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“Okay but what about Kansas?”
“What about Chicago?”
“Which case? The possessed Good Guy Doll. The Candyman. Or Kothoga?” Sean sits back in his chair, arms behind his head, with a satisfied look on his face.
“Damn it Sean. You know everything.” Patrick’s words have a mixture of awe, jealousy, and frustration. “I know you live this stuff but how can you remember cases from so long ago?”
“Well you remember them don’t you?”
“Well what’s the case you remember the best?”
I came out alone. Why did I come out alone? I should have given this one to Rudy. He’s the werewolf killer. Not me. Why did I do this? Oh yeah because I thought I was ready. Damn it I was wrong.
“I know ye out there.” The creature lurks through the woods searching for its victim. Patrick crouches behind a tree, sawed off shotgun loaded with wrought iron slugs in one hand, a four leaf clover in the other. “I’ll find you and my gold.”
A leprechaun. I laughed when I took the call. A god damn leprechaun. I don’t know why I found it funny. I mean I’d seen Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, Wolf-Man, Gill-Man, Mummy, and all the lycan and vampires since then but I laughed about a leprechaun. Now I’m hiding behind a damn tree in the middle of pitch black woods trying to hide from a psychotic murderous leprechaun.
Some kids messing around let the leprechaun loose. A pissed off leprechaun looking for its gold. A pissed off murderous leprechaun currently looking to kill me. Damn it Sean we never studied leprechauns.
“I know ye out here. I want me gold!” The diminutive devil cackled with delight.
A week. I thought I’d fly out here, take some notes, throw back a few pints, find some little person that had gone on a murder spree, hand the case over to the cops, and head home with a check in hand. Instead I find an honest to god leprechaun from the damn Emerald Isle and it wants its gold.
“I can smell you. You smell like a coward. I’ll find you.” Another cackle escapes its scratchy throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A twig snaps near the tree Patrick is crouched behind. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He hears the breathing of the creature getting closer. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Silence. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Boo.” The creature comes around the tree. Patrick raises the shotgun, points, and pulls the trigger. The sound echoes through the woods. The blast sends the beast flying backwards, blood flies into the air, smoke fills the air. It lets out a blood curdling scream. Patrick quickly pumps the next round into the chamber. The spent shell falls to the ground. He aims. Squeezes the trigger. The blast tears through the creatures body. He racks the next and fires. Again and again. He looks down at the creature, still alive but barely. It looks up, “I’m :cough: going to enjoy :cough cough: killing you.” Blood pours from the thing’s mouth. Patrick looks down at it, places the shotgun on its head, “Good luck with that.” He pulls the trigger.
Patrick spends the next several hours gathering the remains and placing them in an iron box. The inside and outside of the lid are adorned with numerous four leaf clovers. He buries it in the cemetery of a small local church. He meets with his clients, “We have your payment.”
“I should have asked for it up front.” His clients uncomfortably laugh. “I’m serious.” The laughing slows. “This isn’t funny, that damn thing nearly killed me.” The chuckles stop. He takes the check, “This better clear.” Patrick turns and heads for home.
"O, woe be the day the enemy descends, mourn we will, for the sake of all that's holy in this universe....
... 'cause the Alley Viper Corps is gonna fuck it ALL up!" - NFC
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