The eel weirs at Cliffe, Ballyshannon, were once an important part of the town’s thriving eel and salmon trade. Situated along the River Erne near the historic Cliff House, these weirs operated upstream from where the Cathaleen’s Fall Hydroelectric Power Station now stands. When the power station was constructed in the mid-20th century, it dramatically reshaped the local landscape—erasing natural landmarks like Assaroe Falls and leading to the loss of several grand country houses, including Camlin Castle, Stonewold, Laputa, and Cliff House itself. These changes also marked the decline of the traditional eel fishing industry in the area.

Before this transformation, Ballyshannon prospered from its river trade, and up until the First World War, eel fishing was a vital part of local life. Two men, one of them named Scanlon, worked as waterkeepers on the Cliffe eel weirs. Both were seasoned in their duties, taking turns to keep watch through the night. Though they occasionally dealt with poachers, the nights typically passed without incident.

But one night proved to be anything but ordinary.

Scanlon stood alone on watch while his colleague slept. As the town clock struck midnight, the door behind him creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Startled, he spun around to find a woman standing in the doorway, her hand still resting on the latch.

She was tall and fair-haired, with a long, narrow face. Her polished brown boots gleamed beneath a stylish outfit, yet her worsted wool gown was unmistakably old-fashioned. For nearly two silent minutes, she stood watching him before offering a faint, unsettling smile—revealing a single prominent tooth.

As Scanlon approached, the woman backed out of the weir house and closed the door softly behind her. But when he rushed to open it, she was gone. Outside, there was no trace of her, and Scanlon knew full well that it was impossible to reach the weir house across the dangerous river without a boat. So how had she arrived—and disappeared—without a sound?

Disturbed by the encounter, Scanlon later spoke with a retired waterkeeper who had once held his post. Hearing the tale, the old man nodded knowingly. He had seen the same woman on that very date—twenty years earlier. According to local legend, she had met a violent and brutal end, and her restless spirit returned every two decades at the stroke of midnight.

Before they parted, the old man offered Scanlon a final piece of advice:
“When your time here ends, pass this warning to the next waterkeeper—just as I have done with you.”