Caoimhín Gaffney

Short story: It all began with the turlough.

The turlough appeared now in early summer instead of its autumn arrival as the 30 years previous. Blow-ins would be forgiven for thinking it was a lake that belonged here, but locals know it had taken over the depressed field that lay off the main road beside the graveyard. A house, which no one had ever seen anyone living in, sat on the other side, with yellow gorse peering over it from the hill known as Carrick, or the Rock. The turlough’s water bounced light around the hills, with the neighbours opposite complaining that it was reflecting sunlight into their sitting room and moonlight right into their bedroom and, either way, they could see too much or they couldn’t see anything at all… [Read short story here]