This Month’s Theme:
“Leprechauns”

With St. Patrick’s Day on March 17, what better time to pay tribute to folklore’s beloved little gold-hoarders? We’ll start with a rerun from December 2011—not because I’m being lazy, but because it happens to be the only piece I’ve ever done about leprechauns. More follow…

“Woodland Treasures”
(Originally appeared in Dec. 2011)
Fantasy
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Calvin had never seen a leprechaun, and he’d begun to doubt their existence despite the stories he’d heard about them being captured and forced to hand over their gold to their captors. If only a leprechaun would find his way to his house in the woods! If he got his hands on one of the tiny little bastards, there was no chance he’d be tricked into letting go. He’d get the gold, then slice the leprechaun’s throat from ear to ear, and toss its body in the old mine shaft, where he’d left a number of travelers he’d waylaid over the years.

***

Seamus, a ruddy, round-faced leprechaun, was out searching for food. He and the missus ate well, but she was so good to him that she deserved something special once in a while. Luckily, he knew what humans thought of leprechauns, which was why he ventured into the human’s woodshed one day. He’d watched this human, and knew he was a greedy, evil sort—one he could use nicely to make his plan work. So he made a grand racket in that woodshed.
When the human came to investigate, his eyes bugged out at the sight of Seamus. “You’re a leprechaun!” the human cried out.

“Yes, sir,” Seamus said, trembling before the big human. “Please, human, don’t eat me!”

“Take me to your gold, and I’ll spare your life,” the human said, his eyes sparkling with avarice. Seamus didn’t believe him for a moment.

They set off into the woods, the human dragging Seamus by the scruff of his neck. “Might ye loosen up a bit, sir?” Seamus said timidly, but the larger human only roughed him up some more with violent shaking.

“Not a chance!” he said. “No leprechaun is going to fool old Calvin!”

They marched on, Calvin occasionally asking if they were going in the right direction. Seamus would often point the way, and Calvin would change course. After a solid twenty minutes, Calvin said, “All right—where is it?”

“Almost there,” Seamus replied. The human’s pull on his neck was painful, but he endured it. “See, up ahead, through those bushes—the cave!”

They pushed through the bushes, and there, just inside the cave’s mouth, was a small iron kettle, overflowing with gold coins.

“It’s true!” Calvin cried. “Gold!”

He released Seamus and scampered for the pot. Seamus watched as he hefted the weighty thing and staggered out of the cave with it. “Sorry, leprechaun!” Calvin shouted with a laugh. “That’ll teach you to get caught!”

Then he set down the heavy pot, grabbed Seamus by the lapel, and pulled a knife from his belt. “Now you’ll die—and perhaps I’ll have you stuffed and mounted, so everyone can see!”

Just then, a rustling sounded from deeper in the cave, and a crowd of furry creatures shorter than Seamus appeared, uttering astounded cries.

“What’s this, Seamus?” said one.

“Oh, this nasty human made me lead him here,” Seamus said, pointing up at the bewildered Calvin. “He’s stealing your gold.”

“Bastard human!” they hissed, baring rows of razor-sharp teeth and extending dagger claws.

“We shall leave its carcass for the vultures!” the first one growled.

“No!” Calvin screamed, even as dozens of the fierce little creatures rushed out of the cave and swarmed toward him.

***

Seamus returned to his subterranean bungalow. He could smell sweet cider on the stove as his wife greeted him in the kitchen. She squealed with glee when she saw what he carried. “Oh, Seamus!” she cried. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Aye, thanks to the gremlins,” he said, dropping it on the table. “I said you deserved a special meal, me lovely bride, and here it is. He was a big one, lass.”

“Oh—you watched him first, didn’t you?” she said, her brow furrowing. “He’s an evil sort?”

“You have no idea,” Seamus said.

She went to work preparing the giant leg of human, and he grabbed himself a cider.

“Night Cobbler”
Contemporary Fantasy
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Ten-year-old Jake Griffin woke in the middle of the night to strange sounds. When he snapped on the light, he caught the leprechaun in the act: the little fellow was there, dressed in green, and he was fixing Jake’s sneakers.

Well, one of them, anyway. The wide-eyed leprechaun had been taken by surprise was applying glue to the rubber bottom of a sneaker, re-adhering it to the leather upper.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked.

“Er… fixing your shoes, of course,” the leprechaun said. “It’s sort of what we do, you see. We’re cobblers. Shoe fixers.”

Jake rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “But aren’t you a leprechaun?”

“That I am,” said the bearded little man, puffing out his little chest and smiling. Then he went back to work, laying down the glue. Jake watched as he pulled a clamp from his pocket and cinched the leather and rubber together to dry.

Finally, Jake said, “Why are you fixing my sneakers?”

“That’s just what we do,” the leprechaun repeated. “Although I must say the shoes these days aren’t like they used to be. They fall apart more easily, and they’re the devil to repair. Anyway, we fix them, and hope you’ll leave us a bit of gold in payment.”

Jake looked around his room. There was a gold-colored C3PO action figure and toy plastic gold coins, but he didn’t have any real gold, so he told the leprechaun as much.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” said the leprechaun. “But the good deed comes first. Even if you can’t pay me in gold, I’ll still fix your shoes.”

“But I don’t want them fixed.”

The leprechaun stopped working and looked up to Jake, confused. “How’s that? Why wouldn’t you want your shoes fixed?”

“Well, my mom said I could have new Nikes when these sneakers wore out,” Jake said. “They were just about worn out until you came along.”

“What a strange world this has become,” the leprechaun said, shaking his head. “In the old days, people wore their shoes until they couldn’t be cobbled together any longer. Now, they just buy new ones every time they turn around. That’s very difficult for a leprechaun to handle, you know. Fixing shoes is what we’re all about. And gold, too—there’s just nothing so nice as gold.”

Jake threw the covers back and sat up. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you can undo your fixes and make my shoes look like they were, I’ll tell you how you can do your job and get gold.”

***

A week later, Jake was in the kitchen getting a Mountain Dew from the fridge. His parents, John and Celia Griffin, sat at their kitchen table, looking quite addled. The police officer sitting at the table had his notebook out and had been writing furiously, but had stopped and was looking at them with a scrunched brow.

“Come again?” said the cop.

“That’s right, officer,” John snapped. “Her entire jewelry box, cleaned out—at least, of anything gold. Silver, gems, pearls—all of it left behind. But every gold ring, gold earring, gold necklace, gold bracelet—all of it is gone. If it were gold, some thief took it.”

“But…?” the cop pressed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d been told.

“You heard it right, officer,” said Celia, her eyes wide. “All the gold is gone—but, I swear to God, I own nearly two hundred pairs of shoes, and every single one of them looks brand new. Whoever stole the gold fixed every last pair—every broken heel, every scuffed bit of leather, every missing eyelet, every worn-out lace.”

Jake smiled and headed out to play in his new Nikes.

“Cruel World”
Contemporary fantasy
By David M. Fitzpatrick

The hot chick who moved into the apartment above Brandon was dumb as a post. Brandon knew because he could hear everything Lydia said through the old heat-duct system. She was loud, and she talked nonstop on the phone, and she was an idiot. She thought there were a hundred ounces in a pound, that the sun orbited the Earth, and that George Washington wrote the Bible.

But the one that stopped Brandon in his tracks: She believed in leprechauns.

There was only one thing worse than having amnesia, and Brandon had both. He remembered waking up in the hospital seven years before, without a clue who he was. That was bad enough, but discovering he was only four feet tall was fate being doubly cruel. The doctors said he’d been born that way, probably thirty-five years before, but that was no consolation. Brandon couldn’t even find any hint of his previous life. Nobody cared about him, it seemed, but that was in line with the world at large: too much uncaring, hatred, and evil.

He quickly learned about the rude stares, tittering giggles, pointed fingers, laughing children, and lack of companionship. Seven years of no love and no sex—and, he guessed, thirty-five years before that of the same. He tried to endure his miserable life, but after four years of suffering, he grew weary of it, went on disability, and locked himself away in his apartment. It was better than being the easy target of harassers and haters. His apartment was a fortress where he could live in peace.

He found some comfort in the anonymity of the Internet, but even there people were cruel—trolls stirring up trouble, faceless bastards picking fights, invisible people being terrible just for the sake of hurting others’ feelings. So even that fantasy world was wearing thin—but now the dumb girl next door believed in leprechauns.

Not just that—she told a friend she’d give herself to a leprechaun in a heartbeat. And from there, Brandon’s plan was hatched—the one where he’d become as sleazy as the rest of the human race. He ordered what he needed online, and when it arrived he donned the green suit and hat and waited for nightfall. An hour after Lydia had gone to bed and all had been silent for some time, he left his apartment for the first time in three years.

He’d once helped out the building superintendent, and had a set of forgotten keys, with which he let himself into Lydia’s apartment. He tiptoed through the darkness to her bedroom, where he could hear her lightly snoring. He took a deep breath and flipped on her light.

She came awake immediately, sitting up—and looking stunned at what she saw.

“Begorrah!” he cried in his best Irish accent, and knowing it was dreadful. “Ah, me sweet lass! Tonight I’m yer lucky charm!”

“No way!” she cried out, hands at her face amidst her disheveled blond hair.

“Aye, lass,” he said, sauntering toward the bed. “Now let me into your bed, and let me bugger you senseless!”

In a matter of minutes, her nightgown was pulled up, her panties were pulled down, and Brandon had rolled a neon-green condom onto his dong. He put it to her like a madman, and she screamed in ecstasy as he did. It was over all too soon, but after he rolled off her, he promised he’d return.

“I’ll be back to bugger you again, lass,” he said. Sure he would—every damn night, so long as the dumb girl would let him.

“I know you will,” Lydia said, smiling at him as they lay together on the bed, and then she began to change.

She shrunk, her body mass decreasing, and her blond hair grew strawberry red. Freckles appeared on her pretty face, and soon the naked woman lying next to Brandon was no bigger than he was.

“What is this?” he cried. He tried to roll away, but she held him close.

“You chose to leave us and live as a human, so you’ve forgotten,” Lydia said. “But kiss me, and remember.”

She leaned in and they kissed, and the memories flooded back of the world of faerie—of its green fields and green skies, of brilliant rainbows and pots of gold, of magic spells and enchanted things. He remembered it all, remembered how thinking the world of the humans would be worth giving up all that he knew. How wrong he’d been!

“There are so many wondrous things in the humans’ world,” he said, “but people are so cruel. And I’ve become no better than them! I should never have given up my life.”

“Now you can have it back,” she said.

He kissed her again, and the magic enveloped them, and he left his seven-year nightmare behind.

“Great Magic”
Science fiction/fantasy
By David M. Fitzpatrick

“Fionnbhar!” cried the pretty leprechaun Lasairfhíona. “Come quickly! I’ve found it!”

Fionnbhar nearly dropped his change purse, in which were his dozen or so gold coins, but he managed to hang on. The pretty girl was enough to distract him just being herself on a normal day, but now she was all worked up and that was especially exciting for him. He rushed out of his house and into the beautiful day. The sky was a bright, mint green, with two small suns shining brightly above.

“Calm down, Lasairfhíona,” he said. “What are you on about?”

She was all smiles amidst her freckled, alabaster skin. “The Old Ones have said in legend that when the five-leafed shamrocks grow wild on Earth, that world will be ready for its rebirth. And I’ve found them!”

“That can’t be,” Fionnbhar said as dragons soared gracefully above them in the sky. “The Old Ones predicted it… but it isn’t expected to happen for thousands more years. The humans… have they finally found magic—and peace?”

“I didn’t think so, but the five-leafed shamrocks are everywhere,” Lasairfhíona said as orange clouds wafted and tumbled by in the sky. “Just in one place, but they seem to be spreading, like a new magic ready to cover the Earth.”

“Take me to them,” Fionnbhar said.

If the girl was right, this was a great sign. It had been so long since humans had embraced magic; now, after centuries of them tearing their world apart, were they about to move into a new era? The Old Ones had always said that when the five-leafed shamrocks appeared on Earth, a new age was about to emerge—one where humans traded the devastation of war for the beauty of peace, abandoned silly religions in favor of wondrous magic—and joined the immortal races of the faerie world.

“Take my hands,” Lasairfhíona said, and of course he knew that. He clasped them, and couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of warmth when he did. She was so beautiful, and they’d been friends for so long—with flirting and teasing always there. Perhaps this momentous day would also mark the beginning of their love—officially, finally!

She squeezed his hands tightly and muttered her traveling spell, and all about them the world whirled crazily by. A million things flew past, but they remained still. The sky shifted from mint green to a deep blue, and the two suns merged into one. A dragon flew by one moment; next, it was an airplane. And finally the scene ground to a halt, Lasairfhíona’s traveling spell having ended: They’d ended up right where she’d intended.

“Look!” she cried, dropping to her knees amidst the carpet of green. “Look here!”

He looked, and he could hardly believe it. Amidst the grasses, the shamrocks had grown wild, and even from a standing position Fionnbhar could see they all had five leaves.

“This is incredible,” he said, dropping down and grabbing handfuls of them up. Lasairfhíona only laughed wildly in answer, throwing handfuls of the beautiful things into the air. They rained down like green snow. “We must tell the council.”

“Yes—I just had to tell you first,” she said, and then she faced him. Her cheeks puffed high with her smile, and her green eyes sparkled. She reached out and took his hands again—not to travel this time, but just to hold.

“It’s a brave new world,” she whispered. “It’s the dawn of a new age, and we’re here to see it—the two who will herald this to our people. The humans are about to find peace and magic, and Earth will finally join our world.”

He squeezed her hands. “It’s wonderful.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he replied.

She leaned in and kissed him, and he returned it. It was the best feeling in the world—the perfect punctuation to this incredible, historic event. All was right with the world. The humans would finally be open to a reality far greater than anything they’d known. Magic would be the missing piece of all the great science the humans had mastered!

She finally pulled her lips away from his and pulled him to his feet. “It’s too bad my belly has been upset today,” she said. “It’s probably just the excitement of all this. I’ve been coming here for weeks, studying the shamrocks and watching how they’re spreading.”

He gestured beyond the field. “It’s too bad those structures are there,” he said. “I do enjoy human engineering marvels, but somehow those ugly concrete things spoil the scenery.”

“The five-leafed shamrocks didn’t mind,” she said. “They chose to grow here.”

She reached up to brush back her hair, and when she pulled her hand away, a large clump of hair came with it.

“That’s very odd,” she said, shaking it onto the ground. “But no matter; let’s return with the news of the wonderful magic that is about to happen!”

When her spell had taken them away, all that remained was the field of five-leafed shamrocks.

Beyond, the concrete cooling towers of the nuclear-power plant stood silently, venting steam.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.