The wind caressed the grassland in long, sweeping waves. The
soft sound of wind in the leaves. The dull, distant boom of thunder. Nollaig
sat by a road, the warm sun on his face, watching sheep from afar. Tiny clouds
of white wool in an immense, emerald pasture. Near the pasturing sheep was the
Avonmore River.
Nollaig pulled a long-stemmed pipe out of his pocket, then inserted a pinch of tobacco into the bowl. Putting the pipe in his mouth, he produced a glass lens the size of his palm and interposed it between his pipe and the sun, focusing a cone of concentrated sunlight onto the end of his pipe. Nollaig manipulated the beam of light in a tight circle, carefully setting fire to the top of the tobacco. Satisfied that the tobacco was lit, he put away the lens and puffed on the pipe.
Nollaig continued watching the sheep in the pastureland as he smoked. He tried blowing a smoke ring, which came out as a “C” shaped whorl that disintegrated as it ascended. Nollaig made out in the distance the ambling of an energetic lamb while the rest of the flock grazed.
From behind and to the right Nollaig could hear dull clip clop, clip clop of horse hooves on the dirt trail. Nollaig quit smoking as he slowly sank into the grass, trying to hide. As the horse approached, Nollaig began to see in his mind’s eye the souls of the rider, and then the horse. With his back to the trail, Nollaig saw their souls most clearly as they passed right behind him. The overwhelmingly distinct smell of horse filled Nollaig’s nose, he could hear the buckles on the baggage that was likely laden to the horse, and the metal bridal in its mouth.
Nollaig’s heart was beating rapidly and his mind was racing. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me. O, Lord, please don’t let them see me… The jingling, the sound of hooves, the smell of horse, the sight of souls, all receded.
The embers in Nollaig’s pipe had extinguished, and now the sun was obscured with clouds. Convinced he was alone, Nollaig peaked his head up over the grass to take stock of his surroundings. The horse and rider were nowhere to be seen. The sheep in the pasture were gone, too. That was sudden, Nollaig thought.
A loud, cacophonous crash of thunder ripped through reality and the daytime scenery immediately turned to night. A bright, cream colored moon hung low in the black, starless sky. The clouds raced from horizon to horizon with unworldly swiftness. Nollaig looked about to see if the horse and rider would return from the trail. Empty. Nollaig saw that the moon was huge in the sky. When is it ever that large? Nollaig thought. He put up his hand to obscure the moon. His hand, now rimmed with a cream colored, cratered halo, could not completely hide the moon. Nollaig lowered his hand and stared at the moon in awe as it waxed red. The moon turned blood red.
KABANG! Another crash of thunder rolled from lightning unseen. Nollaig knew someone was behind him. He turned on his heel and was alarmed to see another lioprechaun staring at him with dead eyes. One eye was completely white, the other eye was rimmed with red. The undead leprechaun Eamonn, vampire.
Eamonn smiled, revealing atypically long, sharp teeth. Nollaig stood paralyzed, panic gripping his very soul as Eamonn laid hands on his neck and drew his face near, opening his mouth to drink a heavy draft of blood from Nollaig’s neck.
Nollaig awoke from the dream with a start, gasping for air as the door to the fermentarium banged open, Eamonn standing at the threshold. The rest of the leprechauns woke up.
Eamonn marched into the room, stinking of stale urine that had previously melted, then rotted over his face.
“Why don’t ye take a greet big drink o’ that, y’bleedin’ parasite!” Patrick barked.
Conor, Art, Darcy and Patrick began laughing maniacally at Eamonn.
Eamonn grabbed Patrick by the collar and dragged him out of the fermentarium.
“It was worth it, boys! I’ll see you in a month!” Patrick cried with glee as he was dragged out of sight and down the stairs. The sound of a metal door opening and then slamming shut could be heard echoing up from the spiral, stone staircase.
Nollaig began to snicker, then joined the other leprechauns with the raucous laughter. Seamus sat terrified in his bedding on the floor of the fermentarium.
“Why are you laughing?!” Seamus cried.
“Don’t ye worry Seamus,” Darcy said, “this is routine.”
“Routine? How is this routine?”
“We all get drained, and we all get our turn.” Darcy said.
“What do you mean?” Seamus asked.
“I’ll show you…” Darcy said in the dark.
Seamus saw a bright shower sparks as he heard Darcy using a flint striker.
A rooster-tail of sparks fell in a dish of flammable liquid and a sizeable flame shot up. Darcy used the tongue of fire to light a torch, he then extinguished the dish of fire. The room was now aglow with the torchlight, Darcy setting the torch in its wall sconce.
Darcy unrolled the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a circular scar beneath his bicep. He stared into Seamus with an impassive gaze.
“You have one, too,” Darcy said.
Seamus unrolled his sleeve to see a fresh scab in the same spot beneath his bicep.
“I… when?” Seamus stammered.
“After Lugosi captured you the first time, and before you lead him to your gold,” Darcy replied, “it was the same for the rest of us.”
Seamus stared at the scab on his arm.
“They need our gold, they need our labor, and they need our blood,” Darcy continued, “that’s why they don’t just kill us. That’s why we’re imprisoned.”
* * *
“I hope ye enjoyed it as much as I did!” Patrick said, giggling and strapped down to a long steel table. His neck and right shoulder were bound together in a leather belt, his right arm pointing toward the wall behind his head.
Eamonn continued in silence. Patrick heard the undead leprechaun rummaging through drawer full of steel instruments. Eamonn returned to the table, their gaze met. Eamonn’s white eye seemed not to be staring anywhere at all, his red rimmed eye full of hate. Eamonn tipped the table back thirty degrees.
Patrick felt the blood pooling up in his head and his right arm. His fingertips began to pulse with his heartbeat.
“Until ye kill me,” Patrick said to Eamonn with a grin, “y-woont be safe!”
Eamonn said nothing.
A painful pinprick of fire stabbed at Patrick’s arm as Eamonn inserted a sharp metal straw into his vein.
“We know where ye sleep, ‘n before ye know it, yehr coffin will be flooded with our piss and vinegar!” Patrick cried, laughing.
Eamonn watched the color drain from Patrick’s face as his blood flowed out from the gold lancet into a trough. Patrick heard the familiar, steady sound of blood trickling in a metal tray.
“Ye shoonee left us, Eamonn…” Patrick said dreamily, the world becoming dark.
“I. Hope. You. Choke…” Patrick said before blacking out.
* * *
Seamus intently watched the dripping. Clear, water like fluid pooled up in a glass jar at the end of the still. The smell of alcohol was stronger than he’d ever smelled before, pungent and stinging in his nose.
The dripping stopped. Seamus continued staring at the clear liquid in the jar.
“This is whiskey? I made whiskey?” Seamus asked with incredulity. Whiskey had an amber color, not clear.
“You’ve made Everclear, Seamus. And this is not for drinking. It’s for cleaning,” Darcy explained.
Nollaig pulled a long-stemmed pipe out of his pocket, then inserted a pinch of tobacco into the bowl. Putting the pipe in his mouth, he produced a glass lens the size of his palm and interposed it between his pipe and the sun, focusing a cone of concentrated sunlight onto the end of his pipe. Nollaig manipulated the beam of light in a tight circle, carefully setting fire to the top of the tobacco. Satisfied that the tobacco was lit, he put away the lens and puffed on the pipe.
Nollaig continued watching the sheep in the pastureland as he smoked. He tried blowing a smoke ring, which came out as a “C” shaped whorl that disintegrated as it ascended. Nollaig made out in the distance the ambling of an energetic lamb while the rest of the flock grazed.
From behind and to the right Nollaig could hear dull clip clop, clip clop of horse hooves on the dirt trail. Nollaig quit smoking as he slowly sank into the grass, trying to hide. As the horse approached, Nollaig began to see in his mind’s eye the souls of the rider, and then the horse. With his back to the trail, Nollaig saw their souls most clearly as they passed right behind him. The overwhelmingly distinct smell of horse filled Nollaig’s nose, he could hear the buckles on the baggage that was likely laden to the horse, and the metal bridal in its mouth.
Nollaig’s heart was beating rapidly and his mind was racing. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me. O, Lord, please don’t let them see me… The jingling, the sound of hooves, the smell of horse, the sight of souls, all receded.
The embers in Nollaig’s pipe had extinguished, and now the sun was obscured with clouds. Convinced he was alone, Nollaig peaked his head up over the grass to take stock of his surroundings. The horse and rider were nowhere to be seen. The sheep in the pasture were gone, too. That was sudden, Nollaig thought.
A loud, cacophonous crash of thunder ripped through reality and the daytime scenery immediately turned to night. A bright, cream colored moon hung low in the black, starless sky. The clouds raced from horizon to horizon with unworldly swiftness. Nollaig looked about to see if the horse and rider would return from the trail. Empty. Nollaig saw that the moon was huge in the sky. When is it ever that large? Nollaig thought. He put up his hand to obscure the moon. His hand, now rimmed with a cream colored, cratered halo, could not completely hide the moon. Nollaig lowered his hand and stared at the moon in awe as it waxed red. The moon turned blood red.
KABANG! Another crash of thunder rolled from lightning unseen. Nollaig knew someone was behind him. He turned on his heel and was alarmed to see another lioprechaun staring at him with dead eyes. One eye was completely white, the other eye was rimmed with red. The undead leprechaun Eamonn, vampire.
Eamonn smiled, revealing atypically long, sharp teeth. Nollaig stood paralyzed, panic gripping his very soul as Eamonn laid hands on his neck and drew his face near, opening his mouth to drink a heavy draft of blood from Nollaig’s neck.
Nollaig awoke from the dream with a start, gasping for air as the door to the fermentarium banged open, Eamonn standing at the threshold. The rest of the leprechauns woke up.
Eamonn marched into the room, stinking of stale urine that had previously melted, then rotted over his face.
“Why don’t ye take a greet big drink o’ that, y’bleedin’ parasite!” Patrick barked.
Conor, Art, Darcy and Patrick began laughing maniacally at Eamonn.
Eamonn grabbed Patrick by the collar and dragged him out of the fermentarium.
“It was worth it, boys! I’ll see you in a month!” Patrick cried with glee as he was dragged out of sight and down the stairs. The sound of a metal door opening and then slamming shut could be heard echoing up from the spiral, stone staircase.
Nollaig began to snicker, then joined the other leprechauns with the raucous laughter. Seamus sat terrified in his bedding on the floor of the fermentarium.
“Why are you laughing?!” Seamus cried.
“Don’t ye worry Seamus,” Darcy said, “this is routine.”
“Routine? How is this routine?”
“We all get drained, and we all get our turn.” Darcy said.
“What do you mean?” Seamus asked.
“I’ll show you…” Darcy said in the dark.
Seamus saw a bright shower sparks as he heard Darcy using a flint striker.
A rooster-tail of sparks fell in a dish of flammable liquid and a sizeable flame shot up. Darcy used the tongue of fire to light a torch, he then extinguished the dish of fire. The room was now aglow with the torchlight, Darcy setting the torch in its wall sconce.
Darcy unrolled the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a circular scar beneath his bicep. He stared into Seamus with an impassive gaze.
“You have one, too,” Darcy said.
Seamus unrolled his sleeve to see a fresh scab in the same spot beneath his bicep.
“I… when?” Seamus stammered.
“After Lugosi captured you the first time, and before you lead him to your gold,” Darcy replied, “it was the same for the rest of us.”
Seamus stared at the scab on his arm.
“They need our gold, they need our labor, and they need our blood,” Darcy continued, “that’s why they don’t just kill us. That’s why we’re imprisoned.”
* * *
“I hope ye enjoyed it as much as I did!” Patrick said, giggling and strapped down to a long steel table. His neck and right shoulder were bound together in a leather belt, his right arm pointing toward the wall behind his head.
Eamonn continued in silence. Patrick heard the undead leprechaun rummaging through drawer full of steel instruments. Eamonn returned to the table, their gaze met. Eamonn’s white eye seemed not to be staring anywhere at all, his red rimmed eye full of hate. Eamonn tipped the table back thirty degrees.
Patrick felt the blood pooling up in his head and his right arm. His fingertips began to pulse with his heartbeat.
“Until ye kill me,” Patrick said to Eamonn with a grin, “y-woont be safe!”
Eamonn said nothing.
A painful pinprick of fire stabbed at Patrick’s arm as Eamonn inserted a sharp metal straw into his vein.
“We know where ye sleep, ‘n before ye know it, yehr coffin will be flooded with our piss and vinegar!” Patrick cried, laughing.
Eamonn watched the color drain from Patrick’s face as his blood flowed out from the gold lancet into a trough. Patrick heard the familiar, steady sound of blood trickling in a metal tray.
“Ye shoonee left us, Eamonn…” Patrick said dreamily, the world becoming dark.
“I. Hope. You. Choke…” Patrick said before blacking out.
* * *
Seamus intently watched the dripping. Clear, water like fluid pooled up in a glass jar at the end of the still. The smell of alcohol was stronger than he’d ever smelled before, pungent and stinging in his nose.
The dripping stopped. Seamus continued staring at the clear liquid in the jar.
“This is whiskey? I made whiskey?” Seamus asked with incredulity. Whiskey had an amber color, not clear.
“You’ve made Everclear, Seamus. And this is not for drinking. It’s for cleaning,” Darcy explained.
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