Hollister was returning home when she heard the piercing scream–not the shrieking of the squall she fought, but something more sinister.
She ran.
The banshee floated outside her home. Hollister thought of her husband inside.
She threw open the door. “Ronan!”
She heard nothing but a hissing sound. She gagged on a smell like sulfur.
Gas leak!
The banshee appeared, a malicious grin distorting her face. “Hello, Granddaughter.”
The house exploded.
Hollister became aware after leaving her body. The banshee remained, but began to fade.
“Mamó?”
“It’s your turn, Granddaughter.”
Hollister opened her mouth and shrieked into the night.
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
class="motion-reduce"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>