This short story takes on the question of why all Leprechauns are male... sort of.
I knew the Pixies were messing with me earlier. They waited until I published my first story before bringing me this one. Like all my Celtic stories, some of this is historical fact, some is Irish myth, and some is straight out of my warped and twisted imagination. I will leave it to you to figure out which is which.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
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It all started very late last summer, or perhaps I should say very early this fall. I was trying to get a very difficult article written on the Celtic myths in which humans become immortal, and my girlfriend, Annie, was feeling neglected... very neglected.
I'm normally not one to refuse sex, but I had to get the article finished for my publisher, so I told her that she could speed things up by reading the article and helping me catch significant errors in my grammar or spelling. I didn't expect her to really understand the Gaelic references or the discussions on how to translate a particular rune, but she was very aware that the epitome of my spelling proficiency is remembering that there is an R in shirt.
After a few hours of silent reading, she asked, "So what's the name for these evil Leprechauns that keep showing up in these myths? You never say what to call them."
I held up a photo of a rune stone and pointed to one of the characters. "That's it," I said rather dejectedly. "It is applied only to the children of this one," I pointed to another rune, "and a member of the Fey." I pointed to another rune and said, "That rune we know how to translate... more or less. It is usually translated as 'fairy,' but a better translation is 'member of the Fey.' It's someone who can claim the fairy mound as their home, and that's not always what we think of as a fairy."
Annie was still looking confused, so I continued, "Leprechauns are sort of the mules of the fairy world. They are the offspring of good and evil, but they, themselves, are neither good, nor evil. They are... " I paused searching for the right word. "They are... are... mischievous."
"And these children are always male?" she asked.
"Yes and no," I replied. "Leprechauns are always male and always mischievous... except when they are female... and then they aren't really Leprechauns... and they are evil."
I picked up another picture of a rune stone. "Or at least I think they are supposed to be evil." I pointed to the stone and said, "That's another rune nobody can translate. It might mean evil, but it often occurs in sexual contexts." I laughed and said, "It could just as easily mean horny."
"Why don't we hear more about these evil female Leprechauns?" she asked.
"They aren't Leprechauns!" I said loudly, looking around to see who-- or what-- might have heard her. "And the wee men get a little upset if you equate the two of them. They are wee lassies and that means that they are NOT Leprechauns! There are no female Leprechauns!"
I looked around again making sure that neither Danny Boy nor any of his cousins was around. "I usually just call them imps," I said hastily. "I know that's not a Celtic word, but it fits. They seem to be evil spirits of some sort that do another's bidding."
I shuffled through my stack of rune stone images. "Or at least that is the prevailing theory. They seem to follow the direction of powerful women, like maybe Queen Achtland. She is one of the mortals who became immortal by marrying one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I did a lot of research on her for this article and the imps get mentioned in one or two of her lesser-known myths."
"Maybe you should investigate them further," Annie suggested.
"I think I've already found everything there is to find about them," I said, sounding very frustrated.
I set down my stack of photos and copies of articles and said, "I have discovered that one of the unique things about them is that it appears they are only able to be active on Dark Night... and no, that is NOT Halloween. Celtic Dark Night is the dark of the moon following the Autumnal Equinox. It is the true day when the barrier between this world and the next is thinnest.
"Dark Night is now less than a month away. That means it is over three weeks before October thirty-first this year. It is supposed to move around, at least on our calendar. The Romans screwed it up when they took Dark Night back to Rome and incorporated it into a harvest festival on the Roman solar calendar. But that's the wrong day. If you want to celebrate Samhain correctly, you use a lunar calendar not a ... "
Annie interrupted me, "Don't get going on the date of Halloween," she said tersely. "I've heard it all before." Then she added somewhat angrily, "... several times."
"OK," I replied, trying to calm myself. "But there isn't much to know about the Celtic imps-- or whatever their true name is. The only time they are really mentioned for any length of time is in 'The Cursed Book' and nobody knows how to translate at least half of that section."
"Is that the book that tells you how to summon demons and stuff like that?" she asked.
"Yes, it is," I replied, "but there is no way I'm going to risk doing any of that. I've had enough trouble dealing with the wee folk when they drop by on their own. I don't need to invite them-- or perhaps some of the not-so-wee folk-- to drop by for a visit."
"But you said they are dormant except on Dark Night," Annie replied. "How could they be dangerous?" She was using her whine-until-she-gets-her-way voice. I knew where this was heading... ... and I was right.
The ritual to summon the female wee person who is not a Leprechaun is rather simple. There is a standard containment circle and the right number of properly positioned charms and then some words in ancient Gaelic. That's what really worried me. I was pretty sure about the number of charms and where to place them on the circle and how to interconnect them, but the Gaelic scared me.
Trying to make sense out of modern Gaelic is bad enough. Pronouncing the old tongue is even worse. And it was made even harder by the fact that I was almost stuttering because I was so afraid that if I mispronounced one of the words I might end up with the White Lady herself standing in my circle.
One thing I was sure of was that my puny charms and protections would have no power over the Goddess of Death and Destruction herself. But Annie kept whining, so I spread the powders and placed the charms and said the words and then waited to see if anything happened.
It didn't.
Or at least I thought it didn't.
Then Annie said, "Oh, they're so cute." She then reached into the circle and acted like she was petting a puppy.
"What are you doing?!" I yelled. "Do you know what you have just done?!" I almost screamed.
"I'm just smoothing down their hair," she answered defensively. "They are beautiful."
She looked over at me and said, "You can't see them, can you?"
I shook my head and she continued, "They look sort of like naked Tinkerbells... except they don't have wings and they have green eyes and red hair."
"But you broke the circle," I wailed. "They can get out."
"Yes, they can," she said. Her voice was suddenly husky and her eyes had a far away look.
"Where are they?" I asked.
"They are nuzzling and suckling on my breasts," she said. Her breath was starting to get ragged.
"It's as if I am also naked," she breathed out in almost a whisper. "They can reach right through my clothing. The sensations are overwhelming."