It’s another in my continuing series of frightening folk tale characters: my imagining of the Banshee.

I’ve always pictured the Banshee sitting at a crossroads, combing her hair; wailing in despair—or screaming. If you saw the Banshee, the chances were that you’d survive, but a family member wouldn’t. Some theorise that the hair combing was related to the dressing of the dead. And God help you if you ever found her comb and kept it. She’d lay siege to your house—screaming—until you gave it back through a partially opened window; with a pair of iron tongs, lest she take the comb—and your arm! The Banshee’s scream has been ascribed to the unnerving night-time screeches of vixens. But we all know that’s just crazy talk. Nowadays, we don’t only hear those in the countryside, but it the suburbs and city too! As we all know, country foxes have migrated into these built-up areas, but that’s clearly coincidental (and much less exciting).