Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical: A Novel

by Cameron Pierce

  Simon nodded back, and Mark knew the time was getting close. If the spears didn’t work, didn’t kill the leprechaun, he told himself that at least he got one more kiss before he died.

  From behind Simon, a figure emerged from the darkness.

  It’s Kay! The chick from the bar.

  Mark was glad to see her, figured she could help out. He wasn’t sure where she came from or how she knew to find them backstage, but that didn’t matter. She was here and they needed all the allies they could get. Then he noticed the golden collar wrapped around her neck, the strange, slack expression on her face.

  Simon turned toward her, was saying something Mark couldn’t make out.

  Byron and the leprechaun continued to battle onstage, the crowd getting more and more into it, every one of them thinking this was all just part of the show, probably wondering how a group of nobodies like them could pull off such a convincing-looking leprechaun.

  Simon turned his gaze toward Mark and Trinie again, and Mark widened his eyes, wanting Simon to get his head in the game. It was go time.

  But Mark squinted as he stared past Simon and at Kay again. Something wasn’t right about her. Then she opened her eyes fully, and a burning green light exploded out of her sockets. She grinned, had Simon’s arm gripped in her hand.

  She’s fucking possessed or something. She’s with the leprechaun.

  Mark wanted to run to Simon’s aid, wanted to help, but at that moment the leprechaun’s voice rose in volume and intensity, roaring from the speakers.

  “…you can all burn in hell!”

  Byron turned his gaze toward Mark and Trinie, waved them over with two quick jerks of his hand.

  “Now, Mark. Go now!” Trinie said, shoving him in the back.

  The leprechaun strippers in the crowd looked ready to shred the audience with their talon-like claws.

  Mark raised his spear above his head, clenched his teeth, and sprinted forward. He hadn’t made it three steps before the leprechaun spun on his heels, so fast it looked like the back of his head grew a face. The wee creature growled like a rabid dog, his hands glowing as if radioactive.

  It was too late to stop now, and Mark just gripped the shaft of his spear harder and roared forward.

  The leprechaun held one hand up, palm out, and in that instant, Mark couldn’t move. The only part of his body he seemed to have control over was his eyes, and he could only watch as Trinie darted past his petrified self, her spear out in front of her.

  With his other hand, the leprechaun simply waved as if swatting at a mosquito. Trinie flew from the stage as if catapulted, spinning through the air above the audience. The men and women in the crowd oohed and ahhed as they watched her sail over their heads. Mark couldn’t see where she landed, but he heard it, and he tried to wince but couldn’t.

  “You little motherfucker!” Mark tried to shout, but he couldn’t even work his vocal cords. A green cloud swirled around him, sparkling like a glittered tornado. A hideous rictus opened up on the leprechaun’s face.

  Mark couldn’t turn his head to look for him, but expected Byron would have intervened by now, done something…anything. Mark could only look in the leprechaun’s direction, and from his viewpoint, Byron was nowhere to be found.

  He fucking ran. He left us here, that chickenshit motherfucker!

  Just as Mark was accepting his fate that any minute the leprechaun would kill him, rip his intestines out through his nostrils, the theater came alive with light. Red and blue, flashing in through the windows, splashing across the audience and the leprechaun’s green-tinted flesh.

  Mark thought it was thunder he heard, but as the seconds ticked by and the volume grew louder, he realized it was a hip hop beat. He even recognized the song as “Fuck tha Police.”

  The doors flew open, making the audience jump collectively, the strippers as still as statues, still waiting for their command to kill.

  What looked like the entire Portland police force paraded into the theater, and for a second, just a brief second, Mark was relieved to see them, thought he was saved, that they were all going to be okay now.

  Then he spotted Marvin, leading the cops. Or the leprechaun formerly known as Marvin.

  The real leprechaun snarled, released his hold on Mark so he could turn and face Marvin, both creatures glaring at each other.

  “You!” the leprechaun roared.

  Mark landed on his backside, only gave himself half a second to groan and grimace before he dove toward his spear which lay just behind the leprechaun, who now had his back turned on Mark.

  In one fluid motion, Mark gripped the shaft with both hands, and still on his knees, drove the tip of the spear into the leprechaun’s back.

  Green blood as thick as pudding squirted from the creature’s back, splashed across Mark’s face and burned like hot oil. The leprechaun screeched and yowled, reaching behind him to pull the spear out.

  Mark screamed as the blood sizzled over his face, and he used his shirt to try and wipe it away, frantically rubbing the cloth over his eyes and skin.

  When he removed his shirt from his face, the leprechaun stood just in front of him, spear in hand, teeth bared and eyes pinched to razor-thin slits.

  “Break a leg,” the leprechaun said, then slammed the spear head into Mark’s thigh, pinning him to the wooden stage beneath.

  Mark shrieked as blood bubbled from his leg. He used both hands to try and pull the metal out, but he couldn’t even budge it.

  The leprechaun spun back toward Marvin, giggled to himself, then hopped off the stage.

  As soon as Mark and Trinie launched their attack, Byron ducked out of the way and crept toward the pot of gold. They had agreed burning the gold was a last resort, but Byron didn’t want to take any chances. Why wait to see if the clover-tipped spears did the trick when they could hit him with everything they had all at once?

  When he saw Simon struggling with what looked like a monster, it took him a minute before realizing the monster was actually Kay.

  The leprechaun’s fucking bride.

  Having seen the films again and again, he only had to take one look at Kay to know it was true. From what Byron could tell from the events that had been happening since they started this fucking musical, a lot of the gags from the films were based on truth. He had to wonder how any of the filmmakers got away with it without this little son of a bitch coming after them.

  Or maybe they’re all dead.

  Byron had his back to the audience now, and braced himself to hear the wet, ripping sounds of the strippers slaughtering them, tearing them apart like fruit in a blender.

  But instead he heard the squealing of what could only be the leprechaun. Byron chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, saw Mark with his spear jammed into the leprechaun’s back, thick, neon blood spraying from the wound. He didn’t see Trinie anywhere. Then Mark released the spear, kicked his legs and screamed as he wiped at his face.

  Oh, fuck me. Hurry, Byron, quit fucking around.

  Byron pulled the book of matches from his pocket, rushed across the stage toward the papier-mâché tree stump. The scent of lighter fluid stung his nostrils, and just as he was about to strike the match, blue and red lights flashed across the walls and stage, followed by a deep, thumping bass.

  A few seconds later, Byron could have sworn he heard the lyrics to “Fuck tha Police” being blasted from a speaker or megaphone, but he knew there was no time to worry about it, no time to do anything but light this motherfucking pot o’ gold aflame and watch that little green cocksucker melt on the theater floor.

  The match had gone out, and Byron quickly ripped a new one off and struck it. Before he could even start toward the tree stump, this match went out as well.

  “Little boys shouldn’t play with fire.”

  The voice came from Byron’s left, and before he could turn to face it, a hand was wrapped around his throat.

  Kay, now resembling the leprechaun more than herself, lifted Byron off his feet and h
eld him at arm’s length. Her grip was strong, and no matter how hard Byron pulled, he couldn’t loosen her fingers. The tips of her claws pierced the back of his neck and warm blood flowed down his back and into the crack of his ass. Byron kicked, the toes of his sneakers slamming against Kay’s stomach and chest, but she didn’t even flinch, just smiled up at him.

  Simon lay motionless on the floor beside Kay’s feet, a puddle of blood surrounding his head.

  She killed him. She killed Simon and now I’m next. We failed.

  Byron heard a ruckus coming from his right, but he couldn’t turn his head to see what was going on. His vision began to blur, stars sparkling at the corners. His eyes felt ready to burst. He no longer had the strength to kick, couldn’t even lift his arms to claw at Kay’s hand.

  Marvin hopped out of his vehicle and approached the theater’s entrance. He could feel the other leprechaun’s presence like electric spiders crawling over his skin, knew his maker was inside, just beyond these doors. His men were behind him, wielding their nightsticks and pistols and shotguns.

  The leprechaun had others with him, his minions. Marvin could smell their green pussy stink, and with his mind, he told his men to take care of them. The others didn’t matter. Marvin wasn’t here to kill any innocents.

  He only wanted the leprechaun. Only wanted to claim this town as his own.

  And the pot of gold. Marvin only had his flute, and though he wore it around his neck, lovingly ran his fingertips across its surface again and again, he needed more. A leprechaun without gold was no leprechaun at all.

  “Showtime,” Marvin said with a chuckle, and closed his now fully-formed fist like he was crushing a bug in his palm. The theater doors crumbled, folded in on themselves in a shower of green sparks, and Marvin stepped over the rubble and into the theater.

  The leprechaun was onstage, his bitch minions spread across the audience with their claws held high. The audience didn’t seem concerned about this in the least. They were all on their feet and seemed to be dancing, having the time of their lives.

  The two leprechauns locked eyes, and Marvin couldn’t help but smile.

  “You!” the leprechaun growled, then screamed as an iron spear was driven into his back by the lad onstage with him. Marvin thought he recognized the boy, but couldn’t grasp the memory.

  As the leprechaun yanked the spear from his back and faced his attacker, Marvin’s men marched through the aisles and ran toward the clawed strippers. Guns were cocked and the officers cackled like drunken frat boys as they began their attack.

  The strippers saw them coming, but seemed reluctant to defend themselves. They kept glancing at the leprechaun onstage as if awaiting permission to fight.

  One officer pressed the barrel of his shotgun to the back of a stripper’s head and pulled the trigger. Brains and hair and skull fragments showered the audience members around her, and the officer cackled as he used the butt of his gun to beat her still-kicking body.

  The people, now dripping with green gore, didn’t seem to know how to react. They watched, some slack-jawed, some even smiling. They exchanged glances, and a few took steps back, but none retreated completely. Even as they wiped the stripper’s brains from their faces, they could only seem to watch.

  Marvin switched his attention back to the stage just as the leprechaun hopped off of it and started walking down the aisle toward him. In that same moment, the female minions screeched and launched their own attack against the officers, using their claws to tear into their torsos, flinging innards and ribbons of tattered skin across the crowd.

  One girl slashed upward, penetrating one of the younger officers at the soft flesh under his chin. Her talons stabbed into the roof of his mouth, blood spraying from his nose and throat. As she ripped his jaw from his head, he jammed his pistol past her teeth and emptied his magazine down her throat.

  The chief of police, an older man with a gut that hung past his belt like he was hiding a whole turkey under his shirt, calmly walked down an aisle, a pistol in each hand. His eyes glowed green and he chewed on the butt of a cigar that was clamped between teeth like a chunk of soggy beef. He fired the pistols in turn, each bullet finding a stripper and spraying green blood across the walls and floor and stunned faces of the audience. When he laughed, he coughed, deep and phlegmy. He took out at least three of the leprechaun’s minions before another two jumped on him from behind and ripped away handfuls of flesh from his neck until his head rolled off backward, the cigar still clamped between his teeth.

  Marvin ignored the violence around him, ignored the gawking faces of the audience.

  He locked eyes with the leprechaun and slowly strode toward him, curling and uncurling his hands at his sides.

  “That be my gold hanging ’round your neck,” the leprechaun said once they were face to face. “Once I’ve eaten your heart, I’ll be taking that back, my boy.”

  Marvin licked his lips and bared his teeth. “You created a monster when you bit me. And after I take your gold, I’ll be taking those shiny shoes as well.”

  “Shall we dance now, me wee friend?”

  “That we shall.”

  The leprechaun’s hands and eyes glowed bright as he grinned.

  Marvin growled and leapt forward.

  Simon thought he was dead. When consciousness faded back in, he was sure he was in the afterlife. And he was relieved. He didn’t have to worry about leprechauns or zombie fly girls or copyright laws.

  Then his left eye socket ignited with fresh pain, and as he clutched his face and ground his teeth, he knew the nightmare wasn’t over yet.

  When he pulled his hands away, his palms were slick with blood. Kay had punctured his eyeball with her thumbnail, dug it in deep until it ruptured. His vision in that eye went out like a television being turned off, and he remembered screaming, remembered wishing she would just hurry up and kill him already.

  And now he was waking up. Alive.

  What the fuck is going on?

  The pain was intense, as if Kay had pulled his eyeball out and filled the socket with hot coals. Simon turned his head and vomited onto the stage, was about to shriek when his working eye landed on Kay. She had Byron by the throat, lifted off his feet, and as Simon watched, Byron’s struggles began to weaken, his grimacing face going slack.

  A book of matches lay on the stage beside them, and Simon figured Kay had stopped Byron before he could finish it. He knew it would be useless to try and fight Kay, so he crawled as quietly as he could across the stage, cringing when the wooden planks beneath him creaked. But there was too much commotion in the theater for Kay to notice, and she just grinned into Byron’s face as she choked the life out of him.

  Simon’s shaking fingers reached for the matches. He was behind Kay, almost directly under her now. Simon feared that Byron was already dead, but when he looked up at his friend, Byron was looking back at him. Byron’s eyes said, “Do it. Hurry!”

  This is all my fault, Simon thought as Byron’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

  Simon quickly snatched the book of matches and nearly dropped it as he fumbled for one. The tree stump was just in front of him, the lighter fluid’s scent strong, its fumes stinging his raw, open eye socket.

  He lit a match, then used that match to light the rest of the book.

  Kay turned then, dropping Byron to the stage, her eyes vivid and her teeth grinding together as she stared at the flame.

  Simon tossed the matches into the tree stump, Kay’s deep roar echoing into the theater as she rushed forward. The matches landed on top of the gold where it ignited at once, shooting a fireball into the air, singeing Kay’s face and burning her red beard hairs away.

  Simon crawled toward Byron, who was motionless on his back. A deep red handprint was tattooed to his throat, and at first Simon was sure he was dead.

  Kay screamed and flailed her arms as if she were on fire herself, though there were no flames on her. She dropped to her knees, raked her nails across her face. Her golden
collar bubbled and oozed off of her neck and slid across her skin like mercury. It puddled onto the stage floor, and with a final shriek, Kay slumped over, knocking the top of her head against the stage floor before falling to her side.

  “Simon…fucking help me!”

  Trinie never lost consciousness, but the way the back of her head and her back throbbed with sharp pain, she was scared to move. Though the pain was still alive and well, it was starting to dull to a light pulse, and she took a chance and sat up. Her vision swam, and no matter how many times she blinked, how hard she rubbed her eyes, she couldn’t fully focus. For a moment, she forgot where she was, was wondering who all these people were and why she was on the floor.

  “Shall we dance now, me wee friend?”

  “That we shall.”

  The two small, green blurry objects in front of her focused some, and the moment she saw the leprechaun, her memory came screaming back. She gasped and tried to crawl quickly away, but the agony in her back caused her to yelp and grimace, and she had to slowly scoot herself backward.

  Mark, she thought. Mark and I were going to kill it…but we failed. Oh god…Mark…

  She could see figures up on the stage, but she couldn’t make them out. She could only hope Mark was one of them, that he was alive.

  As she squinted at the leprechaun, she thought the second tiny figure beside him was just her double vision, and it took her groggy mind a moment to realize there were actually two leprechauns.

  “M-Marvin?” she groaned.

  Marvin glanced her way, just for a moment, and raised an eyebrow at her, as if he remembered her but couldn’t figure out why. In that second, the leprechaun snarled and leapt at Marvin, hopping into the air and slamming his buckled shoes into Marvin’s face.