“That’ll learn him not to piss us off,” Charms said. “Hugh, me mate, I hear ye like to light fires.”
No one saw Hugh the leprechaun emerge from an unlucky piece of rock. He stomped on the bar as if putting out a fire. The few remaining men turned to the noisy magical man.
“Hugh, we have the same name. I’m Hugh, the enchanted fireman, and ye are Hugh, the fecking arsonist. I think we’ll call you Hughman to avoid confusion. Get it, human?”
Hugh the man looked the other guys in the face, revealing a guilty expression.
“I – I don’t light fires.”
“Don’t ye now? Ye be a gobshite liar, too,” Hugh said.
Hughman shook his head.
“Are ye daft, mate? Mental? Ye burned down ye ex-girlfriend’s flat.”
Hughman looked astonished.
“But I’m not here for that. We have a lot in common, Hughman. I like to light it up, too.”
Green flames danced out of Hugh’s hands. He forced the fire toward Mallory, missing him and bathing the bar in an eerie emerald light.
“Watch it, motherfucker. Before I take you down,” the big bartender said.
The flare returned to Hugh’s extremity.
“I’m not here for ye, mate. That’s up to our Mr. Charms over there.”
Charms stood tall and puffed out his chest. A big smile formed on his face. He rubbed his hands together with anticipation.
“But I am here for ye, Hughman. How’s the left leg?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Hughman glanced down at his leg and shrugged, perplexed. Then realization hit.
“What are you going to do to my leg?”
“What did ye do to his leg?”
“Who? What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oisin.”
“What is an Oisin?”
“A wee lad. His mates called him, ‘O’.”
“And how would I know him?”
“Ye will find out. How’s the leg?”
Hughman surveyed his limb and saw it shimmering green.
“Please whatever you’re doing - don’t do it. Please.”
“’Please stop,’ is that what ye’re asking me, bastard? Did ye stop for him?”
“Who?” Hughman asked.
“Oisin.”
The glare on Hughman’s leg grew brighter and small flashes of emerald appeared on his pants’ cuff.
“Oh, God. Do not do this.”
Heat crept up his leg. The seam up his pant leg caught fire. A blaze of green danced up to his hip. Hughman shook his leg violently.
“Put it out. Put it out.”
Hughman slapped at the flames and his hands lit up with fire. He brought his hands up and stared. He let out a high-pitched shout. He waved his hands about and ran to Mallory.
“Help me.”
Mallory took a pitcher of water from the sink and threw it on the fire. But the fire did not go out. Like gasoline, the water spread the blaze and turned Hughman into an inferno.
“Water doesn’t put out this burning desire for vengeance – nothing does,” Hugh said.
“Mercy.”
“Fire, water and the government know nothing of mercy, ye flamin’ fecker.”
They all watched him get devoured by the sea of heat. Hughman wailed until he was snuffed out and consumed by revenge.
Hugh shrunk back down into his limestone.
“One left, Dara,” Charms said and pointed at the last stone.
“Oh, please, no,” Dara said. “Don’t set me on fire.”
The last limestone jerked and bounced and glimmered a leafy green. Soon, Daire appeared and tipped his brown hat.
“Oh, I don’t want to set ye on fire. I don’t have the bullocks for that.”
Dara trembled.
“Now, laddie, how old is ye?” Daire asked and put his hand on Dara’s hand that rested on the man’s hip.
“Twenty-two.”
“A good age. Aye, laddie?”
Dara nodded and flinched.
“Got ye whole life ahead o’ ye, right?”
Dara nodded again.
“Just like he did.”
“Who did?”
“Oisin.”
“Who is that?”
“Ye lot of shite never learned his name?”
Charms took out two smaller limestone pieces from his vest pocket and threw them on the floor. They exploded on impact and two tiny leprechauns made the scene.
“Go get him,” Charms said to them.
They saluted Charms and left without a word.
“Now back to Dara, the bastard,” Daire said.
Daire patted Dara’s balls and spearmint sparks illuminated the young man’s crotch.
“Hey! Watch it,” Dara said and brushed the leprechaun’s hand away.
“Hey, ye’ve got some nice nuts. Fertile and fruitful. Ripe for the picking. Ye ever kick some lad in the privates, mate?”
Worry appeared on Dara’s face.
“What are you going to do to me?” Dara asked and wrung his hands.
“What ye did to him. Or something close,” Daire said. “How’s ye testicles?”
“Oh no.”
Dara covered his crotch with both hands.
“Please don’t.”
“Too late.”
Dara yelped and said, “What’s happening to my nads?”
Dara’s scrotum pressed against the inside of his jeans.
“Just gettin’ what ye deserve.”
“Oh, God. I can’t hold them in.”
Dara yanked open his jeans button and tore down the zipper. His denim fell to the floor. His underwear stretched and ripped apart, showing a swelling sac.
“Hut, hut,” Dara said as his balls grew down to his knees. His bag expanded, wider and longer. His knees spread apart further and further.
“Feels like I’ve been kicked in the nards so hard they’re swelling up big.”
“And out of control. Those are some enormous family jewels.”
“Hah, hah, aaa, ahh,” Dara said as his testes reached the floor and pushed his knees wide open.
“Make it stop,” Dara said. “I can’t take it.”
“No? Neither could he, but ye didn’t stop.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”
“Too late for apologizes,” Daire said.
“Just make it stop. Make it stop!”
The pouch of private parts enlarged until Daire touched the swollen mess. It rippled and churned and wiggled. Dara’s scrotum split open and his right gonad dropped out of the hole.
“No, no, arragh.”
The left followed. The exposed testicles snapped together like magnetic balls then shriveled up like two raisins. They shrunk smaller than two peas. Dara’s big balls bag deflated as if all the air escaped and hung between his thighs.
“How could you do this to me? Put them back in.”
“Gladly,” Daire said.
He picked up the tiny testes and held them up in his palm. He leaned over his hand and blew.
“That’s quite a blowjob for ye, Dara.”
Dara’s nuts flew out of the leprechaun’s hand with sudden force and velocity toward their owner. They struck and penetrated Dara’s eyes. Each one tore through his eyeballs and into his brain. They massacred the grey matter by ricocheting off his skull and rendering it to pudding. Dara’s jaw dropped, and he fell over, dead.
“He only had his privates on his brain anyhow, the edjet,” Daire said and disappeared into his rock.
“Nicely done, lads,” Charms said.
Each of the limestone pieces bounced up and down in approval. Charms retrieved each piece and replaced them in his pocket. He turned and looked Mallory in the eye. Mallory cast him a shocked glare.
“What did you do? How did…what…why did you do all this? They were all good guys. You killed them all. All. I want to call the sheriff, but he won’t believe a word of it. He’ll blame me and lock me in the wacko ward. Fuck. Why do
this? It’s a mess in here. How am I going to get rid of all these bodies and clean this place up?”
“Ye could bury them in that place they call ‘Burns Field.’ Right out of town. May I have some green beer, please?”
His mouth agape, Mallory stared at Charms.
“Why did you do all this? Shit. What’s wrong with you?”
“Me? What tis wrong with ye? Why do ye hate the Irish?”
“Where did those two asshole Mick faggots go? Who are they going to get?”
“Don’t ye worry. Me mates will return soon.”
“Answer me. Why did you do this? Answer me before I blow yer miniature Mick head clean off.”
Mallory lifted up his shotgun and aimed it at Charms’ head. With a wave of the leprechaun’s hand, the gun burst out of Mallory’s hands with such force it flew across the tavern, crashed into the far wall and stayed there, hanging out of the wood paneling.
“Now we can talk,” Unlucky Charms said.
He got up on a stool and sat down.
“I don’t suppose ye have a green beer for me?”
“No. Now tell me.”
“Do ye remember last Saint Paddy’s Day?”
“No. Should I?” Mallory said and shook his head.
Charms bounded on to the counter and grabbed Mallory by his shirt. Pulling the bartender close, Charms got in his face. His eyes shone the colour of the endless hills of home.
“Toi, toi, toi, you rapist.”
“Hey! I never raped no woman.”
“Who said it was a woman?”
“I never fucked no faggots up the ass neither.”
“Really? Those are some nice horns you have up there. Do they stay on the wall?”
“Fuck this shit yer spewin’ and tell me why you did this to my bar and my paying customers.”
“One year ago this night, ye and ye ‘paying customers’ did the unspeakable. But ye know what?”
Mallory shrugged.
“I’m going to speak it.”
*
“The wee lad came into ye Longhorn Bar and requested a green beer, politely, to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day. He was locked, already having many rightly coloured ales from the other establishments around here.
“And ye said, ‘No green beer here. How’s ‘bout a glass of draft?’
“Ye were a speck of friendly, at first. After all, he didn’t have the Irish accent – like meself. Born in America, his parents had immigrated from me beloved Emerald Isle to the States three months before his birth. So, ye didn’t know about his Irish blood. And how ye hate the Irish.
“’No,’ he said. ‘I want a green beer. I want to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day.’
“You said, ‘We don’t celebrate Saint Pat-fucker’s Day here.’
“‘Why the hell not?’
“‘I can’t stand the Irish. Drunken brawlers, hypocritical liars, Micks – all of them.’
“’I’m Irish, you fucking asshole,’ the wee lad said.
“’Kick his ass,’ Cavan said as your paying customers watched.
“’Yeah, kick the shit out of this emerald asshole,’ Tim said.
“’I want a green beer, you pricks.’
“’I’m gonna lay a beating on him myself,’ Locke said and stood up.
“’Fuck you. I’m the one who’s beating you up,’ Oisin said, but the lad had never been in a fight in his life. He only stood five-feet six-inches tall and 140 pounds. So when Locke punched him in the mouth, he let out a pitiful yelp and held his hurting mouth. Like an invading Viking, Locke was itchin’ for a fight. He kicked that boy and drove his fists into his stomach. Locke left him lying on the floor, his breath knocked out of him.
“’Damned Mick,’ ye said. ‘Tim, do something.’
“Tim sat him up and bit into the lad’s ear, digging his teeth in. Oisin yelled in pain. Tim gnawed his lob off.
“’You bit my ear, you asshole.’
“Tim spit the piece out and laughed with blood running down his chin. The lot of bastards cheered at his pain. Then the Hughman stepped up.
“’Hold his leg down, Tim,’ Hughman said.
“Dara helped. Tim and Dara and Hughman held the lad’s left leg down, and Hughman took out a Zippo lighter and set the boy’s pant leg on fire. They let him go, and he jumped up and ran around the barroom in a panic.
“’Aah, aah,’ he said and screamed until he found a jug of water on the bar and doused the flames.
“’Why did you do that?’ he said. He sat on the floor, not knowing what to do. Dara walked up and kicked the boy’s balls. Oisin drew his legs together and rolled over. Tim and Dara stretched his legs apart.
“’Do it again,’ ye said. ‘Again and again.’
“Dara kicked him so many times his bladder loosened.
“’Looked he pissed himself,’ Aiden said. ‘What a baby.’
“And the lot laughed some more.
“’My turn,’ Peter said. ‘I’ve got these rocks just for him.’
“Peter brought up his fists and pounded the poor boy. The lad cried and wailed and begged ye to stop.. And when Peter stopped, the wee one bled from his mouth, nose and even his eyes. He lay there broken and beaten. But ye weren’t done with him, yet.
“Edmond went to him and looked down, wondering. After several seconds, he decided. He searched the boy’s pockets and stole twenty dollars and some coins. He took the watch off the little one’s wrist – a gift from his father for his 21st birthday. Being so messed up, Oisin couldn’t stop him.
“Aiden came up next. He took out his cock out and pissed on him. He soaked his face and hair. All ye victim could do was lie there. He could not move. He gave no resistance. And ye all laughed again.
“Ye told Cavan, ‘Pull down his pants.’
“Cavan did so with satisfaction.
“’Look, the little shit’s got green underwear on,’ Cavan said. ‘Irish faggot.’
“Cavan turned Oisin over and took his buttocks in his hands.
“‘I’m a Mick sissy,’ Cavan said and moved the lad’s arse as if it had said that.
“’He’s talking out of his asshole,’ Edmond said. ‘Ha-ha.’
“’He’s a faggot. Show him what we do with faggots in Texas.’
“Then ye took down the longhorns from the wall. Ye went around to the lad – lying in a pool of blood and urine – helpless. Ye ripped his underpants off. Ye took the longhorns and tore it into his arsehole. It slashed a deep wound inside him. He screamed louder and worse than any scream ye’d heard in ye life. Ye pulled it out and rammed it back in again. And again. Until his cries stopped and he passed out.
“Ye left the horn in him and got up. Ye went back to the bar and got your long knife ye keep there. Ye came back to the boy and cut his throat. Ye got your revenge on a young Irish lad. Now, gimme a green beer.”
*
Mallory stood up off the bar. His face angry and confused. He slammed his hand down.
“Are ye ragin’?”
Mallory struggled to say something, but nothing came out. Until he said, “Fuck! You did this because of some drunken piece of Irish shit.”
He paused.
“Okay, maybe we went too far, but this wasn’t justice.” He gestured to the gruesome scene before him.
“No. It is a terrible vengeance,” Charms said.
“Yes. So, you’re no better than me.”
“So why did ye do it?” Charms asked.
“I despise the damned Irish.”
“Why?”
“I’m not telling you, you midget motherfucker.”
“I know why. Want me to tell ye?”
“No.”
“I’m telling anyway.”
“No, don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Ye will hear it.”
“Fuck off!”
“Did she break your heart? Keeva?”
“How do you know her?” Mallory’s heart sank.
“Pretty name: Keeva. She was a ge
ntle, precious treasure.”
Mallory nodded a little.
“Ye met her at the University of Texas in English class. She came over from my home – the Emerald Isle – to study in America. A lovely lass. She had light reddish hair – a strawberry blonde. A lithe figure, some freckles - you loved her freckles – a cute turned up nose, and when she smiled that shining smile, it melted your heart. Ye two fell in love. She was vibrant, energetic and when ye made love, ye made love. Ye didn’t have sex for its own sake – ye didn’t fuck her – ye had pure physical, emotional love. A first for ye. All the girls before were just a lay.”
“Stop.” Mallory’s voice low.
“But when the school year ended, she returned home and promised to come back. Ye wanted to go with her, but ye didn’t have the cash because ye were a poor student.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Only she did not return. She had an Irishman back home she had left behind to go to university. She told ye she would not see ye again and to forget about her. Brokenhearted, ye would go out to pubs, drink and fight anyone who looked Irish. Ye left the university and became a barkeep. Eventually, opening ye own pub – this place – the Longhorn.
“Ye tried to fix ye broken heart, but the pain lingered and festered. Then she contacted ye two years after she left. Ye got a letter saying she would marry her Irish bloke. And the pain rushed back three weeks before a locked Irish lad entered ye establishment on Saint Patrick’s Day, looking for a green beer. And ye made an ungodly vengeance on a young, innocent boy.”
Tears wet Mallory’s face.
“Do ye still love her?”
“No.”
Mallory turned away.
“I think so,” Charms said.
Mallory sobbed. His back heaved. He collected himself and turned back to Charms.
“To hell with you for bringing her up.”
The Longhorn bar door burst open. The two smaller leprechauns had returned.
“We got him,” they said together.
Floating on the air, the deceased, rotting victim of Mallory and his men’s torture and murder glided inside. His dead head hung to one side. Covered in dirt, he smelled deep and disgusting.
“Good God,” Mallory said.
“This was Oisin. His name means ‘eternal youth.’ Now he will be just that. What have ye got to say to the early departed?”
Charms raised his hand to the lifeless lad. Mallory stared at body but said nothing.
Unlucky Charms: A Horror Fantasy Page 2
