Where The Seabirds Cry

By Roberta James

Escape to a hauntingly beautiful Irish village where the restless sea hides chilling secrets...

Olivia, a troubled photographer, seeks solace on the storm-lashed coast. But the quaint village of Ballycastle holds more than quaint charm.

Whispers of vanished sailors, a centuries-old love letter, and the legend of a woman who could control the tides draw her into a web of darkness.

Will the truth set her free, or will the secrets of the past claim her as their own?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberta James
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224612901

Book preview

Chapter One

The car shuddered to a stop, jolting Olivia from a fitful doze. Not sleep, not really. More like the restless half-consciousness of someone desperately avoiding a full awakening. She blinked against the harsh midday sun, the glare bouncing off the cracked asphalt of the parking lot like shards of glass. Ireland was still a dream, this bleak roadside pitstop the grim reality.

Wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth, she surveyed the scene. It was even worse than she remembered: a generic strip mall, the crumbling facade promising weary travelers cold fast food, overpriced souvenirs, and a soul-crushing dose of sameness. Even the seagulls circling overhead looked miserable, their cries less like the soundtrack of the coast and more like complaints against the unforgiving heat.

Ballycastle was still three hours and a world away.

You alright back there, Liv? Her husband, Ben, twisted in the driver’s seat, his expression equal parts concern and mild irritation. He hated when she fell asleep on road trips; made him feel like an old man with a snoring passenger in the backseat. He'd made that clear countless times before.

Just tired, she mumbled, stretching cramped muscles. For a nature photographer who once relished hours spent crouched in muddy blinds waiting for the perfect shot, being trapped in a car was pure agony. The irony wasn't lost on her.

They climbed out, the July air stifling. Inside the dingy convenience store, they went through the motions of obligatory road trip purchases – lukewarm coffee, stale chips, a gossip magazine Olivia would never actually read. The cashier barely looked up, his eyes glazed, another casualty of the endless parade of travelers passing through. Olivia felt a pang of sympathy for the man, a ghost in his own life. Was this her future too?

Back on the road, the scenery improved marginally. Green finally began to seep into the landscape, rolling hills replacing the bleak stretches of interstate. Olivia tried to focus, to conjure the excitement this trip was supposed to inspire. Six months in Ireland. A residency in a remote coastal village focusing on environmental photography. It was everything her stalled career needed, a chance to find her way back to the work that had once filled her days with purpose.

And yet, all she felt was a heavy exhaustion. The dull ache of leaving Ben behind. The lingering echoes of their last fight, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy between them, a fog thicker than the ones she planned to photograph on the Irish coast.

This was a good idea, Liv. I know it was, Ben said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, laced with a practiced optimism he wore less and less convincingly these days. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, the set of his shoulders slumped a little more than she cared to admit.

Olivia wanted to offer reassurance, to say something sweet and supportive. Instead, she turned towards the window, pretending to admire a stand of oak trees. It was the least she could do when every honest word, every tender touch, felt trapped in her throat. How had they ended up here, two people orbiting each other like distant, lonely planets?

Hours blurred together. With each mile, the knot in her stomach tightened. The rolling Irish countryside, dotted with sheep and ancient stone ruins, flashed past unseen. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, a shimmer appeared – the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. It smelled faintly of salt and seaweed, a familiar scent that should have been comforting. This time, it was laced with a strange dread, the scent of the unknown.

Ballycastle was a smudge in the soft evening light when they finally pulled up to a small cottage she'd booked online. It was quaint, the whitewashed walls and thatched roof postcard-perfect. Yet, a sense of unease settled over Olivia, like the cold mist wrapping itself around the village as the night set in.

Where the seabirds cry, she thought, a strange, poetic phrase rising unbidden in her mind. Perhaps it was just a tiredness-induced delusion. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a warning whispered on the salty sea breeze.

Chapter Two

Morning arrived wrapped in a damp chill, the kind that seeps straight into your bones. Olivia woke to the