The Tale of the Excessive Leprechaun

Jan 21, 2025

No fairy tale this! This is about a hard core leprechaun, living in an ancient parish, somewhere deep in the mountainous midlands of Ireland.

The leprechaun was named Lughaidh, but as most new acquaintances looked crooked at him when he introduced himself, long ago he had adapted it to Louie.

Much less explaining to do. Much less work. Much better.

Louie the Leprechaun lived in a small cottage having the woodlands as his garden and a fast flowing river, perfect for trout and salmon fishing, as the boundary.

Louie was much your typical leprechaun. He enjoyed mischief and messing around with the humans in his community.

Louie though, had a particularity that set him apart from his fellow leprechauns. He was a bit over the top.

Louie always talked that bit louder than all the assembly, to ensure he made himself seen and heard.

Louie never said no to an extra pint or another helping of pie.

Life is for living, Louie the Leprechaun's line was. And down another pint in his round belly with the waistcoat buttons ready to burst.

Sadly though, when you talk loudly your ears are dumb to what others might be saying.

Louie dismissed the suggestions that, maybe, he should spend less time in the pub and more time minding his run down cottage and his over grown woodland.

Louie was all about the craic and the rest just jealous busy bodies.

As time progressed, Louie was reduced to a colorful character you buy a pint for, in the pub, when the occasion called for it.

Louie himself though was bored, and in recent times, due to him getting just a bit too heavy and round, he couldn't go around human houses and cause mischief.

One night, after yet one too many, Louie decided he needed to get back to it. So, stumbling and swaying, he walked towards the so named Bee cottage, where an old bee keeper lived. He had chosen it because, he knew of a crack in the wall that was just big enough to allow him to climb up to the window and sneak in.

Several times Louie had to stop and catch his breath, for sure it wasn't that far, he remembered it being much, much closer to the pub. It couldn't have moved, could it?

Eventually, all tired, sweaty and most worryingly, almost sober, Louie reached the cottage.

He pushed any doubts he might have had about the worthiness of his endeavor to the back of his mind and proceeded forth.

Crack. Check! Sash window difficult to open. Check! Couch to roll on from the window sill. Check! Faint snoring and deep sleep after landing on the soft couch. Check!

Louie woke up to find that he had had the most energizing nap. He felt rested and ready to rumba!

Walking smugly he moved things around the room, he hid keys, he shoved a purse deep behind the couch cushions, yeah, not shoddy work if he said so himself!

A lovely smell caught his attention while he was rummaging in the kitchen. After some investigation, it turned out, that it came from a fragrant piece of chocolate, carefully placed in a mouse trap under the kitchen counter.

I can resist anything but temptation, Louie quoted Wilde to himself, pleased with his obvious erudition, not to mention legendary Irish wit, but we digress. Chocolateee!

Louie studied the trap expertly.

The banality of evil! Simple, but highly effective. Happily for Louie though, he had disarmed many before, so it did not pose any challenge.

What Louie did not expect though, was that sometimes life has other plans than those we lay out.

Confidently, Louie went to the back of the trap where, from a very specific angle, he could snatch up the wonderfully smelling piece of chocolate. He did not account however for a little trace of olive oil, which made him slip at just the right, or wrong, moment, and while pushing the chocolate from the trap, his hand got grazed badly by it snapping shut.

Kerplunk! Louie went, with a loud bang while wailing in pain. The house stirred but nobody showed up.

Whining, Louie gathered himself from the floor, forgetting all about the chocolate, and went to rest on a floor cushion, nestled close to the fire less fireplace.

His hand was throbbing, and the pain took over his entire being.

What a rookie mistake! Whining gently, he rocked himself to sleep on the velvety cushion.

When he woke up, the sun was high up in the sky and a pleasant fire was warming him. It felt nice! And then, the fog in his brain was cleared by the realization that, the fire must have been lit by somebody.

Before he had time to react, he noticed on the couch an old woman. No, not old, ancient, seeming older than the earth, small and frail looking, with clothes draping her thin frame and a large crocheted scarf covering her shiny, silver hair.

The hag was wearing thick eyeglasses, and her own eyes were so covered in creases and sagging skin, that it made you wonder if she saw at all.

Louie relaxed into the cushion enjoying the warmth of the fire. He was safe.

As the day progressed, the hag barely moved from the couch. She sat there knitting something in a bag, under a powerful lamp. Under the same light, using the biggest magnifier Louie had ever seen, she read from a large, leather bound book mumbling to herself.

Louie watched her, and the more he observed her, the more he liked her.

He noticed the hag had, in her large, pink wool slippers, mismatched socks. The dress she wore under her house coat, had some remembrance of shiny tassels, and in her ears, large pearl drop earrings pulled at the floppy skin.

Somebody used to be a player!, Louie said to himself nursing his painful hand.

When lunch came, the hag brought in a tray, shuffling her feet on the flagstones floor. Deliciously smelling baked beans almost made Louie cry out, but he contained himself, and, to his joy, before leaning back on the couch for a postprandial nap, the hag deposited the tray on a low table, within his reach. On it, an untouched, generously buttered, soda bread slice, and a few good spoonfuls of beans. Heaven!

Louie would have washed it all down with a pint, but as that was not possible he was happy with what he got. After eating, the hag’s rhythmic snoring, the crackling fire, the serenity of the home, made Louie himself fall into a deep restful sleep.

However, before falling asleep, he could swear he had heard, a lovely singing voice, faintly whispering in the warm, restful air.

He thought he heard it utter the words:

Blessed Brighid I welcome you

Keep safe this hearth and home

Let your sacred fire burn

That none shall feel the cold

Welcome Bride!

Through heavy eyelids Louie saw that the hag had not moved, so it was not her, but he did feel a faint touch on his swollen hand and then the world just drifted away.

Louie slept the best sleep he had ever slept. When he woke up this time it was night, the embers in the fireplace covered the interior of the cottage in a warm, orange glow. The hag and the tray were gone.

When Louie went to shift his position while protecting his hurt hand he was stunned to find that it was healed. The swelling had gone down, and if it weren’t for a small scratch where the trap had hit him, you would not know anything had been the matter with it just a few hours before.

Louie felt wonderful! He felt younger by tens of years, if not hundreds.

Sleep can do wonders indeed!, he told himself while jumping off the cushion and heading to the window. Before sliding out Louie threw one last glance at the small, stuffed room. He felt gratitude and a strange fuzzy feeling he was not familiar with, something like longing, a desire to have something similar of his own.

No time to delay though, the pub awaits!

While walking away, Louie turned to look one last time towards the cottage, and he could swear he saw a sliver tassel fluttering by the window. He waved the idea away, reassuring himself it was just the light of the moonlight.

The pub was full of light and life. Leprechauns returned from making people’s lives difficult were sharing stories of their mischief.

Louie got himself a pint of the black stuff and when eyes turned to him to share his latest endeavor, he only got to mention Bee cottage that all of them burst laughing.

‘Louie with his tall tales again!’

‘Whaaaat? Whaaaat? I was there I swear!’

One of them took pity on him.

‘How could you Louie? That cottage was demolished oh, five years now!’

‘Noooo!’

‘Yeeees!’, and they continue laughing leaving Louie bewildered and, strange to admit, heartbroken. The cottage had been the first place, in a very long time, where he had actually felt ok.

Louie left the pub with his feet taking him home by themselves. His cottage was damp, dark and depressing. He let himself fall on a squeaky chair and felt dispirited.

Sitting there, the flutter of a memory passed through his mind and he remembered some of the words he had heard in the cottage. Maybe he too needs some warmth!

Inexpertly, Louie lit a fire, causing a lot of dust to rise and smoke to fill the room. But once the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the fire was burning brightly behind the fire screen spreading light and warmth.

Sitting there, with a moth eaten rug over his knees, Louie thought for the first time in his life that maybe, indeed, he too can make a home.

The next days were spent in a flurry of activity. Louie worked more than he had ever did. He cleaned, he washed, he covered cracks, especially a large one in front of the window. He threw out old, tattered rugs and got new ones, bright and beautifully colored. He cleared the garden so now he had a direct view to the river.

He worked so much that he forgot about going to the pub, and the other leprechauns, -messers as they are, they still care bout their own-, came over to see if he was alright.

When they saw what he was about, they set to help him and each brought something to make his cottage more like a home. A chair, some paint to do the outside and protect it from the Irish rain, some cushions, and when they were done, the cottage was almost unrecognizable.

Except for Louie, he was sure he had seen all that setup before, but he explained the feeling to himself as a strange fancy and moved on.

Grateful for all the help, Louie did his best to help out too, and soon the old, loud, obnoxious Louie was just a memory. Now his people were pleased to meet him, they shared stories and made plans, and most importantly, now, Louie had a home of his own, warm and safe, where he would sometimes lie on a velvet cushion in front of the fire and mumble some words he thinks he heard a long time before.