The Story of Betty Kenny
My dear friends, today I will regale you with the woeful tale of Betty Kenny, a sorrowful spirit said to still roam the ancient woodlands surrounding her arboreal grave.
Local lore tells of Charlie Kenny, a 19th century charcoal burner who lived a solitary life with his wife Betty and their five small children in a humble hut nestled within Shining Cliff Woods. To keep the little ones safe while he worked, Charlie hollowed out a cradle within the boughs of an ancient yew tree near their home.
Each morning, Betty would kiss each babe and lay them to rest within the great tree before going about her chores. One bitter winter day as she gathered firewood nearby, a bloodcurdling crack resounded through the naked branches.
Racing back to the yew, Betty was met with a nightmarish sight - the hollowed bough had split, sending the makeshift cradle crashing down, her baby still wrapped inside. The poor child had perished instantly.
A piercing wail echoed through the wood as Betty gathered her fallen babe in her arms. Charlie returned to find his wife still keening over the babe, hours later, frozen in unrelenting grief. No words could console a mother's broken heart.
In desperate solace, the mourning woman began to softly sing a lullaby to her child, as if her voice could call his spirit back to her loving embrace. Cradling him beneath the shattered tree, the bittersweet melody carried on the wind.
Weeks later when winter relinquished its icy grasp, Charlie laid their son's body beneath the yew and carved a wooden marker in remembrance. But every night he was stirred from sleep by his wife's voice drifting from the woods, singing to her lost child 'neath the still barren branches.
Before long, the strain was too much for poor Betty's psyche to bear. She fled into the night and never returned. Yet locals claim her anguished song can still be heard near the ancient tree on the anniversary of that doleful day.
Some nights during my paranormal pursuits amongst the grove, I too have perceived a soft lullaby interwoven with the breeze. The air stirs as if from the fluttering of invisible wings, as a forlorn energy permeates the tangled limbs overhead.
My dear compatriots, though her body has long returned to dust, this grieving spirit remains, still serenading the soul of the child she lost. Next time the wind whispers through the leaves, listen closely... it just may carry poor Betty's lyrical lament.
