Irish Gothic: Tales of Celtic Horror

When Irish eyes are dying
Breath chills until time is over,
Dying pulls slowly graveward
To relaxation ’neath sod and clover…

Eire… Candy Erin…The Emerald Isle. Within the shiny and bonnie mild of day, it’s a place of magnificence, historical past, and good humor. Of rolling inexperienced hills and stone partitions at each step of a mile. A form blessing for well being and happiness, and a pint in your hand on the village pub… in addition to the sound of fife and fiddle, the lilting tune of laughter, and the cheerful dance of a jig.
However, because the solar takes go away and nightfall descends, deep shadows and the dank of a night mist declare the Land of Saints. Inside the cloak of evening, boogies and beasties roam the moors, eager for the echo of lonesome footsteps and the alluring scent of concern and dread. Banshee, selkie, leprechaun, and fairy alike. The stressed spirit of the Sluagh and the bestial type of the werewolf, hungry and on the prowl.

In Irish Gothic: Tales of Celtic Horror, Ronald Kelly returns to the land of his ancestry and explores the darkish superstition and frightful folklore of Ol’ Éire. Seven tales of Celtic gothic terror… tales to quicken the beat of the guts and chill one’s bones to the very marrow.