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The Baávanshee “White Women of the Scottish Highlands”

Cold highland winds blow; the night is perfect,
as once a year from her unmarked grave she rises,  
the Baávanshee, hunting any unsuspecting prospect.
No one dares the task to halt her awakening;  
a cairn over her place of rest would suffice,  
to keep her from these heinous undertakings.  
She, a demonic vampire guised as a beautiful woman,  
a flame haired seductress; appears to hapless or sleeping men,  
bewitching them until, from their blood she has fed.
The Baávanshee beguiles with her feminine wiles,  
wearing a beautiful, long, dark green gown  
that hides neath the hem, feet that are hoov´en.
 
She feeds on the unsuspecting men  
that bed down by night  
in the lonely forest glens  
ill advisedly out of site.
A predator without a heart,  
any natural place will do,  
if it is hidden away from  
any bystanders prying view.  
She needs no fangs to the draw blood;  
sharp fingernails do the job nicely,  
using her allure to close in  
on her unwary prey,  
their fascination insures,  
the end of their living days.  
 
She might operate within a group,  
when she feels the whim,  
and together they seduce their victims  
with their beauty and magnificence.  
They entice the men to dance,  
courting them for the bloodletting,  
the reason they have come;  
their sole purpose for being,  
to satiate themselves, the outcome.
Ahh… such sport they have,  
luring weary travelers  
to secluded places at night,  
where they then close in and attack.  
Aye! Truly a fearsome site,  
their only deterrent, fear sunlight.
 
There is a legend regarding the Baávanshee,  
where a group of young travelers,  
in the Scottish Highlands,  
stopped for the night in a small glade, wearily.  
They build a fire and begin to wish  
for the company of beautiful women,  
in a manner, quite bawdy and oafish.  
Just then, four stunning women appeared  
and begin to dance, distracting them
by whispering naughty things in their ear.  
The dance, which started out for enjoyment,
becomes harsh, as the women begin,  
to tear and draw blood for nourishment.  
One of the men runs from their shelter  
and between two of horses he hides,  
the strange women circles the makeshift pen,  
but cannot seem to cross to him inside.  
 
Dawn arrives ending the long ordeal,
he finds that drained of blood,  
his companions all have died  
and the women disappeared.  
It is thought that the Baávanshee  
could not cross to him because  
of the iron in the shoes of the horses,  
what ever it was he was lucky indeed,  
he did not meet his maker on that fateful eve.
 
 
So the moral of this story might very well be,  
Beware the beautiful woman,  
Who looks…just…like…me. Ha,ha,ha
 
*To my Gaelo-Celtic brethren, a legend from you lands.    
Written by marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
Published | Edited 16th Nov 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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