Harry Little, Leprechaun

by Michele Bardsley

  Horror crept through Eva. Those snakes would’ve included rattlers, pythons, asps—

  all kinds of dangerous ophidians. Dear God. How many people had suffered because Harry had a truly depraved sense of humor?

  “There were t’ousands of ‘em,” continued Lorcan. “It took Grandmother workin’

  ancient magic to dispel most of the creatures—and three nights of us gatherin’ what was left and tossin’ ‘em into the ocean.”

  “After that, we decided we’d had enough of Harry Little!” Brigid slapped the sides of her chair. “Most leprechauns aren’t evil. Harry is the exception. The devil’s own, he is.

  Still, the wee folk are immortal, in the truest sense, and can’t be killed. Imprisonin’ Harry was our only choice.”

  “Y’see, druids were Harry’s favorite targets,” said Lorcan. “They were more’n happy to help us, so they bound a powerful spell into a clover. All we had to do was get Harry to consume it and he’d fall into deep slumber.”

  Brigid picked up the tale again. “Gettin’ him comatose was the first part of our plan. Keepin’ him away forever was the second part. I created a special metal coffin for his eternal rest. I even put imigh leat magic into the iron as extra insurance.”

  Jessica patted her husband’s knee. “Let me guess, babe. You were in on the drowning the shamrock part?”

  “Yes. I went to Harry’s favorite pub and offered to buy his whiskey all night. I showed him a handful of clovers and said I honored the cleverness of leprechauns by puttin’ shamrocks in whiskey.” Patrick pretended to hold a mug in a toasting gesture. “He said, ‘Put two shamrocks in mine, Padriag, because I’m the cleverest leprechaun t’ ever touch the shores of Irelan’.’”

  “So the booze was … magically delicious?” Jessica grinned so wide, her fangs showed.

  Patrick laughed while the others groaned at the bad joke. “Fortunately for us, sonuachar. After Harry downed the whiskey—and the magicked shamrock—he passed out. I took him and the coffin to the druids. They buried Harry—land or sea, we never knew.”

  Eva tapped her chin, her gaze distant as she thought about all the angles. “How did he escape?”

  “He should’ve stayed in there until the earth turned to dust.” Brigid shook her head.

  “Only a magical being would’ve been able to discern his location, unseal the coffin, and wake up Harry.”

  “Whoever woke his ass up probably wants his coin.” Jessica put out her hands and tilted her head. In a creepy rasp, she cried, “Coin! Coin! Coin! Uuuuggghhh!”

  “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Brigid glanced at Patrick. “Is her brain meltin’?”

  “She’s makin’ a Scooby-Doo reference, Grandmother.”

  “You guys are hopeless!” exclaimed Jessica. “The second we get rid of the

  leprechaun, we’re doing a Scooby-Doo marathon. We’ll watch the original series, which is more awesome than anything that came afterward. Anyone who suggests an episode with Scrappy-Doo will be killed.”

  A myriad of cheerful beeps prevented Jessica from further lecturing about the merits of Scooby-Doo.

  Everyone dug into their various pockets to retrieve their cell phones.

  Eva and Lorcan looked down at their screens and then at each other. They exchanged phones, but the messages from Tez were exactly the same: Ghost alert! Get your undead asses to the gift shop!

  Jessica tapped her screen and giggled. “Marcy sent me a zombie meme!”

  “Marcy—the new blood donor?”

  “Yeah.” She showed her husband the meme. “Isn’t it hilarious?”

  “We’re zombie food at the Broken Heart diner,” read Patrick. He stared at the image and frowned. “Darlin’, I think the donors are bein’ attacked.”

  “Oh, crap!”

  “May I see the picture?” Eva took the proffered phone from Patrick. She nodded.

  “That’s the zombie I saw depart from Harry’s tour bus.” She glanced at Lorcan and knew the concern in his gaze mirrored her own. “A ghost was on there, too.”

  “What about vampires?” Brigid’s eyes were wide as she stared at her phone screen.

  “’Cause Brady and Simone are … er, dealin’ with mated deamhan fola.”

  “Yes, there were two vampires,” said Eva. “The last passenger was in the human form of a young man.” She returned Jessica’s phone. “It appears the leprechaun brought in his paranormal tour group to create chaos.”

  “A ghost in the gift shop. A zombie in the diner. Vampires in the town garage.”

  Lorcan rubbed the back of his neck. “Distractions to keep us from discernin’ his true purpose.”

  Brigid’s phone beeped again. She tapped on the new message and cursed. “Harry’s ridin’ some poor lycan up and down Main Street!” Just like Scooby-Doo and the gang, it was time to split up.

  “Eva and I will take the gift shop,” said Lorcan.

  “Brady an’ Simone will deal with the vampires. That leaves me with Harry.” Brigid lifted her hands in a “don’t-worry” gesture. “I’ll only track the little bastard until we’re ready to take action.”

  Jessica raised her hand. “Diner zombie.” She looked at Patrick. “I wish Patsy wasn’t on vacation. She’s so much better with the walking dead.”

  “We can handle one zombie.” Patrick patted his wife’s shoulder. “And then we can have dessert.”

  Jessica grinned.

  Who Let the Dead Out?

  JESSICA AND PATRICK arrived in the Broken Heart Diner by magical re-atomization.

  They appeared about two feet away from the zombie’s back—who’d apparently started a one-way food war. Marcy was in the middle of the human donors clustered at the opposite end of the diner. They were covered in mashed potatoes, meatloaf, green beans, and an alarming amount of gravy.

  “That’s so not cool,” said Jessica. “Just because you can’t eat doesn’t mean you should waste food.”

  The zombie turned and offered a terrifying smile that revealed missing teeth, a black tongue, and desiccated skin. He threw a full plate of spaghetti straight at them. Noodles, marinara sauce, and meatballs smacked Jessica and Patrick primarily in the face and chest. The dinner plate bounced off Patrick’s shoulder and shattered at their feet.

  Marinara dripped from Jessica and Patrick’s clothes and noodles clung to their hair.

  Most of the meatballs had bounced off them and littered the floor like baby Tribbles.

  Well, except for one that had rolled down Jessica’s neck and into her cleavage.

  “I’ll get that one later,” said Patrick with a wink.

  Jessica laughed.

  The zombie opened his mouth and groaned, shuffling forward.

  Jessica held out half-closed fists. Within seconds, her favorite weapons appeared.

  Known as Ruadan swords, the short gold blades with jeweled hilts had been a gift from Patrick. Jess was extremely adept at using the Irish skeans. With her deamhan fola strength and swiftness, she was a deadly enemy. The zombie didn’t have enough brain cells left to understand he was slow-walking toward a very dangerous and annoyed vampire.

  Jessica expertly twirled the swords. The zombie stopped, mesmerized by the shiny gyrating metal.

  “You know,” Jessica said conversationally, “this might’ve ended differently if you’d thrown chocolate pie.”

  SIMONE AND BRADY huddled in the corner of the garage, watching the newly

  repaired Jaguar alternate between bouncing up and down and rocking from side to side.

  The inside of the windows were splattered with blood.

  “I’ve never seen two vampires rip each other to shreds like that,” whispered Simone.

  “At least not while having sex,” said Brady. “The worst part is the dirty talk.”

  “Oh, Vlad,” screeched the wife. “Impale me!”

  “I will,” yelled the husband. “I will impale you so hard.”

  “Yes, baby! Stake me with your wood!”


  “Goddamn it,” growled Brady. “It’s like listening to Count Chocula make a porno.”

  A loud metallic crunch echoed through the garage.

  Brady and Simone winced.

  “Guess we’re replacing the rear axle.” Brady marched to the Jag and pounded on its top. “That’s enough! Quit defiling the car, damn it!”

  A male voice shouted, “Don’t come knocking when the coffin’s a-rocking!”

  “You’re not in a coffin,” bellowed Brady.

  “It’s a metaphor, you Philistine!”

  Groans. Moans. Screams. The obscene noises suggested that the vampires were

  getting hacked to death by axes.

  Brady hurried back to his wife and they pressed against the wall.

  The car shot up…

  …grazed the ceiling …

  …plummeted...

  …and slammed onto the concrete floor.

  All four tires blew out.

  Simone and Brady stared at each other, and then at the totaled car, and then at each other again.

  “The easiest thing to do,” Simone said, “is to buy Tez a new Jaguar.”

  EVA AND LORCAN arrived at the gift shop just in time to see the pissed-off ghost wing a ceramic werewolf at Elizabeth and Tez. They’d taken shelter behind the check-out counter and—given the number of holes in the wall—they’d been dodging thrown objects for a while. Their movements reminded Eva of the duck shooting game so popular at the state fair. Good thing the ghost had bad aim.

  “Fucking hell!” shouted Elizabeth. The foul language was at odds with her perfectly groomed appearance. In fact, it seemed rather like a desecration to shout obscenities while wearing vintage Dior. However, her were-cat husband seemed to take delight in her sailor talk.

  “I bought the tickets to the Led Zeppelin concert!” yelled the agitated spirit. “And my boyfriend takes that whore Susan Koblanski! I’d only been dead for a week!”

  “Now, darlin’,” said Lorcan in a soothing tone, “you need to calm down.”

  “Are you shit-bat crazy?” yelled Tez. “You never tell a woman—living or dead—to calm down.”

  He and Elizabeth ducked.

  Eva went low, crab-walking toward the register.

  The ghost whirled around, her eyes lighting with twin flames of fury. “I’m not your darling! My name is Juniper, you slut-loving prick!”

  “Hey!” protested Eva over her shoulder. “I’m nothing like Susan Koblanski.”

  “Neither am I!” said Lorcan.

  Juniper hurled an entire shelf of snow globes at the bewildered vampire. He avoided the largest glass orb, which shattered against the wall behind him. A smaller globe struck his shin, yet another plowed into his stomach, and third landed on his foot.

  “Ow!” yelled Lorcan. “Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!”

  “Are you insulting cats, buddy?” Tez peeked over the counter. “Because I take that shit personally.”

  Eva reversed direction, rose to her feet, and stood directly behind psycho ghost.

  Juniper was ephemeral, save for the shirt. Eva grabbed the collar and yanked hard. “Stop being such a bitch!”

  The shirt ripped in two. Eva clutched one section in her hand and the other fell onto the floor.

  “Nobody understands me,” wailed the ghost. Juniper plopped down into a cross-legged position and started to sob. “I was too young to die.” She raised her fists and cried,

  “Damn you, marijuana!”

  “You died from marijuana use?” asked Tez. He stood up and stared at her, his expression one of amazement. “Really?”

  “Well, sorta,” she admitted, sniffling. “I accidently swallowed the joint and choked on it.”

  TO BETTER TRACK Harry Brigid manifested into her cosmic form. Her pure and

  ancient essence shimmered like star dust and appeared to the human eye nothing more than a flicker of moonlight. In this incarnation, she viewed all planes of existence, which bounced and twirled into each other like playing children.

  Brigid easily found Harry, given that he rode a large, gray-furred lycanthrope down Main Street. Oddly, the beast and the leprechaun wore matching green T-shirts.

  She followed Harry as he urged the werewolf away from town and into the fields near the old beauty shop. Minutes later, the pair entered the woods that edged Broken Heart’s border. Harry and his lycan stopped in a small clearing, and the leprechaun jumped off the animal. It immediately whirled and crouched low, snarling.

  “Ye should’ve never put on that fockin’ shirt, boyo.” Harry laughed and patted its snout, clearly unafraid of its vicious threat. “Ye know what to fockin’ do. Go!”

  The furious beast snapped at him, claws digging into the earth. For a moment, it seemed as though the lycan might well try to tear out Harry’s throat. Instead, the beleaguered creature stood down, its ear flat as it slunk past the leprechaun and loped away.

  Harry put his hands on his hips and aimed his gaze right at the goddess. “I see ye, Brigid. Ye fockin’ stole me magic, but I’m not wit’out the fockin’ sight.”

  Brigid hadn’t expected Harry to discern her so easily. She knew it wasn’t wise to confront him, but maybe she could end his nefarious plans for Broken Heart before they truly began. She was a goddess, after all, and Harry no more than leprechaun. All the same, a deep foreboding singed her with doubt. And yet … she still made the decision to return to her human form, luminescent in a gown blue as the sky and a thin gold crown alight on her head. Her tattoos eddied and swirled in a pulsing tempo that reflected her ire.

  “You’ve learned nothing, Harry Little.” Brigid tossed her long red curls over her shoulder and then pointed at him. Blue-gold flame erupted from her fingertip, a reminder of who she was and what she could do. “Here you are with a second chance to be in the world, and you’re just as petty, cruel, and asinine as you ever were.”

  “Ye named all me good qualities.” Harry narrowed his gaze. “The arrogance of the gods and goddesses astounds me still. Ye had no fockin’ right to judge me and sentence me to fockin’ eternal sleep.”

  “You had no right to kill innocents.” She stretched out her hand, and the single flicker became multiple flames. “You no more care for the lives of others than a spider cares about the flies trapped in its web.”

  Harry shrugged. “I can’t help it if humans have no sense of humor—and no sense of self-preservation.”

  “We won’t let you destroy Broken Heart.”

  “Ye want me to fockin’ leave this gobshite town? Hand over me magic an’ I’ll fockin’ do a legger!”

  “You’ll never cast a spell again.”

  “Beg to differ.” He removed a pipe from his top front pocket. “On account I’m fockin’ right, an’ ye are fockin’ wrong.”

  Harry tossed the contents of the pipe onto Brigid. Instead of tobacco flakes, grayish white sediment engulfed her. The magical flames dancing along her fingers were doused instantly. Shock reverberated through her as a biting chill burrowed into her skin. She looked down and watched in horror as her legs transmuted to smooth, gray stone. Worse, the awful magic wormed its way up her body turning supple skin into adamantine flesh.

  “What have you done?” she cried.

  “It’s a bit o’ dust from Medusa. Remember her? The cailín with fockin’ snakes growin’ out of her skull?” He made wiggling motions over his glittery green hat. “Ol’

  Meddie had grand time turnin’ innocent lads int’ statues. Then she looked into a shiny shield an’ got a taste of her own gobshite. I happen t’ know where the fockin’ Greeks hid her.”

  Brigid’s body was almost fully transmogrified.

  As the cursed dust finished its loathsome task, Harry skipped over to the goddess. He giggled as he tapped her midsection. “We’ll see how ye like bein’ fockin’ trapped. Ye will suffer, Brigid. An’ I’m fockin’ glad t’ see it.”

  Every Which Way, But Leprechaun

  JESSICA AND PATRICK walked into
the gift shop. The zombie shuffled behind them.

  He pointed to the female spirit and emitted a noise that seemed a combination of a hiccup and burp.

  “It’s okay, Fred.” Jessica gave the dead dude’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to be afraid of the ghost.”

  “Speak for yourself,” muttered Lorcan. “She almost killed me.” He leaned against the wall, far away from the vampires who’d encircled the spirit named Juniper. They sat cross-legged around her, listening intently to her sob-choked whines.

  “They c-called me J-Juniper Wynter-Ashe Shwartzman. Don’t parents r-realize

  stupid names b-burden their children for l-life?” Juniper burst into another bout of tears.

  Elizabeth, Tez, and Eva made soothing noises.

  Patrick eyed them. “What are they doin’?”

  “Eva said it’s called ‘poor babies,’” said Lorcan.

  “Let’s go see what the deal is. C’mon, Fred.” Jess took the zombie’s hand and they joined the sharing circle.

  Patrick opted to stand next to his brother.

  “What’s with the zombie?” asked Lorcan

  “I think we’ve adopted him,” he said. “Jessica got out her swords and cut off that ridiculous shirt. The zombie sat down in the middle of the diner and dry-cried. Jessica went from murderin’ him to motherin’ him in three seconds.”

  Lorcan. He stared at the ethereal figure. “Eva removed the tee from Juniper and just like that—” he snapped his fingers—“she melted into a pile of pathetic.”

  “We can totally get your name changed,” said Jessica enthusiastically. She patted the leg of her zombie. “And if you don’t like Fred, we can change it to something else.”

  The zombie shook its head and smiled wide. Jessica examined his damaged mouth.

  “Oh, honey, you’re getting new teeth. Maybe we can do something about that skin-flaking problem you have, too.”

  “Uuuuuuh!”

  “You can change my name? Even though I’m life-challenged?” asked Juniper

  Wynter-Ashe Shwartzman.

  “Sure,” said Tez. “We’ll make it happen. You just gotta think of the name you want.”