#The Burning of Bridget Cleary

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1895 – Bridget Cleary was burned to death by her husband Michael who believed her spirit had been taken by bad faeries and replaced with a changeling.

Cleary was born Bridget Boland around 1869 in Ballyvadlea, Co Tipperary. She married Michael Cleary in August 1887. The couple met in Clonmel, where he worked as a cooper and she served as a dressmaker’s apprentice. The horrific case dominated the media in Ireland during the trial. Reports of the incident suggest that her husband (who was sentenced to 15 years for manslaughter) was the one who…

[patwrites]

This dude is freaking nuts!!!

[joandelahaye]

Decoding Darkness: Choosing the New Book Title and Exploring the Bridget Cleary Connection

Hello, my Freaky Darlings! Greetings from a slightly warmer arse-end of Africa. Another week has come and gone, and as usual, I’m faced with the Herculean task of picking the choicest nuggets of lunacy to share with you. Skimming through the weekly headlines has me doing double takes and muttering ‘What The Actual Fuck’ every other minute. But at least the taxi strike that pretty much shut Cape…

[onwednesdayswewrite]

all signs point to you chapter 1

Summary: All Wednesday wanted to do was go to the library to get a book, is that such a hard ask? She sure didn’t plan on falling in love. 

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x deaf!Reader

Warnings: threats of bodily harm from Wednesday 

Word Count: 1.8k

Hey y’all! I’m not actual deaf or HOH but I've done a lot research and spoken to my partner’s best friend but may not gotten everything right so please let me know! 

all signs point to you masterlist

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When Wednesday Addams stepped into the dusty Jericho Public Library that Saturday morning, she had one thing on her mind: Helter Skelter: The True Stories of the Manson Murders By Vincent Bugliosi. Thunder rolled outside, and it seemed to ignite something within the young Addams girl.  As her ebony braids dripped water onto her uniform, she remembered Enid making a fuss about the coming storm on the way into town, but frankly, Wednesday thought it was turning into a beautiful day.

If it weren’t for the tell-tale squeak of her platform shoes against the linoleum floor, onlookers would have thought Wednesday was floating under her Nevermore skirt with how she seemed to glide as she moved. She felt their glares harden when they realized a Nevermore student had ventured into this part of town. Others would have faltered under the judgment of their gaze, however, Wednesday rolled her shoulders and stalked on. She wouldn’t let some insignificant normies ruin her perfect day with her perfect book. 

“Good morning,” the older librarian called out from behind the large oak desk. Her sickly sweet smile made bile rise in Wednesday’s throat, she couldn’t stand anyone that excited before she was caffeinated. Wednesday had already stopped herself from committing a crime once this morning, a second would be far too much. Part of her was thankful that she had sent Enid to the Weathervane to prevent blood from spilling over excessive headphone volume, although a quad over ice was a tempting thought.

Wednesday didn’t let the thought bother her for too long, all she had to do was get this book, and then she could get her quad. The library wasn’t a very large one, and if Wednesday were to comment on it, she might say that it had something to do with the intelligence level of the town.  Wednesday knew she couldn’t say much though for Nevermore had committed literary atrocity by not having the book themselves. Wednesday knew the Dewey decimal system like the back of Thing’s hand and it didn’t take her long to track it. 364.1523. The numbers seemed to shine out to her. True crime, perfect. 

For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Chicago by Simon Baatz

The Burning of Bridget Cleary by Angela Bourke

An empty space. 

Outrage: The Five Reasons Why O.J. Simpson Got Away With Murder by Vincent Bugliosi

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

“How curious,” Wednesday whispered to herself at the sight of the missing book, though she heard Thing shift around in her backpack, trying to be nosy. For a brief moment, Wednesday was almost impressed, maybe there was some hope that someone else in this town had good taste and was at least somewhat competent. However, it didn’t last long for the realization to set in and Wednesday’s blood turned cold. Heads would roll today. 

Wednesday Addams was a perpetual creature of habit, and the slight change had her reeling. This was NOT part of the plan. Wednesday’s eyes started darting around to see if maybe some imbecile had placed it in the wrong spot. 

Just when Wednesday felt the stone in her stomach getting heavier and heavier, her eyes caught something that piqued her interest. Helter Skelter’s bright red writing against the pitch-black background stuck out of the top of a blue and purple tie-dye backpack. A normie girl. Hardly a worthy adversary, this would be easy. 

By now, Thing had wiggled free from his prison. His freshly manicured nails (courtesy of his bff, Enid) tapped on Wednesday's shoulder to grab her attention, his fingers moving about randomly. “No, I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” Wednesday barked at the hand on her shoulder, resisting every urge in her body to swat him off. The way Wednesday saw it she had two options, either confront you, or tuck her tail between her legs and return Nevermore without her book. The latter simply just wasn’t going to happen.

When Wednesday approached, you were mostly concealed by a huge stack of books up over your head at the edge of the desk. Your head ducked down, reading the book beneath your fingertips. 

The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule

Ted Bundy was another commendable choice. Wednesday couldn’t help but have some respect for you. She observed for a moment longer, hoping you would feel the black cloud looming over you, but you didn’t stir one bit. She made an attempt to clear her throat to get your attention, but still nothing. Were you really going to make her ask?

“Can I borrow your book?” Wednesday’s voice broke through the otherwise silent atmosphere of the library. Wednesday was half expecting you to turn and make a scene about Thing on her shoulder but instead, the only response she got was you flipping the page in your book. Clearly, you have read enough of your books to know what happens when you face the wrong person. Did you not know who she was? What she was capable of? 

Thing scurried down the length of her arm and hopped down onto the book on the top of the tall stack next to you. 

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory by Caitlin Doughty

His fingers pushed the book to the edge of the stack, and it tumbled down onto the ground, hitting with a loud bang. others in the library jumped and sent glares in Wednesday's direction, but all she could focus on was you. Wednesday felt her stomach harden again and her chest began to feel tight. You hadn’t even flinched.

Her jaw clenched as she snatched the fallen book off of the floor. If you weren’t even going to acknowledge her, then she was going to steal your book and that wasn’t the only thing she was going to do. You would pay for this. 

Wednesday threw herself down into the chair diagonal from you, her hands clenching and then splaying out. She needed to relax, or she would never be able to think clearly.

She wanted nothing more than to grab you by the hair and drag you into the bathroom to drown you in the toilet, but that seemed too easy.

A pool of piranhas was a viable option. Maybe this time she will succeed.

“Howdy R-woah Wednesday what’s wrong” Enid stopped dead in her tracks at the site of her roommate. Fingers gripping onto the table so hard they were turning blue and Thing defensively standing on her shoulder.

“Planning a homicide” Wednesday deadpanned, her eyes never leaving the sight of you still flipping through the pages of the book.

Enid paid no mind to Wednesday’s comment as this wasn’t unusual for her. Instead, she placed the plastic Weathervane to-go cup in front of Wednesday, her other arm, reaching across the table to wave up and down softly just in your peripheral vision. You’ve lifted your head and smiled at her, seemingly completely unaware of everything that just happened. 

Enid greeted you with a motion of her hands, and you seemed to respond, understanding. Wednesday must’ve let her confusion known to her roommate, and Wednesday watched as a realization crossed Enid's face about her previous comment. Enid’s pastel nails turned to claws as she clenched her fists. 

“Wednesday, Y/N is deaf” Enid scolded through gritted teeth. Wednesday had heard this tone of voice before and Enid only used it when Wednesday was truly in trouble. Wednesday felt what she only imagined to be shame run through her body as she watched your eyes track Enid’s lips trying to figure out what she had said. Wednesday could’ve sworn she heard a low growl come from Enid’s throat as she narrowed her eyes and shot Wednesday one last painful glare, and turned to continue her conversation with you. 

Despite Enid’s reprimanding, Wednesday still wanted nothing more than the book she came for. Wednesday again couldn’t help but commend you for your lack of reaction to Thing scampering down her arm and onto the table.  Instead, you smiled and waved. Thing’s phalanges moved about wildly in a way Wednesday thought communicated her need for the book. 

Your head cocked to the side and you chuckled. What had she done now? No matter how hard she tried to hide it, Wednesday felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She never liked this feeling and did her best to shake it off.

You held up one finger and told your backpack across the table. You pulled the small zipper bag out causing Helter Skelter to slip across the desk a little, just out of Wednesday's reach. From the small pouch, you pulled out two cochlear implants.

“What I think Wednesday was trying to ask is can she borrow your book?” Enid finally communicated once your processors and magnets were in place.

“Absolutely” a small broke through on your face, as your hands signed out of habit “ it’s nice to meet you Wednesday, I’m Y/N” your hand reached out for her, but she remained deadly still. Enid was prompt in delivering a sharp kick to Wednesday’s shin, and that was enough to kick her into action. 

Her hand reached out to yours and Wednesday felt a spark of electricity. Not one like when Uncle Fester pranked her, but this one was something different. This kind made her head feel foggy, and she felt something strange in her stomach, not hard as she felt before, but almost like something was moving and crawling around in there, and she couldn’t think straight. She almost missed you sliding the book to her.

“Have you read it before? It’s a really good read. Did you know after he died, Manson wanted his body displayed in the glass case, but his fiancé never followed through with his wishes?” Wednesday observed as your eyes seemed to come alive, and an excited smile found its way onto your face that almost made Wednesday forget to grab the book.  Wednesday made a mental note to remember that in the future, serial killers made you happy. 

Wednesday felt another feeling start to stir in the bottom of her stomach, this one different than the ones she had felt before. One she had only felt uttered between her parents. Wednesday waited with bated breath for the usual nausea to rise in her throat, but it never came. However, for one quick moment, Wednesday thought she felt her cold, dead heart give a soft beat in her chest.  

Suddenly the idea of a piranha-filled vat sounded appealing again. She would hang you upside down and let their sharp teeth nibble on your arms. Maybe then you would tell her why you made her feel that horrible feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Why does she feel so drawn to you. Why her mind felt cloudy when you smiled, and more importantly why she couldn’t wait to feel it again.

[irelandseyeonmythology]

Fairies belong to the margins, and so can serve as reference points and metaphors for all that is marginal in human life. Their underground existence allows them to stand for the unconscious, for the secret, or the unspeakable, and their constant eavesdropping explains the need sometimes to speak in riddles, or to avoid discussion of certain topics. Unconstrained by work and poverty, or by the demands of landlords, police, or clergy, the fairies of Irish legend inhabit a world that is sensuously colourful, musical and carefree, and as writers from Yeats to Irish-language poet Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill have observed, legends about them richly reflect the imaginative, emotional and erotic dimensions of human life.

-- Angela Bourke, The Burning of Bridget Cleary

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can you do one with teddy and he’s scared to get a shot at the doctor and mom holds him and they get ice cream after

"Teddy, dude," Jason said ruffling his hair, "It's just a shot-"

"But it's a big needle-"

"Teddy bear," you interrupt, gathering the little boy into your lap and kissing the top of his head, "You need your shots, baby. So. You listen to me, huh? I'll tell you a story."

"What story?" Teddy demanded, hiding his face in your neck.

"Did you ever hear about Bridget Cleary?" you ask, rocking him.

"Huh-uh," he said, "What happened to her?"

"Her husband burned her alive, suspecting she was a faery," you said, giving the waiting nurse an apologetic look.

"Faeries aren't real," Teddy said.

"Not to you," you tell him, dropping your voice into the register you use to narrate a story, "But to Michael Cleary, they were as real as you and I." You pause and wink at the nurse over the top of his head, queuing her to wait until you start talking again to jab him.

"But why?"

"Because, Ireland in 1895 was a different world than the one we know now," you murmur against his hair, rocking him. "Doctors had started to know that germs made us sick and Lightbulbs weren't a source of fascination anymore. But some things... Some things could still only be explained by magic."

"Hey," Teddy protested, when the nurse put a bandage on his arm, "I didn't even feel it!"

"And now I'm mad I won't get to hear the rest of the story," the nurse said laughing, watching you stand up and situate Teddy on your hip. "You're a lucky little boy to have your mom tell you stories like that."

"Off the cuff even," he chirped grinning. "Can I have ice cream now?"

"I dunno," Jason teased, leading you out of the room.

"Please?" you add, pouting, adding your appeal.

"You're outnumbered," The nurse laughed, taking his insurance card.

"Looks that way," he huffed out loud. But to you, against your ear, he added, "Three to one isn't a fair fight, babe."

"That sounds like a you problem," you tease.

[dreamsofalife]

🌻

"One of the most famous cases of what's known as Capgras delusion, aka the belief that one's loved one has been replaced by an identical imposter, occurred in 1895 with the murder of Bridget Cleary by her husband Michael in County Tipperary in Ireland. Michael believed that Bridget had been replaced by a changeling, and convinced his neighbors of the same. The group burned Bridget to death and hid her remains in a peat bog until they were discovered, leading to a trial that gripped international news. Bridget's death has inspired countless songs, books, even a nursery rhyme; are you a witch, are you a fairy, are you the wife of Michael Cleary?"

[zoedels]

BRIDGET CLEARY: BURNED FOR BEING A FAIRY? Bridget Cleary's husband says his bold, smart, & confident wife was replaced by a changeling - his attempt to get the 'real' Bridget back took a dark turn... New episode of my true crime series out now on Spotify & YouTube. Link in bio.

[sixminutestoriesblog]

Murdered For Being a 'Changeling' - The Burning of Bridget Cleary | Tru...

[jobey-wan-kenobi]

Fairies are normally invisible, but they are there. They live in the air, under the earth, and in water, and they may be just a little smaller than humans, or so tiny that a grazing cow blows hundreds of them away with every breath. They had their origin when the rebellious angel Lucifer and his followers were expelled from Heaven, and god the Son warned God the Father that Heaven would soon be empty. Like figures in a film that is suddenly stopped, the expelled angels falling toward Hell halted where they were: some in mid-air, others in the earth, and some in the ocean, and there they remain. They are jealous of Christians, and often do them harm, but are not totally malevolent since they still hope to get back to Heaven one day. To do so, however, they must have at least enough blood in their veins to write their names, and so far they have not even that much. Fairies are not human, but they resemble humans and live lives parallel to theirs, with some significant differences: they keep cows, and sell them at fairs; they enjoy whiskey and music; they like gold, milk, and tobacco, but hate iron, fire, salt, and the Christian religion, and any combination of these mainstays of Irish rural culture serves to guard against them. Sometimes it is said that there are no women among the fairies. In any case, they steal children and young women, and occasionally young men, and leave withered, cantankerous changelings in their place. They can bring disease on crops, animals, and humans, but by and large, if treated with neighborly consideration, they mind their own business and even reward favors.

Angela Bourke, The Burning of Bridget Cleary

[stepfordgoth]

I knowww this is a long shot to ask about on Tumblr of all places but I was just reading about Bridget Cleary, aka the last witch of Ireland, and something that kept coming up in my readings is how many people with the last name Kennedy were in her direct family so, uh, is Kennedy that common of an Irish last name, or are the Kennedys all distantly related to the last woman burned as a witch in Ireland

[celtic-cd-releases]

https://www.houseofhamill.com/

https://www.facebook.com/HouseofHamill

https://open.spotify.com/album/2h7Kha1fiIdVhwfETeqEvU

[folklorehorse]

Obviously I am waaaaaay behind on my podcast listening but I appreciated this discussion of stigma.

I was reminded of Angela Bourke, “The Burning of Bridget Cleary (book),” and her proposal that “fairy-belief tradition … might…be labeled a vernacular stigma theory,” (236).

[cavenewstimes]

Murdered For Being a 'Changeling' - The Burning of Bridget Cleary | True Crime | Well, I Never

In the peaceful meadows of Ireland,‌ where⁣ folklore dances with reality, there lies a chilling⁤ tale that⁤ echoes through generations. Welcome, dear wanderers, to the mesmerizing world of true crime, as we immerse ourselves ⁣in the tragic story of‍ Bridget Cleary. Join me, for a moment, as we unravel the mystifying case of a woman condemned for being a ‘changeling’ in the enchanting video…

[dirjoh-blog]

The murder of Bridget Cleary.

The Dutch word for superstition is ‘bijgeloof’ in a literal sense it translates into side belief or side religion. This sort of ‘religion’ was the cause of the murder of Bridget Cleary on March 15,1895. Bridget was an Irish woman who was murdered by her husband, and family members. She was either burned alive or immediately after her death. The husband’s stated motive was his belief that she had…

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1895 – Bridget Cleary was burned to death by her husband Michael who believed her spirit had been taken by bad faeries and replaced with a changeling.

#OTD in 1895 – Bridget Cleary was burned to death by her husband Michael who believed her spirit had been taken by bad faeries and replaced with a changeling.

Cleary was born Bridget Boland around 1869 in Ballyvadlea, Co Tipperary. She married Michael Cleary in August 1887. The couple met in Clonmel, where he worked as a cooper and she served as a dressmaker’s apprentice. The horrific case dominated the media in Ireland during the trial. Reports of the incident suggest that her husband (who was sentenced to 15 years for manslaughter) was the one who…