The man in red

The warm, spring, sun shone down as Mick lay atop the knoll. Lush green grass and blossoming clover provided both a comfortable resting place and a pleasant fragrance. His eyes closed, old superstitions left his mind, peace washed over him.

Mick jolted awake, the sun already rested upon the horizon. He swore softly to himself as he reached for his backpack, his eyes searching for the path that led him here.

“The hour is late, the path treacherous for those not used to it. I can offer you supper and shelter for this night,”

Mick whirled round, he could have sworn he was alone, but there stood a man; dressed flamboyantly in red. Mick shuddered, tales his grandfather had told of Leprechauns and their ilk suddenly flooding his mind unbidden.

“Well?” The man asked.

Mick smiled ruefully, this was anything but a damn leprechaun. “Sounds good,” he admitted more to himself than the man.

“Do you mind cooking?” The man asked as they entered the small cottage.

“Not at all,” Mick responded, turning round to face his host. The tall man had vanished, in his place stood a wizened old man of about four feet. He spoke again, in a language Mick didn’t understand, yet the words echoed in his mind, “do not mock me.”

“Why would I?” Mick asked.

“I am Faer Darrig.”

“I am human,” Mick said, with a shrug, looking at the creature. Only confusion shone in his eyes, no fear, no revulsion.

“You do not fear me?”

“I fear your power, as I trust your judgement wielding it.”

“I like you.” The being said, “the night will be hard, I think you know that, but come morning you will be free and full of luck, I promise you that.” The strange being said, before vanishing.


(word count 299)