When the little girls saw visions of the Virgin Mary in Fatima and Lourdes, they fell into fits. Feverishly they spoke the Rosary, genuflecting for days without food or water, to The Mother of God. The Mother of Mothers. Virginal and young. A miracle.
I know of of a miracle, although it’s origins are dark. It happened to a girl from my neighborhood. She played hop scotch, four-square, and double dutch in the same schoolyard as I did. As my mother did. We don’t speak of her much. We progressive Catholics like to keep an open mind, or we maybe are just as superstistiocious as they say. Even writing this, I feel phantom insects crawling on my skin. I feel...uneasy. My computer keeps freezing. I will soldier on. The story must be told.
1964 June, Boston, MA
Colleen Shea came from a family that was known as a ‘Lace Curtain’ Irish family.While everyone else made do with cotton, her family used lace. Lace was a luxury. Lace meant you’d come up in the world, and the Shea’s had. Her father owned a contracting company. Cheap labor from the influx of Irish immigrants flooding the city, had allowed him to make a fortune in city contacts. Her mother had no need to work, and she used her time to organize fund raisers, raffles, and occasionally called out Bingo. A Queen of the parish.
Colleen was obedient, and never hiked her uniform skirt over her knee. She prayed before bed. She said the rosary for the people in need. At 14, she was a pious, pretty Catholic girl. She was perfect.
June 27th 1964
Colleen skipped out of her house in a white dress and powder pink sweater. She was to host one of the raffle tables in the Parish Hall for the annual Summer Bazaar. She kissed her mother good bye and turned down Montebello Rd. She was found 4 days later, up on Moss Hill. She was nude, except for her white shoes. Her killer was never found.
Her family paid for a monument to mark where she had taken her last breath. Something to turn the site from gruesome to holy. The commissioned a statue of the Virgin Mary. It was a sight! White marble and 8 feet tall. The arms stretched with palms turned up, welcoming Colleen’s soul.
Her friends placed flowers and cards.
I think that only prophets had odd visions, wich be fulfilled, although still some people sees sights in dreams, and its commun in my country that when someone sees a dead relative of his, if the person receives something from him in the dream, means someone is gonna die, hard to believe yes, but my mother tells me when ever she has semilar dream after a while somebody die, usually old folks
I think if you want an end to this story, build off the beginning. What happened a week later to Mary O'Brian while her mother and father were at the chapel and she stayed at home watching her infirm brother? Or the next month when a cherubim Lucy Flahrety disappeared from a church picnic, only to be found dismembered at the foot of the statue? Was it a broken father whose money couldn't save his daughter out for revenge? Perhaps a pent up pedo parishioner, or a game gone horribly wrong. You've set a nice stage, let your players play.