‘But that night, as Brendan drew his curtain shut, he caught sight of a figure standing at his garden’s far wall. Who knows what my dear old ancestor hoped to achieve when he rushed outside. Whatever the fight – be it for the sake of the stranger’s soul or to simply chase him off his land – when the priest met the open air, he was gone.

‘Not wishing to foster any further disquiet in the community, Brendan kept his sighting a secret. The villagers carried on as though having fulfilled God’s will they now sat in his favour and the happiness they once shared could return. They assumed that they had rid Tír Mallacht of the evil forever. Their priest, of course, knew otherwise.

‘The following night, with his appetite stifled by fear and secrecy, Brendan sat with his family. His wife and child sipped soup and broke bread in a peace that was uneasy to the priest alone. The curtain was drawn before dusk. The door – always open, always welcoming visitors at any hour – was locked. It would seem that black sheep existed after all.

‘After his family retired to bed, Brendan remained, eyes transfixed on the covered window, imagining the other standing behind it. His chair creaked, though he strained to stay still. He needed to know if his family was safe. And so Brendan spied out into the night.

‘We three are some of the few on this earth who can appreciate the exquisite horror of that second sighting. It stays with you, I regret to say. Even after all these years, I remember it as though it were yesterday.

‘That chilling silhouette had returned – the one whose presence promises only death. Worse still, it had crept menacingly closer to all the priest held dear, and now stood, unmoving, watching from the darkness like a scarecrow gifted life.

‘Brendan had no choice but to return to that wretched cottage whose symbolised walls and abandonments might have held some means to save the ones he loved. There, he procured any writings he could find, crawling through the shadows and the many fears they now awoke in him. It was an ungodly place and home only to ungodly things.

‘The pages were laid on the floor of the priest’s home and much time was spent in applying some order to them. The handwriting differed dramatically, ranging from the legible to the downright maniacal.