Week 12 Story: The Leprechaun's Revenge

 Author's Note: I took inspiration for this story from the Celtic tale, "The Field of Boliauns." In this story, a man named Tom threatens a little old man who he assumes to be a leprechaun for his gold. The old man is terrified and gives in, but ends up tricking Tom into letting him go so the old man gets away and Tom ends up with no gold. In the original, I thought it was funny that the leprechaun was so terrified because, in most stories with leprechauns, they are the more powerful and confident being. As such, I wanted to work with the same concept of a leprechaun as being powerful and confident, but change it up a little bit and make it a little more modern. To be clear, there is a leprechaun in this story, but he may not be what you expect. In this story, you'll hear of a house and the old man within that house, but your main character is Tucker, a young man who's lost his way in life. Tucker finds his way to said house and, well, you'll see what happens from there. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

The Leprechaun's Revenge

                       Tucked away at the end of an overgrown lane, rests an extravagant house of bone-white Victorian columns and red brick. Despite its old age, the two-story house remains as clean and pristine as the day it was built. In fact, the creeping, curling embrace of the ivy and the encroaching foliage are the only evidence that time has passed at all for the house. Children, on their way to school, often stand at the end of the lane, clutching their backpack straps and craning their necks to see a glimpse of the old man that they know resides there. They tell each other tall tales of what the old man has hidden within his house, never knowing how close they might come to the truth. 

                    Tucker was once one of those rosy-cheeked children on his way to school in the early mornings, just like all the rest. Now, he's a twenty-five year old with no job and no future plans who's looking at becoming homeless in the next week if he can't find the money to pay his bills. Thoughts on which of his useless organs he could sell on the black market race through his mind as he rounds the corner of the street that the house in question sits on. There are no street lights, but Tucker makes his way along from muscle memory, having walked these same sidewalks hundreds of times. He begins mumbling to himself, so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses the pinprick of light that appears at the end of the lane that leads to the old man's house. Tucker's feet come to a dust raising halt as his head turns to see the cause of the light that has just appeared in his peripheral. 

                 It's a dim light, almost like candle light with the way it flickers, and it's coming from the topmost circular window in the tower of the house. Tucker watches it flicker for a moment or two before extinguishing, leaving him in utter darkness again. The appearance of the light, however, reminds him of the stories that he had heard while growing up about the old man's fortune nestled somewhere away in the white-boned and red-bricked house. What did he have to lose? Prison would be a place to call home if he was caught, at least. 

            Tucker shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he turns on his heel and begins making his way up the lane. He feels the sudden urge to throw up as he is finally doing the thing that all of the kids had dared him to do as a child. When he makes it to the house, he sneaks around the side between the bushes, relying on the light from the full moon above to guide him. He finds a window along his way and slides it up, heaving himself up and into the house that not even time has been able to touch. Once inside, he creeps across the floor, his pupils bouncing back and forth in his eyes at every glisten or gleam of a countertop or gold doorknob. He finds his way to the U-shaped stairs that go up to the landing of the house. Once on the landing, he finds another narrower staircase that leads even higher up into the house which is where the light must've emanated from. Should he dare? He's already come this far. 

            Moonlight from the staircase window above glints off of the chef's knife that he had grabbed on his way through the kitchen as he makes his way up this final staircase. Once at the top, he spies the old man nestled under his covers in the four poster bed at the middle of the room. He sneaks across the room and takes the bundle of covers by the shoulder, raising the knife above his head, but he finds only blankets and pillows where a man should be. Pain shoots through his body as a bright flash blinds him and he hears a loud crack. He calls out, flinging the knife to the ground and clutching his right leg.

            "Doesn't much feel good to be shot, eh?" A rumbling voice booms from behind him. "Stings, don't it?" 

            As the lights flip on, Tucker twists his torso around to see the old man standing at the top of the stairs with a lowered rifle in his hands. Beyond the pain, he finds time to be shocked by how tall and stocky the old man is, dressed in a black T-shirt and army green pants. Why, he looked maybe forty-five, at the most. He tugs at the ends of his red beard as he watches Tucker through narrowed eyes. He finally shrugs. 

    "You aren't the first to try and steal me riches and I'm sure you won't be the last either. You kids are something else, a cursed generation, the lot of you." He shakes his head and moves to yank Tucker up by his arm. "Come on. You'll get your due now." 

           Tucker limps along, half dragging next to the man as they make their way back down the stairs and through the back door. 

            "Ever wonder why me house never ages?" The old man asks. Without waiting for an answer, he says, "It's because I have plenty of crooks to feed to its foundation." He throws Tucker to the ground. 

        "Wait, please," Tucker groans. The old man fires a single shot and the night becomes still once again, the only noise coming from the tree branches rustling against one another. The not-so-old man leans over and yanks up on a hidden latch in the grass, revealing a cellar filled with gold down below, glowing in the moonlight. 

            "In ye go," he grunts as he nudges Tucker into the cellar. 

        The next morning, the children and their backpacks passed the lane as usual, whispering about the old man and his riches within the house that hadn't changed in decades. 

The Old Man's House (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Bibliography: Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs. Website: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.