The Banshee Bride

She Weeps for the Dead—And Comes for the Living

On the windswept island of Manus, where superstition clings to the cliffs like mist, the legend of Molly McShane is more than a ghost story—it’s a warning. When Molly’s fiancé was wrongly executed, she followed him in death. Now, locals say she walks again as the Banshee Bride, her cries an omen of inevitable doom.

Those who hear her wail never see the sunrise. Their bodies are discovered with faces contorted in unspeakable fear, their souls claimed to quench a sorrow that cannot be silenced. No one knows who will call her next—or how to stop her.

A chilling blend of folklore and suspense, The Banshee Bride is a haunting tale of vengeance, tragedy, and the thin veil between the living and the damned.

Get your copy of The Banshee Bride by Mark L’ Estrange—if you dare to hear her cry.

Excerpt from the book

Michelle Calvert walked along the coastal path, her woollen shawl barely keeping out the biting wind which whipped across the beach from the North Atlantic Ocean.

But the cold was the least of her worries. Michelle was a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Five years ago, she had her life all planned out. She would marry Emmet Calvert and inherit his fortune when he died.

Back then, his old doctor had diagnosed an inoperable brain tumour which the medic claimed would take his life in a matter of a few short years.

At the time, Michelle had been Emmett’s housekeeper. It was not a position she relished or even took seriously. She managed to get away with doing the bare minimum for the old man, winning him over with her charm and cheek.

She flirted with him shamelessly, all the time hinting that if he wanted to take things further, he would have to make an honest woman of her first.

Michelle made sure she gave Emmet just enough encouragement to convince him that she would be worth the effort and that, if she became his wife, she would ensure that his last few years left on this earth would be spent in pure sexual bliss.

Eventually, he gave in and took her for his wife.

All those who knew Michelle were rightly suspicious of her ulterior motive, but they kept their opinions between themselves.

Then, the doctor himself passed away, and the new man from the mainland who took over insisted on some further tests on Emmett before condemning him as his predecessor had.

The results showed that an operation was possible. One with a high success rate. So, Emmett jumped at it and within a few short weeks, post-op, his condition was no longer life-threatening.

Naturally, Emmett was over the moon, and Michelle – as his devoted wife – should have been likewise. But the truth was that now she had to face the prospect of spending her formative years shackled to a man she did not love, and whose touch had begun to repulse her.

She hid the truth from everyone as best as she could, especially from Emmett.

Michelle still harboured dreams of one day inheriting his vast fortune and enjoying a quality of life that most people could only dream of.

The question was, could she endure the years ahead with a man she despised?

She was still relatively young. Certainly, young enough to find love and start again.

She considered divorce but she had foolishly signed a pre-nuptial agreement at the insistence of Emmett’s solicitor which would leave her with very little after the event.

Michelle knew that she had dug herself a deep hole and the fact that she saw no easy way out of it became more apparent with each passing day.

Since his operation, Emmett had grown far more adventurous in his sexual appetite.

Beforehand, his needs had been placid and simple, and Michelle had dealt with them as best she could without making too much of an effort. She had complained to the doctor that she had been having trouble sleeping, so he prescribed her some strong sleeping tablets which she casually popped into her husband’s nightly after-dinner cognac.