The Obsidian Dagger Read Online Free PDF

father is doing some research and trying to look up some family history,” answered Lizzie cheerfully.
    Brendan couldn’t believe his ears. Had she never heard about not talking to strangers? “Lizzie!”
    Ewen jumped up from behind the bar with some aged menus in hand. “Ah-hah! My menus.”
    Molly returned to the bar, tray filled with empty pints and plates. “Menus? Looks more like napkins to me.” She glanced at the kids and winked. “Maybe even toilet paper.”
    The grizzly guy was still keen to learn more about the new comers and continued to press. “What’s your last name then?”
    Fat man chomped on a fried something and added through sprays of food. “Yeah, we may know some of your relatives.”
    Brendan looked back to Lizzie. “Don’t. We don’t know these people.”
    Drinking buddy raised a glass. “This isn’t America, sonny. Everyone knows everyone here.”
    Lizzie was satisfied with that answer. “Our last name is O’Neal.” She smirked at Brendan who was squirming on his barstool.
    The pub fell dead silent for the second time since they had walked in only this time a collective gasp preceded the quiet. All the heads in the room turned to the back corner, which was covered in shadow. The only light came from the end of a lit pipe that had a thin trail of smoke floating up and away from it.
    â€œO’Neal, is it?” came the gruff voice from the corner. The man emerged from the shadow with his pipe clutched in his teeth. His long coat hung large on his shoulders. “Oh, I can tell you about the clan O’Neal.”
    The man stepped forward amidst the silence, his heels click-clacking on the wood floor. His eyes were wild and he was beginning to frighten the O’Neal kids. He stared at the kids and then stopped his march. “We are talking O-N-E-A-L, right?”
    Lizzie nodded.
    â€œLizzie!” Brendan admonished.
    â€œSorry, I can’t stop myself,” she replied.
    â€œIt’s a sad tale, it is. I hate to be the one who has to inform you,” said the man.
    Molly was standing near the bar rolling her eyes. “No you’re not, Finnagan. You love this story.”
    â€œFine then. Let me tell it.” Finnagan cleared his throat like a master storyteller preparing to amaze his audience. “Many moons ago, the O’Neal clan founded a nearby town that they named Corways. I can’t remember why, but they did. Anyhow, several other clans joined them and they were living a right fine life.”
    â€œAll was well, it was,” added the drinking buddy.
    â€œThen the strangest thing happened,” said Finnagan.
    â€œOdd it was. All the townspeople disappeared,” interrupted grizzly.
    Finnagan gave him a look and then continued. “No one knew what happened to these poor, poor people.” Finnagan paused for dramatic affect.
    Drinking buddy leaned forward and whispered, “Magic. That’s my guess.”
    â€œYes, magic,” spat Finnagan, now getting a little frustrated by all of the interruptions. “Since the cursed souls of Corways vanished, the town has remained empty.”
    â€œDead to the world,” added the fat guy.
    â€œNow, there have been folks, sober folks at that, who’ve gone there and brought back all sorts of amazing stories.”
    Lizzie, now getting into the tale asked, “Like what?”
    Finnagan smiled, happy to have control of the story again. “Most come back spooked by noises or claims of seeing things in the greenery, but many have come back with even more amazing claims that make us question their sanity.”
    â€œOr their sobriety,” quipped Molly.
    â€œWhat did they see?” Lizzie asked eagerly.
    â€œWell, when an Irish storm hits, the wind howls and the rain beats down drowning our beautiful land…”
    â€œSeen it,” grumbled Brendan.
    â€œâ€¦But on few occasions, a