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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1006485-Luck-Of-The-Irish
Rated: 18+ · Book · Horror/Scary · #2222317
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
#1006485 added March 16, 2021 at 9:24am
Restrictions: None
Luck Of The Irish
I was toast. I knew it, Harry knew it, and worst of all the Little elf dude knew it, too.

The gale-force wind swirling around us plucked Harry up with invisible pincers. One moment he was there, the next moment not. My turn would be next.

“Call me a loud mouthed blustering bag full of wind, will you?” This was the little elf dude that Harry had been making fun of, back in the green room where the mead was flowing fast and free. Little did we know we would be treating our next meeting with black Irish dread.

“Look, lady. Your being a tourist to the Emerald Isle, I shoulda’ been ready for your shenanigans, make’n fun about steal’n my pot a’ gold and me along with it fer’ my bag a’ magic dust.”

Harry did a summersalt, came flying back, upside down, arms and legs swimming in the air. The evil little creature cawing with laughter before me, slapped his knee, wiggled his nose, and Harry made a one point landing on his head.

He never did use it that much when alive. After making a smashing success of himself, I saw, with my gorge rising up, that Harry wasn’t doing any better when dead. “He was jest funn'n. What kind of fairy tale are you, treating cash paying visitors to your country like that?”

“You tricked us,” I admitted, catching my breath. “We never met a real Leprechaun before. Least you could a done was tell us.” My hair settled back down around my shoulders. A sideways glance showed Harry’s body parts twitching as if he was still alive.

If I was going out of this world the next instant the way Harry had, I was going to do it without losing my pride. My tongue struggled to come up with an insult worth cursing this puffed up piece of black magic to hell where he belonged.

“Only reason you are still alive is that lucky four-leaf clover in your fist.” The elf guy’s green eyes glowed. He licked at the rot stuck between his teeth. His breath stunk so bad I almost wished the wind storm back. It had wiped all the moisture out of my eyes. It felt like sandpaper scraping across them when I closed and opened them.

“That’s what all this is about? You could have been nice and asked for it.”

“I want it. Give it. I’ll let you go with your life.”

“I don’t trust you, your foul mouth, or that hair trigger of mad anger you got.” I nodded over to where Harry lay limp as a rag. He’d stopped his twitching and made peace with his fate. Mine still hung in the balance.

“I could blow you to kingdom come and back, If’n I wanted.” His hairy red eyebrows arched in warning. His face began blushing the same deep hue.

All I could think of was to say, “Go right ahead. Puff yourself up all you want. You won’t get my four-leaf-clover. It’s going with me.”

The little guy looked so deflated, he seemed to shrink half his size. “All right. You got me where you want me. How we going to work this out?”

“Can’t bring Harry back to life, for starters, can you?”

The Leprechaun's eyebrows danced on his head. He belched an evil cloud of dark laughter near gagged me. I reeled, clawing at my throat, struggling for breath. “He wouldn’t look nor act the same, but sure. He’s all yours.”

Harry’s butt more than wiggled. His arms gave the earth he’d plowed into a heave and a shove. From the head down he looked just like his old self. The gory scrambled mess above his neck made me want to throw up. I did. All over the little miscreant done Harry in this way.

“Try to blow me off, will ye? You got what you asked for. Now pay up.”

The elf smelled better wearing my half digested last meal than he did with his sweaty natural perfume clouding round him. “You little drip,” I swore, feeling my nose clog up. The Leprechaun’s bad mouthing me tasted worse than swallowing the remains of my own vomit.

“Nuff playing. I ain’t going to ask nice.” He screwed up his face like a purple prune, green eyes flashing sparks of fire. He turned around, leaned over and farted.

I got ready to meet my end. A torture of wind curled around me, lifting me off my feet. It threw me like a missile, striking what was left of mindless, wandering Harry. It was lucky that it did.

Harry got torn apart from me using him as a landing cushion. Pieces of him took to the hurricane wind with bone, gristle and guts flying, spraying bloody mist everywhere. A white splinter of thigh bone took aim, punctured the windbag and left me laying dazed collecting myself.

“Don’t torture yourself like that,” I went over to give that evil elf a good solid kick where he lay pinned by that bone shard to the ground. His black bag of magic fairy dust was open, contents floating away in a last gust of fresh breeze. I could breathe again.

“Ye can’t be leaving me here, this way,” he groaned.

“Make no bones about it, yes I can.” I stared around. Nothing of Harry was left to be seen. He was blown away by what happened. I couldn’t blame him. I felt much the same way. Every stitch I’d worn on me was gone away, leaving me completely naked as the day I was born. “Why should I not? I’m not picking bones with you. You haven’t a good bone in your body, except for Harry’s.”

I blew my hair out of my face, leaned over and kicked Harry’s bone twisting deeper into the Leprechaun’s lung, letting as much hot air out as I could. The little fairy belched a good one and groaned. “Damned tourist. We never should have let you buy our mead and taken your money.”

“Money?” As luck would have it, The little windbag’s farting around had blown a hole in the ground where his pot of gold lay hidden.

His glinting pain filled green eyes met mine. “Take it, for all the good it will do you. Find out how good luck turns bad.” His threat came out as a mere whisper caressing my cheek. I felt the skin there shrivel into a dried up knot.

“Treat visitors like this, makes me wonder how you treat your kin.”

As if on cue, as the dust settled around us, small bobbing heads came into view. I heard the wind stirring in the evil promises the little folk were promising as they came closer. “Just leaving. He’s all yours.” I saluted with a wave.

It was time to go sailing back to my homeland. I managed to keep my balance, dancing on the toes of my feet until I got beyond the sight and sound of what Leprechaun’s do to their evil minded own.

The luck of the Irish went with me. Accidents that end up killing others around me, never blow my way. I keep my four-leaf-clover with me and resist the temptation to bluster like one small Irish windbag I’d known.

I'm a stay-at-home type, now. I mind my own business. You should mind yours no matter what you heard about me. Wish me the luck of the Irish and I won't blow your mind wishing you bad luck, long as you leave me and my four-leaf-clover alone.








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