Stacy Jo Zercher lives in Chester County, Pennsylvania, where she finds inspiration in the mysterious, the supernatural, and the spiritual. A published author of two books, she is currently working on the final installment of her series.
When she isn’t writing, Stacy enjoys peaceful walks through the woods, breathing in the refreshing scent of rain, and spending quality time with her adult daughters in Boston.
Her fascination with the unseen and the extraordinary often finds its way into her creative world. Recently, Stacy has embarked on an exciting new literary adventure: writing short and flash fiction. Through these shorter forms, she continues to explore imaginative ideas, intriguing mysteries, and the magical moments that make life—and storytelling—so captivating.
Once Upon a Leprechaun
By Stacy Jo Zercher
Greta’s daughter, Kria, ran down the hallway. “Mommy, he’s back!” Her eyes were wide at the announcement. Her little sister, Zen, trailed behind her, clutching her blanket.
Greta was brushing her hair and turned to face her daughters. “Who’s back?”
“The little man. The one with the beard and funny clothes,” Kria said.
Zen’s big hazel eyes waited for clarity. Greta put her brush down on the vanity. “What do you mean, little man?”
Kria walked toward the living room. “He was right here in the middle of the room,” she said, pointing. “He had something in his hand. When he saw me, he ran up the chimney.”
Greta raised her brow. “And you’ve seen him before?”
Kria nodded.
“Where did you see him?”
“Once in the mudroom. He was running out the doggy door. And one time I saw him on the window in my room.”
The memory came back to Greta. On the way to school a few weeks ago, Kria said she saw a little person on her windowsill. Greta was preoccupied and didn’t pay much attention. She, too, had a healthy imagination as a child, believed in dwarfs and fairies, and played such childhood games.
“Well.” Greta cleared her throat. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“He likes milk and cookies.”
Greta blinked several times. “How do you know that?”
“I put some out for him, like we do for Santa, and he ate the cookies.”
Greta played along. “And what about the milk?”
Kria shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. But he sure did make a mess and spilled it on the carpet.”
Zen lost interest in the little man stories and resumed playing chef in her play kitchen.
“When’s Daddy coming home?” Kria asked with a long face.
Greta put a pot of water on the stove. “Tonight, honey.”
Her eyes filled with happy tears. She made a little bunny hop. “Tonight!”
They sat at the table eating spaghetti marinara. Greta wondered if Kria was soothing herself with this “little man” mischief because of her father’s absence. Her thoughts twirled around like the spaghetti on her fork. Why do some children have imaginary friends and others don’t? Where’s the line between healthy imagination and psychological behavior? Should I talk to Gary about this?
“Daddy!” Both girls screamed as he came through the doorway. He rolled his suitcase over the threshold.
Kria bounced out of her chair and leaped into his arms. “How’s my little bunny and little birdie?” He bent down and pecked Zen on the crown of her head.
Greta and Gary kissed. She fixed him a plate of spaghetti. “Hungry?”
He pulled out his chair and sat with a sigh. “Not really. I had a big lunch. But I’ll have some.” Greta put the plate down on the table for him. “Merci.” He winked at the girls. “That’s French for thank you. When you’re big girls, I’ll take you there.”
“Where, daddy?”
“To France.” He shoved pasta into his mouth.
Spaghetti sauce ran down Kria’s chin. “I’m big enough.”
“Yes, I know. I just mean when you’re older.”
“Will the little man come?” Zen said in her birdie voice.
“Here.” Greta gave Kria a moistened cloth to wipe her chin. “No, I don’t think the little man should go to France.”
Gary squinted his eyes. “Ah… what’s this about?”
Greta dismissively waved her hand. “I’ll explain later.”
He stood up and unzipped his suitcase. “I brought gifts.” The girls grinned, ear to ear. He gave them a little purple gift bag. Kria and Zen opened jewelry boxes with necklaces. Kria’s had a little rabbit pendant. Zen’s had a little bird. He reached into his bag, pulled out another jewelry box, and handed it to Greta. “This one’s for Mommy.”
“Oh. You didn’t have to.” Greta opened the lid. Inside was a gold heart necklace. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” They kissed. “Girls,” she said softly. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, Daddy,” they sang.
“You’re welcome. Now it’s time to get ready for bed. I’m taking you to school tomorrow.” The girls whined. “No pouty faces. Brush your teeth and pick out a book for me to read.”
The girls trotted down the hall to the bathroom. Gary helped clear the table. “I have to go back to Dublin on Monday.”
“Oh. Okay.” Greta sighed. “You were just there, weren’t you?”
“It’s been two weeks already.” He caressed her back while she washed a plate. “I’m sorry. When the girls are older, maybe even over the summer when school’s out, we can all go.”
“I know. It’s not your fault. It’s a good job. A dream job. And the gifts are nice, but. Please, don’t take this the wrong way; it’s just that it doesn’t make up for your absence.”
“I suppose not. I miss you and the girls, too.” He dried some plates, stacked them, and put them in the cupboard.
Greta lowered her voice. “Kria, I think, is having a hard time.”
“What do you mean?”
“She keeps seeing — she says — a little man.” Greta crossed her arms. “Maybe you should talk to her.”
“Okay.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “Where does she see him?”
“Here. In the house. In the window. I don’t know. She said today that he ran up the chimney.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think that means something is wrong. Santa goes up the chimney. So that isn’t strange.”
Greta handed him another plate. “I’m probably overreacting.”
“Daddy?” Kria yelled from the bedroom. “We picked out a story.”
Greta touched his arm. “Will you talk with her, anyway?”
“Sure.” He kissed her. “I’ll talk with her tomorrow on the way to school.”
The day after next, on a Saturday morning, Greta crept out of bed when she heard the girls in the kitchen. She looked at Gary snoring away, jet-lagged again. She put on her housecoat and entered the kitchen. “You’re going to wake Daddy. Let’s let him rest so he’s not tired and grumpy later.” She looked down. Cereal was scattered all over the floor.
Kria held a broom. “The little man made another mess.”
“I see where this is going. Kria, you can’t blame everything on this imaginary friend.” The instant it left her mouth, she regretted saying it.
She frowned. “He’s not my friend, and he’s real.”
“Okay. Here. Let me help.” Greta took the broom and gave Kria the dustpan, and they swept up all the Cheerios. “I’ll make some French toast.” Zen smiled. It was her favorite.
Gary finally woke up around noon. It was snowing, so the girls went out to play. Fresh-brewed coffee filled the air. Greta poured some into her and Gary’s mugs. “It snowed,” she said.
“I see that. I didn’t even pick the apples yet.”
“You say that every year.” She sipped coffee and noticed dark circles under Gary’s eyes. “Tired?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his face. “I think we need to call an exterminator. I was awake for most of the night, you know, jet lag and all. But I kept hearing something shuffling around, like mice, maybe even a rat. It sounded too loud to be a mouse.”
“I’ll call the neighbor, Danny. He’s an exterminator.”
“Yeah, right. I can call him.” Gary sipped his coffee.
Later that day, Danny came over and walked around the house, inside and outside. He yelled from the bedroom, “Are you okay with me looking inside your closets?”
“Sure,” said Gary.
“Did you hear them in the rafters?” Danny asked.
“No. Just around on the floor. Maybe even on the dresser,” Gary said, pointing. “When I looked, I didn’t see any droppings or anything.”
Danny’s back end stuck out of the closet as he bent down and pulled out a shoebox. “Looks like something’s been nesting here. Is your wife missing jewelry?” Danny presented the shoebox, and they looked inside: a mismatch of socks, cookie crumbs, Cheerios, and all three necklaces Gary gave them. “Pack rats do this. Funny, though, that the socks aren’t chewed.” He sniffed. “And doesn’t that look like a little pillow?”
Gary set the shoebox on the bed. “Do rats roll up socks?”
“Not that I know of. Been doing this for twenty years. Never saw such an organized rat’s nest.”
Greta walked into the room to see what they found. Gary lifted her necklace out of the box. “You better put this away, safe from the critter.”
“What? It was in my jewelry box.” Greta returned it to its box. “Thank you, Danny, for taking time out of your weekend. How much do we owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. If you hear it again, let me know.” He said on his way out. “You can set up some rat traps if it comes back. Or if you want me to.”
“I do have some in the shed.” Gary walked him out. “I think I can manage that. Thanks again, Danny.”
Danny left, and Gary went out to the shed and grabbed the rat traps on the shelf above his worktable. He stopped short when he noticed a trail of snow. He turned on the light and looked closely. Little footprints, skinny and narrow, traveled across his work desk. Unlike any rodent, these footprints were distinctly small shoes, almost two inches long.
The girls were taking off their wet gloves and shoes in the mudroom when Gary entered the house. “Hey, Kria. Mommy said that you saw a little man.”
“Mmm. Yeah. I don’t think she believes me.”
“What did he look like?”
“He’s about this tall.” Her hand reached about 6 inches above the floor. “He has a beard and wears a hat.”
“A hat? Can you draw a picture of him?”
“Okay.”
Kria sat at her table with her colored pencils and began to draw. Gary stood beside her because the chairs were too small to sit in. Zen sat next to her sister, resting her chin on her hands, watching.
Greta entered the room and saw Gary and Zen intently watching Kria draw, erase, and draw again. She dug around in her pencil bin for just the right shade of brown and green.
“What’s Kria drawing?” Greta asked.
“I asked her to draw a picture of the, you know, what she saw.” He scratched his head.
Kria colored his torso green with a few little gold buttons. “This is his jacket he wears when he goes outside. It has little gold balls for buttons.” She carefully colored his beard brown with some gray. “His beard goes down to his belly like this. When it gets wet, it curls.”
Greta lowered down to look at her picture. “How do you know all this?”
“Because I saw him come in from the rain, and today he was in the snow.” She held up her picture and critiqued it. “I messed up his nose. This one’s too long and pointy. His nose curves down.”
Gary looked at the rendering and took a deep breath. He always has this expression, lips drawn in and slightly down, when he’s thinking but doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking.
Greta crossed her arms. “Gary, can I talk to you in the bedroom?”
“Here’s your picture, Daddy.” Kria handed him her drawing.
“Thanks, Bunny. It’s quite good.”
Greta shut the bedroom door and pointed to the drawing. “Why did you have her draw this picture?”
“You asked me to talk to her about it.”
“Yeah, but isn’t drawing a picture taking it too far? Are you trying to encourage this, whatever this is?”
“No, of course not. It’s just, I don’t know. What if she really did see something?”
Greta grabbed the picture and held it up. “You actually think that she’s been seeing this? A little elf with a flappy brown hat? Why hasn’t Zen seen him? Or me or you? It isn’t real; that’s why.”
“In Ireland, some people have this gift. I stayed at a hotel near Dublin. They speak about this supernatural civilization. They call them Shee. The bartender said he sometimes sees a leprechaun late at night when he’s clearing up.” He lowers his voice. “You don’t want to make them mad, because they cast spells. Maybe Kria can see him, unlike the rest of us, because he trusts her.”
At this point, Greta’s mouth was wide open. “Are you hearing yourself?”
“You asked me to talk with her about it, and I did. I don’t think a child drawing a picture of a fairy, real or not, is harmful.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m worried for no reason.” Greta kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for talking to her.” She gave him the picture, smiling, and said, “Something for our scrapbook to look back on in ten years for a laugh.”
Gary took the picture, looked at it, and smiled.
Sunday evening arrived, and Gary unpacked from his previous trip, then repacked for Ireland. “I’m going back to Dublin.” he looked about the room and cleared his throat. “Hello?”
“Who are you talking to?” Greta said as she came into the room.
“No one. I’m just trying to figure out what to pack for my trip TO IRELAND.”
“Why are you talking like that?”
“In case, you know. The little man wants to go back.”
“Not that again.” Greta sighed, exasperated. “You think he’s from Ireland?”
“Well. It makes sense. Doesn’t it?”
“Not unless you believe in magic and fairies. Which, I know you don’t.” Greta sat on the edge of the bed. “The girls are ready for bed.”
Gary went to the girls’ bedroom and kissed Kria on the top bunk bed and Zen on the bottom. “I’ll see you next week. Be good for Mommy.”
“Good night, Daddy,” they cooed.
“Good night, Bunny. Good night, Birdie.”
Nine hours later, Gary entered the pub. A group of fiddle players sat around a table, laughing, drinking Guinness. He weaved his suitcase around a table and parked it next to the bar.
“Checking in?” Ben’s round blue eyes opened wider. “Oh! Hello, Gary. Welcome back. Your room is ready.” He handed him a key. “What can I get for ya?”
“Good to see you again, Ben. I’ll have a Guinness, please.”
“First one’s on the house.” He poured a dark, frothy beer and set it on the bar.
“Thanks!” Gary gulped three swallows and wiped his beer mustache with his hand. He finished his beer quickly and put a tip on the bar.
“What d’ya think you’re doing?” Ben put the money back into Gary’s hand.
The fiddle players started to play a reel. Gary was hungry and ordered fried fish and another beer. He finished his beer before his fish arrived, so he ordered another. An elderly man in a paddy cap danced to the fiddle players. Gary clapped with the rest of the patrons, forgetting about his 9 a.m. meeting.
Ben smiled. “You’re gettin more Irish by the pint, Lad.” Gary laughed and nodded.
“Can I ask you a question?” Gary reached into the inside pocket of his wool jacket, unfolded the picture Kria made of the little man, and smoothed it out on the bar. “Were you pullin’ my leg about the fairy, the shee you see here in the pub?”
“True story. But I haven’t seen ‘em in a few weeks, thinkin’ of it.”
“My daughter drew this likeness of a little man she claims to see.”
“Mm… hmm. She saw a leprechaun. Can I keep it? It’s pretty good.”
“My wife wants it.” He folded the paper and put it back into his pocket. “Listen, I think. I mean, don’t think I’m a silly man, but I think your leprechaun somehow came home with me.”
Ben leaned across the bar and spoke closely into Gary’s ear over the fiddle players. “This is what ya must do. When ya go to your room, jump up and down three times, then spin three circles, and clap your hands three times. Ya got it?”
“Yeah. Jump, spin, and clap three times. Got it.” Gary downs the last sip of his beer. “What will that do?”
“The leprechaun will become unstuck from ya and go back into his world, leavin’ ya in peace.”
Ben slid the bill across the bar and winked. Gary smiled. “Thanks, Ben.”
Gary tripped on a step as he slowly struggled up the narrow stairwell with his suitcase. He belched and hiccuped. He dropped the room key and bent down to pick it up. Once in the room, he removed his coat, staggered across the room, and sat on the chair in the corner next to the bed. He stood up, jumped three times, spun around, then clapped once, twice, three times. He crash-landed back in the chair, kicked off his shoes, and fell asleep.
His travel alarm rang at 7 a.m., and after hitting snooze for the third time, he mumbled and groaned, then got out of bed. He shuffled across the floor and smashed his foot into his suitcase. Its contents were strewn across the floor. He plopped at the end of the bed and rubbed his foot. “Dang, that smarts.”
Disheveled, he gathered the clothes and tossed them into the suitcase. He went into the bathroom, looked at himself in the mirror, rubbed his pounding head, and took two Tylenol.
At the end of his week, he entered the bar. “Checking out, Lad?” Ben said, placing clean glasses on the shelf under the bar.
“Yep,” Gary said, placing the key on the bar. “The week flew by.”
“Are ya back soon?”
“I’ll be here the week before Christmas.” Gary settled the bill, then handed it back.
“Good man yourself.” Ben nodded, and the men shook hands.
“Oh, and thanks for the help with the Leprechaun. I hope it worked.”
Ben laughed, and his cheeks turned cherry red. “I was just coddin’ ya, Lad.”
Gary’s eyes opened wide. “You mean I didn’t have to jump up and down and spin around?”
Ben laughed harder. “Did ya clap three times?” Tears filled his blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I was messing with ya.” He slapped his hand down on the bar.
A man at a table, eating a plate of eggs, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “He’s been pullin’ that trick for years.”
Gary laughed, feeling a little silly. “My wife is right, then. I’m taking this stuff too seriously.”
“That’s the secret to a happy marriage, Lad.” Ben pointed. “The wife is always right.”
Gary grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door. “Thanks for everything! See you next month.”
“Safe travels, Gary.” Ben continued putting clean glasses on the shelf. Gary could still hear him laughing.
When Gary arrived home, all the lights were out. The girls were asleep when he kissed them goodnight and tucked them in.
Greta was in bed, reading a novel. “Late flight?”
“Flight was delayed. Not too bad.”
He stowed his suitcase in his closet, sat on the edge of the bed, leaned back, and kissed Greta. “How was your week?”
Greta removed her reading glasses. “Fine. We had a snow day today.”
Gary slipped off his shoes. “The girls were sound asleep. Didn’t even hear me come in.”
“They’re wiped out from playing in the snow and helping me shovel. Did you notice the snowman?”
“Couldn’t miss him.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “Any more mention of the little man?”
“She didn’t say a word about it all week, so I brought it up. She said that he must have left… probably went on a business trip with Daddy.” She looked at him sidelong. “I really think it’s her way of coping with you not being home.”
“You’re probably right. I guess I was seeing things, too.”
“What?” She closed her book. “You thought you saw him?”
“I saw little footprints on my worktable out in the shed.”
“That could have been anything. When your body never knows what time zone you’re in, your mind will start seeing things. I believe she gets her imagination from you.”
Gary headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “I guess we’ll never know.”
“One thing I do know. It wasn’t a fairy,” She called out over the sound of the shower.
“What’s that?”
Greta put on her reading glasses and opened her book. “Never mind.”
Like most Saturday mornings, Greta sorted the laundry. She emptied the basket of clothes and gathered a load of Gary’s work shirts. PING. Something shiny had fallen to the floor. She picked up a little gold ball and looked at it closely in her palm. It was a button still attached to a tiny piece of fabric. She went to her room, opened her jewelry box, and took out the necklace that Gary gave her. She threaded the chain through the buttonhole, and it slid down next to the heart. She latched the necklace around her neck, then looked into the vanity mirror. “I guess we’ll never know.”