1h Work: The Old Woman of the Foggy Hills.

Once I was told that spirits guide us through our lives. Some of them beneficial, others harmful. We call them angels, demons, gods, sidhe, or anything that we use to name the supernatural. Of course, in the end those beings are all supernatural, so where lies the difference between the categories?
I remember that one day, when I was a child, I heard the mourning voice of a woman outside of the woods of our mansion. At first I didn't know what to think about it, as it was an eerie sound in the midst of night, but still human. Or so I believed. But why should I even bother, I though to myself the morning after. At the time my father was a successful businessman and we all lived with good health and with a respective amount of wealth. But I didn't know that things were about to change.

A week later I got a letter written by the police of London, which told me that my father fell victim to an assault on the streets of London and was mortally wounded in the process. The moment I finished the letter I broke down. My father was a good man, never harmed a single soul, and was fair to his employees, unlike most of the scum that was his competition. His body was carried back to our mansion in Ireland, where the funeral would be held. And I noticed that most people that now showed up where relatives I haven't seen for quite a while. Most people would think that I would be happy that my family would come to help me over the loss, but that is just the fantasy of gullible people that haven't seen the true nature of them. None of them came, because they wanted to easy my pain, nor did they come to show my late father respect. They were all just waiting for the inheritance of my fathers company. I was thirteen at that time and thus too young to carry on my fathers business and my mother, well, her role was clearly set in our society.

On the day of the funeral, however, another person was entering our house. I never saw her before, not even a single time in my life. But her old face and long hair had something peaceful on them. Her grief was genuine, even though I had no idea who she was. And neither did my mother, when she welcomed her in, but this old women was the only person that actually seemed to care about my father, safe for me and my mother.
Curious as I was, I approached her and asked about her relationship with my father. To my surprise, she was very kind in her answer and told me that she knew him since his birth and came to easy the burden that death put on his soul. I didn't know what she meant by the later, but I understood that she might have been responsible for raising my father, which as I later learned wasn't exactly the truth.

After the funeral was held a little bit away from our mansion, my relatives quickly came to the notary to ask who would get the company of my father. To my surprise, my father deemed none of them worthy to take over the business and, well, he transferred ownership to my mother, who was equally surprised. Of course, my relatives were not happy about that and even said that a woman could never have a company of her own.
It was then, when the old woman came towards them, her grief still visible but with cold anger mixed in. They scared back when she started screaming and in a moment of shock she disappeared into thin air.
Needless to say that my relatives quickly disappeared as well, but in more conventional fashions, as I doubt they could simply disappear into thin air, although I really wish they would. Personally, I was rather confused than scared by the scene, as I didn't know a thing about that woman. But that was back then.

One day, I just returned to the mansion from work, the old lady stood in front of my house, waiting for me. To my surprise she didn't seem to have aged over the years, which of course is a funny statement as she was already old when I met her the first time. I wanted to ask her about her identity, but before I could do so, she was already talking. “You are the last of your line worthy of my lament. And happily I say, it won't be heard soon,” was all she said to me before she disappeared again. It was a strange moment. I already knew what she was, as I have since acquired knowledge about the her. But I wouldn't have thought to ever encounter her again. She, who lives at the foggy hill and knows of the movements of Death itself. I would surely encounter her again someday, but for now I had a life ahead of me and I didn't plan to let anyone hear the songs of lament too soon.