The Dearg-due

You’ve heard the old saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”   One of the most tragic and frightening cases of a woman scorned became the stuff of legend and is still whispered within the shadows of old graveyards.

Rocks or stones are still placed upon new graves and this has its roots in the fear of the undead. Stories told around the fireside of those who returned from the dead to seek revenge upon those that failed them in this life. Could these stories have been woven into the fabric of vampire myth? Perhaps the stories of Abhartach, The Leannáne sidhe, The Dearg due and others have merged together to form the most legendary vampires of all, those of the great Irish Gothic writers Sheridan Le Fanu who wrote Carmilla in 1872 and Bram Stoker who wrote Dracula in 1897.

Bram Stoker was well aware of the tales of vampiric creatures within Irish folklore and had studied and researched European folklore for many years prior to writing his most famous novel in 1897.  He was raised by his mother on a diet of fairy tales and folklore and she was to tell him of the horrors of cholera, famine, and possibly stories of those thought to be dead and buried alive.

Dearg-due means ‘Red blood sucker’. It wasn’t the name that was given at birth to the subject of my tale but it certainly came to be the name she was to be known by after her death. When she rose to exact her revenge upon those who had wronged her in this life.  What follows is the tragic story of a lost love, greed, vengeance, and death.

 

 

 

 

The Dearg-due

Pronounce dah rag du ah.

Once upon a time long, long ago there lived a fair maiden.

She was truly beautiful with blood red lips and bright yellow hair.  Her name is now lost in the mist of time and has now become overshadowed by what she became and the name she now carries.  Men travelled from far and wide to look upon her beauty and hope to win her hand.  Her outer beauty was said to be but a shadow compared to her inner beauty for she was generous of spirit and had a kind heart. She was also said to be a blessing to all who knew her.

It was said that she fell in love with a local peasant boy whose name has also become lost in time but he matched her in all things. He was as handsome as she was beautiful, generous, kind, good humoured and loved by all who knew him.  Unfortunately he lacked one thing, the one thing her cruel ambitious father prized above all things, even his daughters happiness. Money.

To her father this was the most important thing for he was a cruel and heartless man. Selfish and cruel he believed that money would give him standing in the community. He would have security for his old age and the status that being a man of wealth would give him.  Without money there would be no love match, no marriage, and no future for the two young lovers. The father swore this would never be allowed.

Instead the father gave his daughter to a cruel, old man who was rich and had a title.  His future was now secure, he had a fortune, a name in the community and the status he believed was due to him.  He revelled in his new position and never gave a single thought to his child’s happiness.

She suffered terrible mental and physical abuse at the hands of her new husband.  His particular pleasure was to be found in drawing blood from her and watching as it flowed upon her pure white skin. He kept her locked in a cell in the tower of his castle where only he could see her. Here she waited day after day in vain for her former lover, the kind peasant boy to come to her rescue. It was this hope that kept her alive month after month.  Eventually she realised that there would be no rescue, there would be no hope of escape.

 In utter despair she took the only way out that was left to her. She committed suicide. It was said that she secretly disposed of the meagre scraps of food left for her each day; it would have been a slow, painful death. Others believe she died of a broken heart. She was buried in a small churchyard near Strongbows Tree in County Wexford.

Some people say that the abuse she suffered at the hands of her monstrous husband while locked in the tower for months on end had broken and twisted her spirit and that just before she died she renounced her god and with her last breath she swore vengeance on those who had caused her misery.  It was once believed that the spirit of a person who committed suicide would be doomed to wander the earth for all time, never to gain rest and to be forever in torment.

Long before this sad story, folklore in Ireland dictated that you should pile stones on the graves of the newly dead to prevent them from rising again. Maybe it was out of guilt or sadness but the local people decided not to do this as they wanted to remember her as the kind and beautiful soul she was. They believed that she had suffered enough persecution and had been degraded by those who should have protected her. Or maybe it was because they all knew of her torment and what kind of a monster her father had condemned her to and yet they did nothing to help her. Whatever the reason it was felt that the piling on of rocks could wait a little while longer, they would remember her for what she was and in this way give her a little respect. They may have remembered her for what she was but it wasn’t going to be long until they began to learn of what she had become.

There are various stories concerning what happened next.

One story tells of her undead corpse rising from its grave on the very night she was buried. Driven by a half remembered vision of her own blood flowing upon her pure white skin she thirsted for revenge. That night she rose as the Dearg-due, the blood sucker and a legend was born.

She was said to steal blood from the innocent, especially children. She calls young men with a strange, haunting siren song that invades their sleep. She lures them out into the night tempting them to follow her to the grave. Punishing them as she was punished, keeping them with her as she was kept. Stories are told of those who have gone missing, those who have been taken ill unexpectedly with no apparent reason or those who have died unexpectedly. All are blamed on the Dearg-due all are cursed to wander the earth as minions of the blood sucker.

Another version of the story suggests that she died of a broken heart and that the only one to mourn her passing was her peasant boy. He is said to have visited her simple grave and spoke to her of his love, his desire to see her again and how he was heard praying for her to come back to him. She rose from her grave the following year on the anniversary of her death and burial. She began to visit those she had sworn vengeance upon.

She visited her father’s house, he who had sold her into a life of cruelty in return for his own comfort. She found him sleeping; leaning over him she placed her lips upon his and sucked every breath of life out of him, leaving him as a withered dried out husk. Next she was to visit her husband; he had remarried even before she had been laid in the cold damp earth.  He was drunk and didn’t notice her enter his rooms. She attacked him with such force she not only drew his life force from him but also his blood. This surge of blood coursing through her veins gave her dead body a feeling of new life. She now had a taste for life, she needed more. The blood sucker was born.

So if you are ever in Waterford and happen to walk near Strongbows Tree you may see a grave. Put another stone on top of the grave; don’t forget for you never know she may rise again. Is this a true story, well as any storyteller will tell you, “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story”?

There is another twist to the story of vampiric spirits. In County Kerry there is a place that guards the pass to MaGillycuddy reeks. That place is called Dun Dreach-Fhoula or the Castle of The Blood Visage.  It is supposed to be a fortress inhabited by blood drinking fairies and although it is mentioned in folklore it’s never been found and even the locals don’t know its location and even if they do they’re not talking. So maybe there is some truth in the old stories and legends of Ireland’s vampire type fairies, I’ll let you decide. Just keep the wooden stake handy and remember to look over your shoulder.