“A hookup, you say?”
“No doubt, homie.”
“No doubt at all.”
The leprechaun snickered as he hooked two of his fingers and yanked them upward into the air.
A splash of blood erupted from the man’s back as he was lifted off his feet, screaming and reaching behind him. His legs kicked as more blood rained down, soaked the back of his shirt and dripped down into his jeans.
The leprechaun bounced his hand, cackling, tapping his feet.
With each bounce, the wound in the bouncer’s back tore wider, his spinal cord now ripped free from his back and bent at an odd angle. There was a wet snapping sound, and the man grimaced for a moment, opened his mouth as if to scream, though only a mist of blood sprayed out, then he hung limp, suspended in the air.
“There’ll be no musical, there’ll be no show. But for now, I only want my shillelagh to grow.”
He giggled once when he waved his hands and the man’s body plummeted to the hard concrete in a bloody heap.
The leprechaun turned back toward the club, could smell the lust in the air like a boiling stew. With a hop and a click of his heels, he strutted toward the flashing lights and thumping music.
It was a small room, packed with sweating, undulating bodies. Women of all shapes and sizes bounced and swung their hips, shook their breasts. Some smiling, some with blank, emotionless expressions.
Men and women, young and old, alone and in groups, grinned and threw back shots and let their money fly all over the place. The scent of sweat and alcohol was almost as pungent as the odor of desire and greed swirling through the air like incense smoke.
A girl, hardly more than a teenager, swung her body around a golden pole that stood in the middle of the stage. The ghastly music blasting from the speakers began to fade, and the girl gathered the loose bills from the stage floor around her, the men applauding and whistling.
A hand pressed down on the leprechaun’s shoulder, and he turned to find himself face to face with a bare cunt, as smooth and wet as a squid.
“You lookin’ for some company, baby?”
The leprechaun’s eyes traveled up and along the woman’s body, past her navel—which was surrounded by a tattoo of a snake eating itself—past her breasts—tattooed with intricate tribal patterns—and finally arrived at her face.
The leprechaun flinched and backed away from her. “Your face could melt gold, me lass.”
She rolled her eyes and trotted across the room.
The leprechaun had only meant it as a compliment. He’d have to learn the ways of these Portland women.
The leprechaun waddled to a free seat right beside the stage and sat down, his legs dangling. Three glasses sat on the small circular table beside him, only bits of melting ice at the bottoms. He waved his hand over the sweating glasses and refilled them with Goldschläger, emptied two of them right away and hissed, licking the gold flakes from his lips.
Red lights flashed and waved over the crowd and stage, and the girl—named Tigress—strutted out wearing high heels and a tiger-striped dress.
On her second song, she stripped out of the high heels and dress, leaving only a tiger-striped thong.
On her third and final song, the thong went flying into the audience—and landed on the leprechaun’s head. He removed the thong, taking a deep whiff of its sweetness before palming it, as Tigress wrapped her legs around the pole and shimmied her way to the top. Then she slid slowly down, a slug trail of glitter left behind along the metal. Dollar bills rained onto the stage like butterflies.
These women, the leprechaun thought. They leave nothing to the imagination.
He pressed the thong to his nostrils.
Nothing.
Though it had been years since he had tasted the flesh of a woman, he needed the thrill of the chase, perhaps a little teasing, to get the juices flowing. These women appeared to leave everything there for the taking.
“Hey,” came a voice from behind him.
Before the leprechaun could turn to face who was speaking to him, a bony rump slid into his lap and a pair of moist lips were pressed up against his ear.
“There’s a creepy asshole over there that won’t leave me alone. Drunk as a skunk,” she said, her voice as squeaky as a dog’s toy.
The girl, young and cute, eyes the color of emeralds, hair as yellow as leaves in the fall, leaned back and smiled at him nervously, motioned with her pupils toward the other side of the room. The leprechaun turned and glanced, unable to keep his own grin from blossoming on his face.
The man, along with his buddies, all stared toward the girl who now clung to the leprechaun, her arm draped over his neck, fingernails running through his sideburn. She plucked his hat off his head and placed it onto hers, and though normally that would have caused the leprechaun to spill her entrails onto the floor, he only smiled. The girl with the emerald eyes was already starting to grow on him, and he wondered if he had found his bride.
The drunken man bared his teeth, slammed his beer glass on the table and shattered it. He leaned back, eyes on the leprechaun now, and he massaged the bulge in his jeans, sucked on his teeth.
“Thanks, my sweet little man,” the girl said, and started untying the straps to her top.
The leprechaun stopped her, pulled her hands into her lap. “Not so fast, my pretty lass. No reason to be in a hurry. We’ll have forever.”
She smiled, bit her lip, lowered her face so she could get a better look at him, squinted slightly. “Hey…you’re from that musical, aren’t you? Holy shit, I was just talking about that.”
“What?” His grin withered like a dying flower.
“I’m sitting on the star of the show’s lap. Fuck me, man. The leprechaun.” She said the last part in a deep voice, waving her hands for effect. “What a trip. Really, man.”
The leprechaun could only scowl as the shrill words spilled from the girl’s pretty pink lips.
She kissed his neck just below the ear and whispered, “This dance is free, me evil little leprechaun.”
Another song began to play, Tigress’s ass now up in the air toward the crowd. She humped the air, making her ass cheeks clap, sweat misting into the faces of her admirers. Some men sitting stage-side were climbing each other to get a closer look, mouths open as if trying to catch the sweat droplets on their tongues.
Emerald Eyes straddled the leprechaun, swinging her hair behind her, then leaning back, pressing her groin into the leprechaun’s chest. She smelled like ripe fruit, and for a moment, the leprechaun was able to calm his murderous rage which had cropped up again over mention of the musical.
Her top fell away from her chest, revealing smooth, creamy skin the color of eggshell. Her nipples were pink and slightly inverted. Sweat beads rolled down her torso, pooled in her belly button. She gripped the back of the leprechaun’s head and pulled herself to him, pressing her breasts to his face and sliding the soft flesh across his nose and lips.
The leprechaun found it hard to move, hard to even think of anything more than this perfect specimen in his lap. The beauty with the emerald eyes.
It’s perfect, he thought. I’ve found my bride.
The music played on, thumping and beating. The men roared as Tigress spread her legs, mashed her breasts together, unrolled her tongue so that it could flick across the tips of her erect nipples. Other women danced for people around the club, swirling and thrusting and humping.
The leprechaun chuckled as he felt his shillelagh harden, press up against the girl’s ass, which continued to rock and sway to the music.
As the song ended, the girl slid down the leprechaun’s wee body like a glob of melting butter. They locked eyes and she ran her tongue across her teeth and lips.
And one of her eyes was brown. She seemed to notice at the exact same time as the leprechaun, and she suddenly stopped dancing and searched the floor, ran her fingers across the leprechaun’s green coat and pants.
“My contact fell out. Fucking hell. Those
things are expensive, man.”
It was at that very same moment that the leprechaun saw the poster taped to the pillar beside the stage. And as he looked around, the flyers were tacked up on the walls, taped to every pillar and pole in the whole fucking place.
Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical.
The leprechaun reached out to his minion, the one they used to call Genevieve. She had been waiting for his calling, and she was ready.
Come to me.
“Come on, man. Help me out. I can’t fucking see without my contacts.”
“Can’t see?” He grabbed her by the hair, pulled hard so that she was facing him, her hands immediately clawing at her scalp. Her eyes pinched shut, and the leprechaun pressed the nails of his two fingers through her lids and into her eyes, kept pushing until he was knuckle deep in jelly and blood. “How about now?”
The leprechaun ripped his fingers free and wiggled them at this girl who had come so close to becoming his wife. The optic nerves at the end of the eyes which were now impaled onto the leprechaun’s nails flung blood into the girl’s face. “Pity, my dear. You’ll miss the show.”
Her scream was cut off by the music as the speakers exploded back into life.
A strong hand slammed down on the leprechaun’s shoulder, swung him around so he was facing the opposite direction.
“She’s mine, you…you little motherfucker!” The drunk man already had his fist cocked back, and when his knuckles slammed against the leprechaun’s face, the bones in his hand snapped as if he’d just punched a cement wall.
The leprechaun only grinned, plucked his hat from the floor and placed it back on his head.
The girl kicked her legs, spun in place on the floor as gouts of blood poured from her eye sockets.
The drunk scrambled backward, knocking over tables and chairs, running into other men as he grunted and held his broken hand with the other.
“Help!” he screamed as the leprechaun pursued him with tapping feet. “Fucking help me!”
But all eyes were directed at the stage as Genevieve slowly strolled into view, her gold leotard hugging her body. She tossed her sunglasses away first, her eyes a lurid green, hypnotizing the crowd as they began to sway back and forth.
“I understand, me laddie. You’ve only got eyes for her,” the leprechaun said, then pounced onto the drunk’s chest, knocking him off his feet and slamming him to the ground. “It just so happens she could use a pair.”
The leprechaun pressed his lips to the man’s eye socket, sucked as he grabbed hold of the loose skin at the back of the man’s head, digging his claws in. The eye popped into the leprechaun’s mouth, and he quickly moved to the other socket and sucked.
“Fuuuuck! Oh fuck me!” The drunk sprayed blood into the leprechaun’s face as he screamed.
The leprechaun hopped off the man, spat the eyes into his hand and cackled. Not a single person in the club noticed or cared, and the leprechaun weaved his way through the crowd until he reached the girl, who was now on her hands and knees and attempting to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.
Genevieve pulled her leotard off and twirled it above her head before launching it into the crowd. Her skin was a pale blue color, almost gray. Coagulated green blood oozed from the wounds on her body. She smiled at the leprechaun, then stood up straight, locked eyes with each and every stripper in the club. Her pupils sparkled as if filled with verdant lightning.
The strippers stood up straight all at once, and they each smiled, their eyes shimmering as green as Genevieve’s.
All but one.
The leprechaun pounced onto the girl’s back, slamming her face-first into the floor. She shrieked and thrashed, and the leprechaun cackled in response.
“I thought you were special, not like all these old hookers. But still I brought you some shiny new lookers.”
He flipped her onto her back and twisted the eyes into her bleeding sockets.
She choked as she screamed, fresh blood pouring from her face and down the sides of her head, soaking into her hair.
With a wave of the leprechaun’s hand, her wails were cut off. Her eyelids had been slit down the middle, and the skin flaps lay motionless on her new eyes which were slightly too big for her sockets and bulged from her face.
“Pay attention, dearie. See how it’s done. Though you won’t be my bride, we can still have some fun.”
The leprechaun pulled her to her feet and faced her toward the stage. A green flash ignited in her new eyes, and slowly, her mouth pulled into a bloody grin.
Genevieve tore her arm off, ribbons of thick green gore stretching as she pulled it away. She ran the hand across her torso, between her breasts, then down to her green cunt. Chunks of sloppy, gelatinous flesh fell away from her body and slapped against the stage floor, wiggled like mounds of Jell-O.
The men surrounding the stage seemed to snap out of their trance then, glancing around the room as if waking from a long sleep, disoriented and lost.
“What the fuck?”
“Jesus Christ!”
Genevieve dropped onto her ass, lifted her legs over her head by the ankles. With a sickening ripping sound, she tore the legs free and twirled them like oversized batons. Green blood oozed from the stumps and puddled over the stage.
The legs crawled toward the gold pole, wrapped themselves around it like pythons on a tree branch. They climbed, the rotting flesh making a squeaking sound as it rubbed against the metal, leaving a milky residue.
Genevieve screamed with laughter as the men started to scramble away from her, running in all directions, knocking each other over and fighting to get to the exit first.
Genevieve did a handstand with her remaining hand, and her breasts fell off as she spun in place, colliding with her chin before rolling onto the stage. Green blood was flung from her wounds and splattered all over the club, some hitting the backs of the retreating, shrieking men.
“Lovelier than flowers, sweeter than peaches. Me beautiful minions will love you to pieces!”
The strippers, all of their eyes still wide open, unblinking and green, bared their teeth and attacked the crowd that had piled up at the door and emergency exits. People yanked on the handles, pounded on the doors, but couldn’t budge them.
The women’s fingers sprouted hooked claws at the ends, and they slashed and swiped and tore open flesh. The men tried to fight back, but their efforts were useless as blood and organs and tattered strips of flesh slapped against the floor.
The leprechaun ripped a flier off the wall, waddled toward the stage where Genevieve was putting herself back together. She rubbed the back of the leprechaun’s head as he growled and read the words again.
Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical.
“Are you ready for some more fun, me dear?”
“Always.”
“I want me copyright! I want me gold!”
Marvin couldn’t understand what the soft, chewy thing that filled his mouth could be. Even after he spit it out, his mind refused to register that it was a human ear. At least until he noticed the corpse beside him, its head bloodied where an ear had apparently been bitten off. A fist-sized hole in the corpse’s chest leaked blood onto the floor, and Marvin realized he was standing in the puddle at the same time he noticed the blood coating his arm and hand, the strings of gore intertwined in his fingers. And then several policemen burst into the theater, guns drawn, and shouted, “Freeze, motherfucker!”
Marvin thought police were supposed to be kinder than that, but their presence gave him a sense of relief. Surely they were here to rescue him from this nightmare. Marvin stood and took a step toward them. They leveled their aim at him. “We’re warning you,” one of them said. “Get on the floor now.”
Marvin looked around. Besides the dead guy and the cops, he was the only one in the theater. So they were talking to him. “Please, officers, there must be some mistake.”
“Get down!”
Marvin dropped to his stomach on the flo
or and the cops rushed over and handcuffed him. They said some things about his rights, then lifted him by his arms and made him walk between them. The handcuffs dug into his wrists. The closest he’d ever come to being arrested was watching Cops on television.
“What am I being arrested for?” he asked.
They ignored his question and led him out of the theater, through a crowd of people who he recognized as the cast and crew of Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical.
He scanned the mob, but didn’t see Byron or Simon anywhere.
“Help!” Marvin said. “Help! I did nothing wrong. Somebody help me! The police are fucking me up!”
One of the cops tied a black hood over Marvin’s head and he fell silent.
He heard a car door open and was pushed into the back of what he knew was a police car. He hit his head on the doorframe and tumbled into the back of the squad car, blind and immobile. Who’s going to feed Brian? he wondered, only for shards of recent memory to surface. The leprechaun, Willow, potatoes, a cat head, people screaming. By the time the cops finished asking questions of the cast and crew, Marvin was no longer himself.
Mark and Trinie watched as the police cars sped away, one of them holding Marvin in the back seat. The man had gone insane, but Mark still felt bad for him. He couldn’t help but think that none of this was Marvin’s fault.
The few people who hadn’t fled the scene entirely milled about, lost in shock.
“Maybe he was using bath salts,” Mark said.
“Yeah, maybe.” Trinie didn’t sound too certain.
The cops had asked them a few generic questions and locked the theater doors, officially declaring it a crime scene, before driving away. It seemed to Mark like the police should’ve done more, but he failed to think of anything in their power, other than maybe recommending a good therapist. Everyone who’d witnessed the attack inside was going to need it.
Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical: A Novel Page 8
