Three piss-drunk Irishmen leave the pub...

Three piss-drunk Irishmen, (Grady, Colin and young Danny) leave the pub one foin moonlit night and, seeing one of Ireland's oldest and most iconic castles in the moonlight, sentimentally decide to do a late-night tour.

They stumble up the steps and rap on the door with the big iron knocker. There is no answer, and they stagger inside. It is dark and cold inside, but the three drunks amble on.

They come upon a large hall full o' tasty treats that no drunk could pass on. Boxty, Sodabread, Chicken and Leek pie, a big pile o' potatoes, it was all there. They gorged themselves until they could nary lift a finger, when suddenly a dour figure emerged from the shadows.

"I take it you've enjoyed the feast Lord O'Malley has set for ye" the shadowy skeleton of a man cackled.

Like rats in the light, the three scurried ungracefully from their seats in all directions. "You, young man, come with me." The dour man (the butler? the caretaker?) grabbed the young intoxicated Danny from the cold stone floor.

"M'Lord will be waiting for ye. He's not accustomed to strangers in the night."

Up a winding path of stairs they went, up into a tower. They entered a room, and though dimly lit, it burnt poor Danny's eyes.

In a grand chair by an even grander fireplace, an old and tired but rosy-cheeked fellow stared seemingly past Danny. "So this be what's causin' the ruckus. Ye know, yar not the farst te make ye way inte' the castle. I suppose ye fancy stayin' a spell?" Before Danny could answer, the thin minion again grabbed his shoulders and whisked him away, this time down, down, down, farther into the earth than Danny figured he'd ever been.

Into some sort of dungeon they emerged, where among dozens of emaciated and hollow souls there hung in shackles the familiar face of Grady. The two said nothing to one another, and managed a few winks of troubled unconsciousness before the dawn brought a great commotion of sirens, shouting voices and the occasional *BANG!* Bye and bye, they were released from their prison and carted on home. Grady spoke little to Danny, and said nothing of their mutual friend, whom Danny had not seen nor heard from since their encounter in the dining hall.

Several weeks later, Danny received a letter of invitation to a memorial service for all who had perished in the unlawful custody of Lord O'Malley. All the Irish treasures O'Malley had hoarded were on display: Coats of arms, suits of armor, statues, furniture, tapestries, rugs, harps, bagpipes were all on display.

It was revealed that O'Malley had been keeping his prisoners for purposes of human trafficking, torture, cannibalism, and even stranger terrible things.

At the end of the service, there was a beautiful recitation of traditional Irish music by a prestigious ensemble, using the bagpipes and harps seized from the estate.

"So beautiful this song," mused Danny. "If only dear Colin were with us to hear it."

"But he is," lamented Grady. He stared coldly into Danny's Eyes.

"Oh Danny, boy... the pipes... the pipes are Colin."