The Roman Line

The Roman Line

By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets

James was underdressed, freezing and irate, “Janet is dragging us to a creepy old barn in middle of BF Biddulph Township in -1℃! We’re supposed to be on lockdown guys. If I catch COVID…” Janet got in his face and scolded him, “You’ve always been such a pantywaist James!” She lowered her voice and turned her head toward the moon… “It must be tonight, February 3, 2021… when the clock strikes midnight it will be the 141st anniversary of the massacre… leaving a family butchered… and a farm in ashes. We’re almost to Roman Line, then it’s past the church, through the field and into the woods...” James’ brother, Matt, was way ahead of the pack. His flaming red locks aglow in the light of the waning gibbous. “I found it losers,” Matt bellowed through the darkness, “who has the flashlights?” Christine noticed the heaviness of the snow clouds, “dark and ominous,” she commented, “the crows in the naked trees are glassy eyed and watching”. The screech of a barn owl stopped her in her tracks. “I’m just going to stay here until you guys check it out,” Christine mumbled, clutching tightly to her Scooby-Doo sleeping bag. Matt was smoking a cigarette and guzzling bourbon when Donnie caught up. Donnie was sporting a headlamp and carrying two flashlights. “I’ll check for critters,” he announced as he kicked the side door in. He yelled to Matt, “It’s an 8x10 foot room, nothing but a few shovels, a rusted scythe and an old scooter covered in chicken shit.” The next room housed empty coops and remnants left behind by previous partiers. Red shattered bong glass, empty beer cans, and a plethora of cigarette butts littered the room. Donnie picked up a forgotten deck of Tarot cards lying on a beer-stained Mad Magazine. He flipped the top card, revealing The Fool. Instantly, he heard a loud wooden creak and ran into the cattle stalls. Dust particles danced through the burst of moonlight beaming from the hayloft. A large figure rose in a cloud of dust and shone a blinding light. Donnie blocked his eyes and pivoted away before he heard Rory burst out laughing, “I came in through the hayloft, idiot! You look like you browned your trousers buddy!” Rory inspected his surroundings, “nothing up here but a coffee table, some pigeon shit and a bunch of empty beer cans.” Janet, James, Matt and a reluctant Christine appeared one by one in the hayloft. “Come on up Donnie,” belched Janet, “unless you’re the chicken shit!” By the time Donnie climbed the wooden ladder, Janet had the decrepit table set with a bowl of apples, six candles, a photograph and an antique pocket watch. Donnie was breathless, but still able to give Janet some crap, “what the hell Janet, who is this dude?” She snatched the photograph from his hand. “That’s William Donnelly,” Janet thundered. “Everyone knows about the Donnelly massacre. It’s part of Lucan lore, something we all whispered about, way before our parents wanted us to. It’s rumored that the Donnelly gravestone was removed from St. Pat’s cemetery in the 1960’s and placed in an old nearby barn. The monument, etched with the word ‘murdered’ under the names of the five butchered, was attracting too many tourists, each chipping away pieces for a souvenir. I believe that gravestone was brought here!” Janet picked up the watch and began to swing it back and forth like a pendulum. “This belonged to William Donnelly…the word ‘mother’ is engraved on the inside cover...” “You’re so full of it, Janet,” spouted Matt. Janet’s brows knitted, “if everyone will just shut up, I will tell you why we’re here.” Janet passed shot glasses to the obedient five then proceeded to pour each a nip of absinthe. Rory was the first to bark, “that’s not a shot Janet, I’m not a child.” Janet spit back, “actually, you are a child Rory, but ‘the green fairy’ will make you hallucinate if you have too much of it. Just sit down and listen.” Janet removed her hood and dusted the snow from her white parka. She took a sip of absinthe and began her monologue. “It was February 3rd, 1880, a cold night with snowflakes in the air and Taurus’ fiery red eye peering through the dark sky. The Vigilance Committee assembled at Cedar Swamp Schoolhouse. Grievances about the horse mutilating Donnelly clan were endless. It was just after midnight when the armed party of thirty-five started on their journey toward the homestead.” “Nothing good happens after midnight,” Christine interjected, only to be shushed by Janet’s death glare. Janet continued, “The ringleader, James Carroll, crept into the darkened house…alone…and handcuffed sleeping Thomas Donnelly. James Sr. was awakened by the intrusion and eventually Johanna and Bridget came downstairs to see what the ruckus was. When Carroll signaled, his men burst through the front door, piercing Tom with a pitchfork, and pulverizing him with shovels… James and Johanna were bludgeoned and trampled by the drunken invaders… Bridget ran screaming for the stairs but was ruthlessly hunted and viciously slaughtered… The oil from the family’s lanterns provided the fuel the posse needed to burn the little farmhouse to the ground… Next, they headed to William Donnelly’s place, 3 miles away. The angry mob yelled repeatedly for Will to come outside. Will’s brother, John, was spending the night and opened the door to see what the commotion was. He was riddled with bullets as he stepped over the threshold. You see… Will survived the Donnelly massacre! The vigilantes thought they had killed William, but they shot John... Why do I have Will’s photograph? And Will’s pocket watch? I believe he will talk to us!” The swinging pocket watch in Janet’s right hand came to an abrupt stop. Christine grabbed Rory, hiding her pale face in his pea coat. “You did that,” snapped Donnie, “quit messing around Janet.” “This is real Donnie, so if you can’t handle it, you can leave,” snorted Janet. “I’ll go with you Donnie,” stuttered Christine, clutching tightly to his green bomber jacket, only to get ripped away by Janet’s outstretched arm. “Both of you need to sit the hell down or this isn’t going to work.”

Janet opened her scarlet backpack, pulled out a spirit board and placed it on the table. She stretched her neck muscles and rotated her shoulder blades before beginning her incantation. “Spirits of the night, we call upon you. We bring you an offering of fresh fruit and our energy. Spirits, inhale our energy...” The candles sputtered, then burst into three-inch flames before returning to their half-inch flicker. As Christine gasped for breath Janet continued, “we call upon William Donnelly to communicate with us… William Donnelly, use our energy, accept our gifts…” A cold gust blew across the hayloft, extinguishing all six candles. Donnie turned on his flashlight to reveal bite marks and bruises in the fresh apples. Christine stood abruptly, knocking the bowl to the floor. As the apples rolled in a spiral motion, Christine started screaming and walking backwards. Rory was quick to catch her before she fell through the moisture eaten floor where years of rotting hay fermented. “Jesus Christine, I’ll strap you down if I need to,” Janet growled. Donnie passed the bottle of Knob Creek. Christine took a huge swig, wrapped herself in her sleeping bag, and sat back down. Her eyes were red and teary, her face void of colour and her hands were shaking. “Take another sip,” said Donnie, ushering the hot bourbon to her frozen lips as he nestled in beside her. Janet placed a superball and a tape recorder on the table. She pressed the record button and resumed her incantation. “If the spirit of William Donnelly is with us, roll this red ball.” …Nothing. “If the spirit of William Donnelly is with us, roll this red ball.” …Nothing. “Sometimes you can hear a voice on the playback,” Janet recalled grabbing the tape recorder. She pressed rewind and played back her recording, “if the spirit of William Donnelly is with us, roll this red ball.” Suddenly, the red superball rolled the length of the coffee table and bounced into the darkness. Christine shuddered. Rory put his arms around her and grabbed the bottle. “I don’t mind if I do,” he said taking a huge gulp. Janet continued, “if the spirit of William Donnelly is here, tap on this table.” …Silence. “If the spirit of William Donnelly is here, tap on this table!” …Dead silence. Janet picked up the tape recorder and pressed rewind and play. Before her recorded voice finished the sentence there was a light rap, seemingly coming from the coffee table. “Everyone, hands up,” Matt commanded, “who’s doing it?” “No BS. Everyone puts their hands above the table,” yelled Donnie. Janet played the tape back again, “if the spirit of William Donnelly is here, tap on this table.” The tap was ever so slight, barely audible, but it grew, a soft thump, then a knock. The table legs began to tremble as the knocking violently exploded. The red superball slowly rolled back into sight as the recording and the knocking stopped simultaneously. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” whined James. Janet scowled at him and held William’s pocket watch over the letters on the spirit board, “this is how Will tells us he wants to communicate, you weaklings! William Donnelly, do you have a message for us?” The pendulum swung wildly, back and forth, yes…no…yes…no… “William Donnelly, do you have a message for us?” Yes…no… The pendulum stopped abruptly on yes. “Use our energy William, spell your message, use the board,” continued Janet. The watch landed on F then swung back to yes. “We have F, what is the next letter, William?” Janet goaded. Spinning and twirling the pendulum landed on O, did a complete orbit and landed back on O. “Okay, we have FOO…” Before the next letter was revealed a lone tarot card fell from the rafters landing face down. Donnie picked it up and instantly recognized it from the chicken coop, The Fool. The pocket watch fell from Janet’s hand so forcefully it bore a hole through the letter L on the board. The soft tapping on the table resumed and accelerated into a defining hammering. The rafters began to creak and settle, and the chewing of wood beams released a cedar fragrance. Donnie pointed a flashlight at the apples, revealing they were eaten to the core and covered in blackflies. Christine looked down as the red ball slowly rolled between her wobbling legs. Her scream was so piercing that everyone covered their ears as the feeble floor began to crumble below them. The group scrambled for the loft window before their footing completely disintegrated into splinters. Frantic, they descended the ramp and ran for it. “Someone’s coming this way,” yelled Matt. “Get out of here,” James warned, wildly waving his arms, curly brown locks flailing. With hearts pumping and legs aching they ran toward the approaching group. “Get the hell out of here!” yelled James. His nasal voice echoed through the empty field as the crew hurdled snow clumped corn rows, screaming profanities into the frost-covered twilight. In response they could hear a scolding voice. “You’ve always been such a pantywaist James!” “…That sounds like you Janet,” Christine blubbered, “…that’s what you said when we got to the field.” Donnie interjected, “No other human says ‘pantywaist’, Janet!” They were close to the church and could see Roman Line as another voice bellowed from the woods, “I found it losers…who has the flashlights?” Christine’s shriek pierced the chilling night air, “…Matt!!!”

And in local news, the search continues for the missing teens from Lucan. Two females and four males were last seen on February 3, 2021. Search parties have employed dogs and heat sensing technologies in hopes of finding the Biddulph students alive.