John Murray Lewis is the winner of Vol 2 – 39. He lives in Mississauga, Ontario with two cats, one wife, and one baby. He writes for a marketing agency by day and by night he writes for whoever will listen. Often, the cats.
Margaret did as she was told, carried her baby across the moor to St. Kilda’s Barrow. She’d named him Ian, after his father.
She had to be brave, like Ian’s father, brave Father Macquaig. How he had trembled when she brought the baby to his rectory door, when she told him the child was his, when they prayed together; when he told her, then, of the baobhan sith and how it could only be sated by the blood of the chosen child—this very child!—sacrificed in the barrow of St. Kilda.
The barrow was close now, an island in the mist…
Something was not right. Father Macquaig had instructed her to remove the entrance stone, but the stone was already gone.
Inside the barrow, Margaret found another village girl, Agnes, cradling a bloody bundle.
“The chosen child,” she cooed. “His own daughter…”
“Brave Father Macquaig’s!” Agnes said, weeping reverently.
Beneath Margaret’s cloak, Ian laughed for the first time.