The wind blew hard against the 19th century Irish mansion in plain dislike, cold harsh rain had just began to slow to a drizzle and the storm might just be beginning to pass. The wind's angry yell sounded like Wolves calling to each other in their doleful howls.
Inside the mansion sat young Lydia, not yet seventeen, she was quite busy with her writings. Mother was downstairs in the sitting room, reading a book by candle light, and Daddy was probably in his den, drinking himself to a early grave.
Her handwriting was graceful, each letter sliding into a long slant as she wrote the events of her story onto the stained parchment with her fountain pen.
Her Mother's voice made her head snap up. Mother was downstairs, yelling again, and Lydia could hear her Father's drunken slurs and obscenity. Another day, another fight.
Tears prickled into her eye's, but she set back to her writing; she knew she mustn't get into the fights, not even a word. They were not her business, and she would rather to stay out of it instead of receiving painful blows from Father for intruding into their squabbles.
There was a sudden crash, as if something had hit another thing or had fallen over, and there was no longer any noise from downstairs.
Perhaps Daddy had thrown something again? Or had he gone hostile like the time before?
Lydia didn't know, but she was sure everything was not right. She pushed her chair backwards and rose from it, striding towards her door to check on her Mother.
The sudden, loud bang that erupted from it stopped her in her tracks.
"Lydia?" her Father called through it.
"Daddy, is Mummy alright?" she asked, her heart beating against her chest cavity in a unnatural way.
"Darling Lydia, open the door. Do it for Daddy."
Her subconscious told her not to open it, she backed away from the door to other side of her room. Something wasn't right, something happened downstairs...
"Lydia!" He was screaming now, his patience deteriorated from the alcohol he consumed. "Open the damn door!"
"No!" she cried, fear was overcoming her now.
"Open the door!"
A swishing noise and a loud bang as he brought something heavy down against the wooden door.
Lydia gave a shriek in fear as the noise rang in her ears, and her Father brought the object down against the door again.
"Leave me alone!" She was in hysterics now. "Daddy leave me alone! Go away!"
She was flat against the wall now, tears began to roll down her soft cheeks.
"Lydia," He screamed. "Open the damn door!"
She began to sob as the banging on the door continued, over and over again.
Her voice was hoarse when she said, "Daddy, you're scaring me. Please! Stop it!"
The door suddenly split and her Father blasted the object into the door, making a hole large enough for her to see him and the item he held: a hammer.
She gasped and backed towards her window for a quick escape if needed, and she grabbed for her poker, the one she used for her evening fires, for her own safety.
Even though she was across the large bedroom, when he placed his face inside the hole she could see the bloodshot, drunken eyes of her Father narrow down at her.
"Lydia, Sweetheart..." his voice was now lowered, in a mock sweet voice. He was trying to lure her, she knew it. Her cries became sobs. He placed his arm through the hole and extended his hand towards her, in a welcoming gesture. "Open the door for Daddy, please. Honey, Daddy just wants you to see what he showed your Mother."
She shook her head, she was gasping in her sobs.
"Lydia!" he roared, now showing his true self. "Open this door! I'm not joking!"
He drew his arm back and his yell of anger made Lydia jump, and he brought the hammer down upon the door with horrible strength, breaking the wood and splitting it at least a foot. He launched his arm back inside, now able to reach the lock, he began to twiddle with the chain.
She let out a shriek and moved closer to the window in a blind panic, he had just unlocked the chain and was opening the door.
She made a jolt to the window, leaving the poker behind, and opened the window for her escape as her father advanced on her, making his way across the room in a few quick bounds.
He grabbed her by the hair and snarled in her face, the smell of alcohol made her feel nauseated.
His eyes were quite unfocused and the hammer in his right hand dangled from his hand in a drunken manner. The hammer was ridden with blood, along with his shirt and hands.
"Daddy," she sobbed, grabbing at the hand that held her by the hair. "Daddy, please. Please don't do anything, please Daddy."
He pushed her backwards towards the window that she had opened, she prayed that she had not opened the door for her own death. He was strong, and she could not stop him as he pressed her body out the window, so that she sat on the sill and he faced her.
"Lydia, stop crying. You know how much Daddy hates you crying," he hushed her, but she continued to gasp and sob harder. He gave her a faking push and made her scream, he began to laugh. "See Lydia? I'm not going to push you off. I won't kill you that way."
"Daddy, please let me inside." she cried.
"Lydia, stop saying please. I do not like you to plead." He said.
"Daddy," she choked on her sobs, scared for her life. "Daddy, please!"
"I said don't plead!" he screamed in her face, and swung with his right hand.
A crashing pain in her left temple, her fathers face, the sky, the ground, it was all spinning, and then it was black.
New York, November, 2008.
The Airport was noisy and bustling as it always was in late November. Guestss in a hurry pushed past each other and made a run to get to their plane on the right time, everybody was either coming home from visiting a friend for Thanksgiving, or going to their family's house to spend the month for Christmas.
32-year old Emmett Wilson walked through the giant crowd of people, holding his twelve year old daughters hand for dear life.
Emmett was a widower, his wife had died just six years ago when she suffered a tragic car crash while coming home from her Mother's. Elain, their daughter, had been six and was awaiting her Mother's return more then Emmett was when the crash happened. The little girl was devastated, and Emmett was left heartbroken.
Now Emmett was taking Elain to Ireland, the place where he grew up, down in the Wicklow Mountains of Wicklow. They were taking a plane to Dublin, then taking another plane to Wicklow. He had searched online and found a peaceful mansion east of the town he grew up in, the Mansion was on a Moor and surrounded by swamps and bogs, but it was peaceful and the photographs of it did it justice.
He had called up the number on the site as soon as he could and asked for a price range and to see the mansion.
Elain did not enjoy the idea half as much as Emmett did, but she loved her Father dearly and would do anything he wanted her to.
Emmett and Elain wove their way through the maze of people and finally made their way to Terminal Five.
"Elain stay right here by the water fountain," Emmett told her, he smoothed his black hair down and straightened his shirt. "Let me go give the ticket. Don't move at all, please."
Elain nodded, watching her father leave. He was skittish and nervous with her, and his life naturally, and she could almost understand why.
Elain took mostly after her Mother, she had the same exact long nose her mother had, and the heart shaped face. She had inherited Emmett's naturally black hair, and the straightness, but she was her Mother's child by far.
She had been very sheltered after her Mothers death, but it was obvious why with Emmett so skittish about death now.
She heard him speak about Ghosts a few times in her lifetime, her earliest Memory was Emmett telling her Mother that he had seen his Mother's Ghost, and spoke to her.
Elain wanted to believe him, and she did to a point, but her lack of seeing the Ghosts kept her from fully believing him.
Emmett came back to her, smiling. "Good. Alright, the plane will be leaving soon. We got here right on time, which is new for me." Elain smiled at him, she knew her Father had a tendency to be late.
He grabbed her hand and they went to sit down, to wait for the announcement. "Elain, I know you will love the new house. Ireland is beautiful,"
Elain nodded, pressing her head against his side. "I hope I will like it, Daddy, it looked pretty in photographs."
Emmett nodded, "and it has some interesting history, too."
"Everything in Ireland does," Elain replied.
Emmett chuckled and rubbed her arm, and together they waited for their flight.