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
