THE CURSE OF THE HENDERSON FAMILY

 THE CURSE OF THE HENDERSON FAMILY

By Bob French 

Ann Henderson sat at the foot of her grandmother, spellbound, as she listened to her mumblings.  It was the first time she had heard the story that most of her relations, thought was an old wives’ tale.

“Be aware of the curse, I tell you.  If it wasn’t for Henry, none of this would have happened to us.”

Ann looked up into the wrinkled old face.  “Sorry Grandmama, what do you mean, ‘if it wasn’t for Henry?  What did this Henry do that was so terrible?”

“He was a British cavalry officer who, in the confusion of the
battle of Waterloo, rode down and killed a group of Irish nuns who had been helping the wounded. Once he realized what he had done, he dismounted and tried to help them, but it was too late. It is said that he knelt down beside one very old nun and tried to give her water, but she pushed his hand aside and asked him his name.  When he told her, she put a curse on him and his family: ‘that the eldest child of each family that bears the name of Henderson, and those who followed would be taken at the beginning of Sow-in Samhain.”

Ann not knowing what she had said frowned, “what is Sow-in Samhain?”

“Tis the same as Allhallowtide child.  The Days of the Dead.”

It was just before Ann’s twenty-fifth birthday whilst sheltering from the rain in Rayleigh Library that she picked up a book about ‘tracing your ancestry,’ a subject that had pricked her imagination many times since that time, eighteen years ago, when she had listened to her grandmama talk of the curse placed upon the Henderson family. 

She found a seat made herself comfortable and started to read.  Within a few hours, she was hooked; borrowed a few books on the subject, and she made an appointment with one of the family history researchers who operated in the library. As she went to leave one of the ladies who had also taken up the hobby explained that she should get in contact with as many of her living relatives as possible as it would save her hours of unnecessary work.

It didn’t take her long before she received replies from many of her relatives who made up the five branches of the Henderson family.  As she consumed this information, she started to build up the family tree.

Even after four weeks of raising false hopes and coming to dead ends, she concluded that she was still a novice. It also became clear that she was impatient and easily frustrated, something her mother had told her on several occasions. Some evenings she would be glued to her laptop searching for past relatives well into the early hours and coming up with nothing.

Her mind was invariably preoccupied with the research she had done the night before, and sometimes she would arrive at work, not knowing how she drove down the busy A12 to Colchester.

In time, the family tree started to take shape and after a grueling six-hour stint one cold, wintery October afternoon, it suddenly dawned upon her that nearly all the eldest children of three branches of the Henderson’s had died before their time. 

She stared at the screen for a while, trying to understand something that was nagging her, but she was exhausted, so closed her laptop and decided to have an early night.

Early the following morning, she was woken by a phone call from her mother to say that Cousin Mary had passed away during the night from alzheimers. She was fifty-two. Ann had never known Cousin Mary, so thought nothing of it, but made a mental note to update the family tree, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

Lengo Stomerwitch, a 35-year-old Polish heavy goods driver had just landed at Harwich, having driven across Europe during the night, and decided to stop just outside Colchester to grab a McDonald's breakfast, before he continued on down the A12.

Driving in the opposite direction was Ann.  She was tired and running late having gone back to sleep after her mother’s dawn phone call.  As she moved quickly along the outside lane, her mind drifted back to the moment when she thought she had an epiphany. She tried to recall what it was, but weariness and frustration quickly took over her. Then it began to rain.

Lengo Stomerwitch, swore at the English weather as the rain increased and his visibility started to fade.  He was tired and needed to rest, but he knew that if he did not reach Chelmsford in time, he would lose his bonus, so increased his speed.  He was approaching the Witham turn-off, a known trouble spot on the A12, when he first felt his eyes close, but quickly took a deep breath and regained control of his huge truck.

Ann, was deep in thought.  Something was there, staring her in the face, but what was it?  Then it came to her.  She was the last eldest child of the fifth branch of the Henderson family.  As she changed up and accelerated to overtake, she shook her head; there was something else that bugged her.  She felt it on the tip of her tongue, but what was it?? 

As the rain thundered on the roof of her car, the noise around her increased. She leaned forward and turned up the radio.  All around her horns were starting to blare; large trucks and cars were slowing down, but Ann kept her foot on the pedal. Then she heard the DJ wish everyone, “a happy Trick or Treat or Allhallowtide if you are into old witch’s tales.”

Then it came to her as the bright lights of something very large came crashing towards her on the wrong side of the road.

It was the last day of October; Halloween. She was the last of the eldest children of the Hendersons.’ In a blink of an eye, everything made sense and she screamed, “Oh God! it’s me.”

Everything around her shook; her windscreen shattered; her seat belt wrenched at her neck and shoulder and she felt the car start to tumble through the air, then a cold still silence settled around her.  After a few seconds, the light in her eyes started to fade.

Copyright Bob French