When Irish eyes are dyingBreath chills till time is over,Death pulls slowly gravewardTo rest 'neath sod and cloverIreland Sweet ErinThe Emerald Isle. In the bright and bonnie light of day, it is a place of beauty, history, and good humor. Of rolling green hills and stone walls at every step of a mile. A kind blessing for health and happiness, and a pint in your hand at the village pub as well as the sound of fife and fiddle, the lilting tune of laughter, and the cheerful dance of a jig.But, as the sun takes leave and dusk descends, deep shadows and the dank of an evening mist claim the Land of Saints. Within the cloak of night, boogies and beasties roam the moors, keen for the echo of lonesome footsteps and the alluring scent of fear and dread. Banshee, selkie, leprechaun, and fairy alike. The restless spirit of the Sluagh and the bestial form of the werewolf, hungry and on the prowl.In Irish Gothic: Tales of Celtic Horror, Ronald Kelly returns to the land of his ancestry and explores the dark superstition and frightful folklore of Ol' ire. Seven stories of Celtic gothic terror tales to quicken the beat of the heart and chill one's bones to the very marrow.
