Let’s Get Spooky!
Transcript
Irish Locket
by Spooky Boo Rhodes
It wasn’t the pot of gold or the luck charm that intrigued me the most about the visit from that strange little man the other day. It was the way he looked so familiar to me. His eyes looked somewhat like my father’s unworldly green eyes and his lips a tad bit like my mom’s. Like all of us in the family, he was short and had a lot of red hair. The puffs of curls under his black hat made it sit about an inch too tall and his bushy eyebrows, something of my father’s that annoyed him the most, must have bothered the short man’s eyesight terribly. His nose reminded me of my Uncle Doyle’s nose, big, fat, and full of tiny red spider veins like he’d been drinking whiskey for most of his life. Not to mention those round red cheeks, just like my Aunt Erin’s. There wasn’t a day that went by when she wasn’t teased about those rosy knots.
I swear this little guy was a relative straight from Ireland but I didn’t know any of my Irish relatives. In fact, we are so far removed from any European ancestry that we don’t even speak any of the languages except for English—Americanized English. We’ve been here over 200 years and some parts of the family maybe even 400 years not including the lines of Cherokee we are supposed to have in our bloodline.
Yet, all the same, it didn’t matter what I know or what I didn’t. He came into the house wondering where I had stashed his grandfather’s locket and I didn’t have a clue about what he was talking about.
“Ye have me grandfather’s locket in ye pocket, fair lass,” he said, looking me up and down like I was a bottle of old whiskey.
“I don’t own a locket and I haven’t the slightest clue who your grandfather is.”
“Oh, he died many moons ago. Terrible thing, he was run over by six horses with a buggy. Back in his day, they didn’t have cars and the man who stole his locket was quite the horseman. He knew how to steer those horses wild to run over my grandpappy. Why I seen it with me own eyes. The hooves trotted right over his limbs, flattening them like pancakes, but what was really repulsive is when the hard wooden wheel of the carriage rolled right over his head. The damn thing exploded! Popped from both sides sending brain matter all over the crowd. Women and children were screaming and the men were shielding their families so they wouldn’t get blood all over their Sunday clothes. Such a shame. He wasn’t the most generous man in the world and he had some wicked ways about him–many that he taught me. All he had left was that damn locket that carried the secret to all the riches in the world. Now give it to me!”
“Just how old are you?” I figured I’d ask and entertain the drunk. Obviously, he wasn’t even over 50 and was probably really good at telling tall tales to steal from people.
“Trying to change the subject now, are we?” He puffed up his chest as best as he could probably trying to impress me. “I’m 450 years old in human years,” he said as he eyed the gold chain with a small key amulet hanging from my neck that my grandfather gave me when I was 12.
“You’re 450 years old, hmm? Look, I don’t have your grandfather’s locket, and I sure as hell don’t believe you’re 450 years old. Now get out of my house before I call the police.”
He scoffed at me before turning toward the door, “I want me gold, lady. It’s mine and you will give it to me or else!”
Before he could utter another word, I pushed him out the door with the heavy wooden door slamming behind him. As the door slammed shut, I felt my fingers tingle. Shaking them off as I would if my arm fell asleep, a strange golden mist appeared before me. I moving my fingers around in the air, watching the hypnotic glow form a trail before my eyes. It floated up the stairs and into my bedroom. As I followed, I felt the room moving around me as my steps grew heavy. Pinching myself for not wearing any trace green pm St. Patrick’s Day and trying to up the pace, I laughed like a drunken sailor.
The golden glow halted at my closet door. When I opened the door, it swirled around in front of the attic door in the ceiling. I pulled the latch and the old wooden stairs lowered to the floor. I sneezed lightlty as dust fell from the door and landed in a circle around me. The gold seemed to be protecting me from the tiny falling granules of dirt and decay as I climbed the stair to the attic. No one had been in this room since right after grandpa died. He gave me the house since I was his only last living relative and after spending hours sorting through the old farm clothes of jeans and wool shirts, I figured there was nothing that I wanted to keep or wear. I put it all away to sort through for a rainy day and sell or donate to another potato farmer who would make use of it all.
After opening the window over looking the fields to air out the room, I began rummaging through all of the old piles of clothes and boots. Honestly, I don’t think the man ever washed his clothes. It looked like he just bought new clothes a week after wearing the old ones and left them up here to rot. The boots were another story. He had tons of boots and all different sizes, too. Some with brass buckles and others just straight leather. Even stranger, they were all different sizes. Perhaps he had been saving them since he was a child?
When I realized I was just making pile after pile tossing clothes and shoes around, I began tossing everything out of the window. As the room grew cleaner, the gold haze glowed brighter until right there, out from under a pile of old jeans, was a little brown box. I picked up the tiny box and examined it then clutched the key hanging from the gold chain on my neck. The key my grandfather left me, I always thought it was just a pretty trinket because it was so small! I pulled the chain over my head, carful not to get it tangled in my mess of red hair, then pushed the tiny end into the keyhole.
When the box popped open, the lid bounced back so hard the locket inside flew out with a start and into my mouth! No sooner could I cough the little ornate piece of gold jewelry out before I accidentally swallowed it down into my belly. It was small enough to not cause a problem I suppose. I could try to throw it up, but I was afraid I would only hurt myself so I let it sit.
That night I felt weird. It wasn’t sick to the stomach weird or I accidentally swolled a key weird, it was different than anything I had ever known. The magic that happened during the day was real yet it felt unreal. Unearthly is perhaps a better word. I thought about the little man and what he said about his age. He was tiny and he wasn’t small enough to be a…nah, it couldn’t be. That’s absured. We are almost 100% born and bred Irish with the exception of that sliver of Italian one of my naughty grandmothers met in a bar one cold night which is probably where I get my olive complexion while the rest of my family is as white as a fitted sheet. Most of the women in my family are short, well endowed, and very fair skinned with beautiful red hair. I was the oddball with olive skin and auburn hair but with deep green eyes. And yes, I’m still short by most standards. But as short as a Leprechaun?
I ignored the sleep I needed and ran down to my grandfather’s library of books I kept on the old bookshelf. I really didn’t have the heart to get rid of all of his stuff and most of it was handed down for generations. It was probably worth a small fortune so I kept it, including his old farming and medical books. He was rarely one for fiction except that one about Fairies and Folklore. I never questioned its existance..until now. I pulled the heavy book off the shelf and began studying its cover. It remained surprsingly clean despite that no one has touched it in over 20 years. The binding felt like leather and seemed warm to the touch. A little sickened by its feel, I opened the cover and began thumbing through the pages until I found the word, well goodness, I can’t even begin to know how to pronounce it because no one taught me anything about our ancestors really, but it looked enough like leprechaun to me. So I started looking through the pages and as I did, the old Celtic prose began to form words of English right in front of my very eyes.
I watched as they began sentences and paragraphs of something I could actually understand. There were handdrawn pictures of short little people with fluffy hair and shoes with brass looking buckles. There were fairies with wings riding unicorns and others dancing in the air. The trees looked to be alive with faces, laughing along with the rest of the group. As I stared more at the page, it began to move with life. Giggles from the fae filled the room and the small, squeaky bellow of a belly laugh erupted from the short, red-headed man holding a golden locket. I didn’t get a hard glimpse of the jewelry I now wore in my stomach, but it looked a lot like what zoomed past my face!
“Hey…” My voice trembled as I peered into the book, trying to get their attention.
With glaring eyes, their heads turned instantly in my direction. One fairy spat at me. The tiny droplets hit the top of my hand and it burned. Another screamed and another cried. Their laughter and fun ended as they scattered in all directions, hiding inside the trees who took them in willingly.
“I won’t hurt you,” I ran my finger down the page. It rippled with an intense dark feeling that swarmed all around me. The tallest fairy came out of the tree and stared at me for a moment.
“What do you want?” she asked in a language I was not familiar with yet I could understand every word.
“Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are to find this book here but I have a man after me and as weird as this conversation is, I think you can help me.”
“What man?” the woman asked, motioning for her companions to come out from hiding.
As the little people in the book drifted out from the trees, they all sat together in a group holding hands and listened with such intent that I thought the pages became a picture again.
“A cruel man. I think he killed my grandfather for a trinket my grandfather had hidden. A tiny golden locket that I accidentally swallowed.” The pages of the book filled with laughter from the tiny voices and as I shook my head and continued, they quieted down again. “He has threatened me and told me I have until tonight to produce the locket, but I know he is evil. There is no way to get it out right now anyway.”
The tallest fairy motioned for the short red headed man to speak and speak he did. Small was his body, but his voice boomed into the room. “Leave the book open on the table and invite him into the house tonight for we will finally take care of this being and after all we ask is that you close the book and leave us be.”
“You got it!”
Feeling a bit stupid that I just spoke to a picture in a book, I left the pages open on the table. I could just barely hear them carrying on with their fun as I picked up around the house and waited for the stranger to come back and as the sun set behind the woods, there was a stern knock of three on the front door.
I opened the door and in walked the Leprechaun, twisting his long pipe in his hand. He was now dressed all in green and sported a little black hat with a green band and a gold buckle. While his clothes were quite beautiful, he was not. He was no longer the happy young fellow who appeared before me earlier in the afternoon. This man had brown, weathered skin and pointed ears like a Vulcan. His nose was long but curled under itself and his lips were dry and thin. His bloodshot eyes glowed yellowish green and I could feel the penetrating my soul. He held out one small hand with crooked, curled fingers and long, sharp fingernails.
“Give the locket, now.” he demanded without a hello.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat at him but then remembered what the Leprechaun in the book had said and softened my voice. “Maybe I can go find it for you, if you just wait here.
“Cailín, you don’t fook me. I can feel the locket. It is inside of you.”
My belly began to burn as he hands turned circles in front of me. I looked down at where the pain stabbed my gut and I could see the pattern of the small locket underneath my skin and feel it pressing to get out of my body. I burned like nothing I had ever felt before. I dropped to my knees, unable to withstand the pain and cried.
“Make it stop!” I whimpered.
“Too late!” he giggled and continued to move his hands around in circles. “The gold will be mine!”
The sound of a harp filled the room and the people from the pages of the book came to life. The pain grew in my belly as two of the faries pushed the leprechaun down to the ground and continued to chant his spell. They held him there until the tallest Fae stepped into view from the inside of the tree. She walked over to him, standing above his body then began to hum the most beautiful song I had ever heard. It’s magic consumed my thoughts and the pain was gone. I watched as the locket drilled through my skin creating a tiny, bloody hole but it didn’t hurt. She grabbed the locket from the air and then pushed it down upon the Leprechaun’s forhead.
He screamed as his skin began to melt from his body in big pools of pink goo all around him. The blood and muscles dissolved quickly with the stench of death and erosion. His eyeballs popped out of their sockets and hung to the side of his rotting skull, yet still attached by the bloody optic nerve and some muscle as he still continued to look around the room in pain. While snapping his jaw, seemingly trying to speak, the fairy put her heel upon his forhead.
“Your time has come to an end, finally. There will be no more pots of gold fairy tales or stealing the wealth of the poor or rich. You will now become one with the Earth, evil one.” And with that, she stomped on his skull with crunch, sending brainmatter all over the livingroom floor.
I looked down at my belly and to my amazement, the pain and wounds were gone. The fairy looked at me and shrugged, “Better than waiting for another day for it to come out, isn’t it?”
And with a wave of her hand, she and the rotting corpse vanished as did the strange visitors. I heard them calling from the pages of the old book on the table and as promised, I closed it shut then sat down wondering if it was just really all a bad dream.
“I love you, Cailín,” I heard my grandfather’s voice in the air all around me and felt something drape around my neck. It was the necklace with the key trinket he gave me so long ago. I grasped it and felt the magic flow through me as I put the book back on the shelf and embraced who I really was after all.
How to Trap a Leprechaun
Written by MakRalston
So, you wanna catch a Leprechaun, aye?
My fascination with the tricky little green bastards started one year ago today—St. Patrick’s Day. Or, rather, the Eve of St. Patrick’s Day—when my daughter brought home one of those tiny makeshift “leprechaun traps” that they make in Elementary schools for the holiday. It was a cute ‘lil thing: an old shoebox, painted green, held up by a popsicle stick tied to a sliver of green yarn. Clever, I’ll give it that.
It was what she said, however, as she placed the thing next to the doggy door in the kitchen, that struck me as deceptively clever, “you can only catch ‘em if you believe in ‘em, Dad!”
Now, that’s exactly the kind of thing that a public elementary school teacher would say: if it doesn’t work, you didn’t “believe hard enough.” A good excuse, no doubt, which leads to my first, and most important, point:
And let’s get it out of the way: you don’t actually believe in Leprechauns. I know it’s a cute idea: the whole “pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow” scenario. But, let’s be adults here: scientifically speaking, anyways, rainbows have no end. They’re circles—which makes the entire idea one big joke. Kids eat this stuff up—just like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy—but just like anything that’s too good to be true, it isn’t. There’s no pot of gold ‘cause there’s no end to a rainbow. And there’s no little Irish guy that you can catch that will magically grant you three wishes to let him go, right?
Well, so I thought.
See, despite my unbelief my daughter very much believed in the whole Leprechaun thing. And that’s the part that matters. How’s the Proverb go? Faith like a child? That’s the idea, here.
So, step one is that you need a child. Presumably yours. If you don’t have a child then I question your interests in the whole “Leprechaun” thing to begin with but—I digress. Obviously, the younger the better. Because younger children tend to be more—pardon my bluntness—stupid. They believe in a lot, and you’d be surprised as to how large of a commodity belief is in the world of the supernatural. In a word: very.
Step two is getting to know your adversary. Just like any hunter, you’ve got to get, at least in a rudimentary sense, an understanding of your prey. Leprechauns are small, but they aren’t stupid. And I know you still don’t believe in them, but they don’t care. In fact, they hope you don’t believe—that’s a part of their trick.
Leprechauns are Irish folklore, obviously, deriving many of their legends and lores from the stories of Celtic faes, or fairies. Unlike many types of fae, however, Leprechauns are always male. Don’t ask, it’s magic. And, just like most males, Leprechauns are mischievous. Oh, and they love money. Mostly gold, but you already knew that.
When I say love, I really stress love—as in, they will kill for this gold. Think about it: imagine being three to eight inches (maybe taller, I’m not exactly sure) in stature, cunning as all hell to begin with, and schlockered up on Irish whiskey. You’d kill anyone that’d try to so-much-as look at your gold, wouldn’t you? So, moving forward with this whole ordeal, be careful. I will not be held responsible if you’re not so “lucky” by the end of this.
Now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time to get into the nitty-gritty: catching a live Leprechaun.
You’re going to feel like an idiot. But just like any idiot that strikes gold, you’ll be begging for someone to pinch you cause you’ll feel like you’re dreaming. Either that or you weren’t wearing any green. My daughter saw to that one…
This leads me to the bait. Which, if you fish you should know this, is the key to catching the right prey. There are a couple of options, some better than others, but here’s the basic breakdown:
Simplest of all, you’ve got potatoes. Leprechauns love potatoes. Not as much as gold but, as any drunk Irish dude at a pub will tell you, they love a good spud. The downside to potatoes is that you’d only entice the really hungry Leprechauns. The other ones wouldn’t dare stick their neck out for a quick bite.
Secondly, you’ve got shoes. I know you do—probably some old, nasty ones stinking up your closet up to the Heavens right about now. It’s a little-known fact that Leprechauns are shoemakers, and shoe-fixer-uppers for that matter, so if you leave out some worn-down shoes, most of them can’t resist but mend and polish them. And, hey, if all else fails, at least you’ll have some nice shoes to fill by the end of this.
Lastly, and most costly is, obviously, gold. They simply can’t resist it. An old gold watch, gold tooth, gold…whatever will do the trick. Just make sure it’s not fool’s gold, or else the only fool is gonna be you.
Now, to trap the little runts you’re gonna need one of two things: a four-leaf clover, or iron. And, considering that four-leafers are one-in-ten-thousand, I assume the latter will be more readily available. Iron is extremely harmful to fairies of any kind, due to its contents being strictly “from Earth”—whatever that means. Iron is found in loads of common household products, like hammers or frying pans, so it should be easy to access. Even something as simple as a metal nail will do the trick. This is magic, after all.
In brief, you’re going to construct a little “leprechaun trap” of your own. Don’t overthink it: keep it simple, just like the kiddies do. And, speaking of kids, it needs to be arranged in the same household as a sleeping child. As I said before, their belief is the key to all of this.
It can be as small as a shoebox or as large as an entire room. Ideally, it should have only one “exit” point, to prevent the little bastard from escaping. Place your bait of choice in an obvious spot, and tie off something that makes noise to it. I need not go into every option but…use your imagination. We are talking about hunting Leprechauns, here. The easiest option would be to tie a tiny bell or something similar onto whichever bait you chose. That way, when the Leprechaun snags it—you snag him.
Leprechauns are solitary fairies, which means they tend to say out of the limelight—which also means you’ll probably need to be up late for this trap to work. It could be anywhere from sunset to sunrise, but a good rule of thumb is between midnight and four AM.
I cannot stress enough that Leprechauns are tricksters. You probably won’t see the little imp, but don’t let your unbelief fool you…he’s there. Any rapid clicks or chimes that you might hear late in the night are nothing but the belts on his shoes. And if you hear them, you’ll realize how fast these little things are. So be alert.
If you’ve ever read up on Saint Patrick, you might’ve heard the legend of how he banished all the snakes from Ireland. Some say this is a half-truth. Some say these “snakes” were actually Leprechauns themselves. No scholars will confirm this, of course, but keep in mind that Patrick wanted to spread Christianity in a nation full of Pagans; Pagans who believed in, and worshiped, gods like Lugh—a craftsman and crafty warrior. If that name doesn’t ring any bells for you, keep in mind that Lugh is sometimes pronounced “Luq”…as in, the Luck of the Irish. I told you these things are deceptive little devils. Why else would Saint Patrick call them “snakes”?
Once you hear the audible sound of your trap snapping into action, you’ll have but seconds to react. As I said, they’re fast. If your trap’s under a box, pull the string and place your iron object atop it. If the trap is in a room, barricade the door with your iron object. It’ll take only seconds for him to realize he’s been caught, but even less time to think up a trick to get himself out of it.
Do not forget this: he owes you three wishes, now.
Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t start talking right away. He’s counting on your unbelief, waiting for you to lift that box, open that door. Don’t give him the satisfaction of such a simple escape.
If you successfully keep him trapped for a certain duration of time, he’ll realize he’s been bested, and think up a new scheme to weasel his way out of his obligation of the three wishes. They’re stingy—don’t let this one escape without your ransom payment.
Some Leprechaun catchers claim they’ve heard sounds from within the traps—sounds of helpless pets or loved ones—begging to be set free. Or, maybe, they’ll watch a beloved family photograph “randomly” fall from the wall, prompting the use of that iron hammer all-so conveniently.
These are all tricks. The Leprechaun knows just the right buttons to press. They think humans are stupid, greedy monsters. Don’t let him win.
You’ve got to be tough. You’ve got to believe. ‘Cause, when I heard the voice of my daughter from the other side of our basement door, I doubted myself, and this whole “Leprechaun” thing, for a long minute.
“Daddy? Why are my school sneakers in the basement? I can’t open the door, Daddy!”
It’s a really good trick—the kind that messes with your mind. Do not, no matter what he tells you with that lying, deceptive tongue, open that door, lift that box.
And be prepared for a long struggle. Leprechauns don’t give up their gold, their wishes, their lies, easily. It might take hours, days…weeks to get the little bastard to give in. Hell, it took mine nearly a week just to give up the whole daughter mimicry charade. It hasn’t spoken since, but I refuse to open the basement door until it does.
I know it will—eventually. And always remember: it owes you those three wishes.
Hey, it’s Spooky Boo. Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I hope you’re going to have some fun tonight! Tonight’s episode is made possible by you, the wonderful listeners of the podcast and by the Patreon members including madjoe, PA Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, John Newby, and Patrick. If you would like to know how you can support the show, please visit my website at www.scarystorytime.com/support.
I’d love to hear your stories. Send them into me by visiting my website at www.scarystorytime.com/submissions or you can call in your stories for up to 3 minutes to hear on the livestream at 707SPOOKYB – that is 707-776-6592.
That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.
