Chaos Shipping

“BA-BOM-BOM-BAaaum-BO-BA-Baaaum” Leon’s doorbell summoned him. Convenience allowed him to look at live video from his “smart” doorbell. A small parcel wrapped in brown paper and string had been dropped by a delivery driver. “Too bad the stupid door cam can’t bring it in,” Leon mumbled to himself. “Right, better get that before the porch pirates do.”

As Leon wriggled into a pair of jeans he wondered who sent him something. It wasn’t his birthday. Maybe it was the papers from his ex-wife. He’d told her six times to mail them. Leon couldn’t remember buying anything online.

It was odd, there were stickers marked “Par-Avon” and the postage was in Punts. He looked at the shipping address. “8 Village Road, Balley Killkirke, Cork, Ireland,” he read aloud. “I don’t know anybody from that country.” Leon double checked to make sure this was meant for him. “2323 Chestnut Avenue, Steelburg, PA 17755,” he recited. “Weird; who would even send me something from there?”

Leon’s dog, Freddie, finally came to investigate when he heard his owner come back inside. The dog gave the paper a sniff and growled, his ears folded against his head as he backed away. “Whatever,” Leon said. “It’s not like it’s for you anyhow.”

When he opened the package, a small, dark olive brown leather bound book was inside. A typed note was included. “Great more reading,” he complained. “Dear Leon, Although we don’t know each other, I am your fourth cousin once removed on your mother’s side. This is our 3rd great-grandfather’s diary. His name was Padraig Mahoney. He was an eccentric man who may have been a bit mad. That aside, I figured you might enjoy learning about our shared family history. Enjoy; Niamh Mahoney.”

“Oh yeah she must have found me on that EternalDNA match site,” Leon told himself. “I forgot I did a kit with their company. Lets see what dear old Grandpa Po-Pad—ah forget—Grandpa Mahoney got up to.”

April 25th 1845, Balley Killkirke

To anyone who may be reading, this is a record of Padraig Mahoney’s investigation. Since I, Padraig, was a young lad, there was a stone circle of immense age. My mother told me to never go there. “The Fae live there,” she told me. “Do not play in those ruins or they will take ye away where none can find ye.”

Being brought up to respect my parents words, I never did go near those circles. Now, though, as a man I must admit a curiosity. Do the Fae actually exist? That is the question I hope to answer.

May 2nd 1845, Balley Killkirke

It has been a week since I began investigating. I have sat out, all night sometimes, with hardly a trace of evidence. Last night, May Day, I left out a cup of rose hip tea and a little cake with currants on the low stone in the middle of the circle. Not long afterwards there appeared a radiant figure with wings. I could not contain an utterance of surprise. The figure must have heard me for it turned to flee.

“Wait!” I cried. “I mean no harm!” The entity turned to look me in the eye. “Have you brought a gift?” It asked in a tinkling voice. “Yea,” I affirmed. “I pray, stay and sup. If it pleases you, tell me what manner of being you are.” The surprisingly graceful hands lifted the cup to dainty red lips. Upon taking a few sips the creature smiled.

“We thank you for your kindness,” it said. “It has been an age since a mortal showed us anything but fear and hatred.” I do hope you understand I was raised a devout Catholic and I do not hold with witch craft. I am, however, a man of scientific reasoning. “If I may ask what are you?” I queried. “An angel, a sorceress, some phantom or another thing altogether?”

We sat and chatted until break of day. The being I met was a Fae. It turns out they are neither man or woman and prefer to use plural pronouns. This is strange to me and I think the way Fae view themselves is very different from mankind’s. The Fae calls itself Oonagh, the old Irish word for lamb. How odd, I expected Fae to have plant based names.

June 20th 1845, Balley Killkirke

The previous night has left me with a feeling of grave unease. Oonagh and I have had a falling out. We were talking at the circle like we have for more than a fortnight. “Oonagh,” I said. “Thank you for teaching me about your kind. It has been a privilege to learn about the Court and all your Glamour.” I had brought some tea and scones for our midnight repast. Oonagh smiled and took another bite of the strawberry scone. “There is yet more we could teach you, Padraig,” it said. “If you come away with us to our realm you would see us as we truly are.”

“And how long would I be gone for?” I asked. “My wife and son need me.” Oonagh frowned a little. “Time in our realm, travels different than here,” it said. “What is but a moment for us is thousands of years for you.” My mind was thirsty for knowledge. Yet my heart was with my family. “Then I am afraid I cannot leave,” I objected. “My duty is here, to my posterity.” Oonagh scowled at me. “Fine, then we leave you with this curse,” it said. “May your curiosity be unsatisfied, may your children not believe you, may their skin be poxed with green circles by their thirtieth years if they ever find the words you write in your book!”

There was a sound of violent roaring as a rift opened up. Saying not a word, Oonagh stepped through it. The void closed as quickly as it had appeared. Good Lord, what have I done?
***

Leon flipped to the next page. It was blank, just like the rest of the diary was. “What the hell, Great Great,” he counted on his fingers. “Great Grandpa Mahoney! You can’t just tell me all that stuff and then be all ‘Oops, something happened! And now I’m gonna stop writing’!”

It was fortunate that Leon had to have a pass port for work. He picked up his cell phone and almost dropped it as he noticed his skin breaking out in emerald green dots. “Okay so the diary isn’t gibberish!” He observed as he looked up airline flights to Ireland.

Twenty long hours later, Leon found himself standing in Balley Killkirke. He walked over to an elderly woman.

Thankfully he’d covered his curse up in makeup, gloves and clothing. “Excuse me,” Leon said. “Can you help me find this address?”

The elderly woman squinted over her glasses. “I sure can,” she said. “That’s Niamh Mahoney’s house. Her family’s an odd lot. They all end up shut ins. We haven’t seen her in nearly three years.” Leon had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. “Well, er,” he said. “Can you point me in the right direction?”