lisa had made with Lionel Penn. On the contrary, by the time the couple returned to Puritan Falls, the patient believed she was cured.
"You look fantastic!" Shannon exclaimed when Lisa and her husband stopped at the Green Man Pub on their first day back.
"Doesn't she, though?" Walter asked. "That Lionel Penn has worked miracles. She's sleeping like a baby at night."
"I'm delighted to hear that!"
"Yes, thanks to my sessions with Dr. Penn, I've got a whole new outlook on life."
"Why don't we have lunch together on Thursday, and you can tell Abigail and me all about your trip?"
"Sorry, I can't make it on Thursday," Lisa explained. "I've got a job interview. I've decided to get a job for the summer and then possibly go back to school in the fall. Why don't I call you on Friday, and we can arrange something for next week?"
When Friday morning arrived, Shannon woke with an inexplicable sense of foreboding. She picked up her phone and called Abigail, who was getting ready to leave for the Bell, Book and Candle.
"I knew you would call," Abigail said when she answered the phone. "You must feel it, too."
"Something's wrong. Do you know what it is?"
"No, but like Obi Wan Kenobi said, 'I feel a disturbance in the Force.'"
"I'm going to call Lisa, and see if she's all right," Shannon decided.
"Yes, and call me back after you've spoken to her."
Shannon let the phone ring until the machine picked it up. At the sound of the tone, she left a message.
"Hi, Lisa, this is Shannon. Call me when you get this, will you? I've got to talk to you."
By midafternoon, when she still had not heard back from her friend, Shannon drove to the Sheedy house. Lisa's car was in the driveway, but no one answered the door. Her apprehension mounting, she called Walter at the university.
"She's probably still sleeping," he reassured the worried woman. "She had a rough night last night. She must have had quite a nightmare because around three in the morning she let out a blood-curdling scream that was probably heard all the way in Boston."
Shannon closed her eyes, as her dread turned to certainty. When she ended her call with Walter, she pressed Abigail's name in her list of contacts.
"Is she all right?" the owner of the Bell, Book and Candle asked.
"She screamed during the night."
Her statement was met with silence.
"I'm on her doorstep right now. I wish you would come over here. I don't want to go into the house by myself."
After flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED, Abigail left her shop and headed to the Sheedys' Cape Cod on Hawthorne Boulevard. She parked her Subaru Forester in the driveway and ran across the lawn. When she reached the stoop, she took Shannon's hand in hers. With their lifelong friendship and common Celtic background giving them support, the two women used their powers to open the locked door and then went inside.
Shannon did not need to see the body lying on the bed to know her friend was dead. She had already sensed it when she passed the threshold of the house.
* * *
Lisa's death was officially listed as cardiac arrest. Although the woman had no history of heart disease, her husband did not doubt the medical examiner's findings. Why else, he figured, would a healthy young woman die in her bed? Not long after the funeral, Walter Sheedy put the house on Hawthorne Street up for sale. He moved to a condominium in Copperwell, and three years later married a history professor from the college, one who was as normal as he was.
As for Dr. Lionel Penn, while he regretted the passing of his patient, he was unaware of the true cause of death, and therefore had no reason to feel guilty about his unintentional role in it.
Only Shannon Devlin and Abigail Cantwell fully understood the tragedy of Lisa's passing.
"If only she hadn't gone to sleep," Shannon cried after she and Abigail discovered the body. "And we tried to convince her she was being foolish, that there was no danger."
"We didn't know," Abigail said, putting her arm around her friend to comfort her. "Not even witches, with their old knowledge, can be expected to have all the answers."
Although the people of Puritan Falls would continue to live in the blissful ignorance that blanketed the picturesque little village, the wail of the banshee would leave an indelible sorrow in the hearts of the two women who had befriended her.
That god-awful sound is not the wail of a banshee. It's just Salem. He got his tail too close to my rocking chair again.
