Cluricaun Fairy Trick or Treat

Wildbeam Comes to America


“Did you ever hear of a Cluricaun in America?” Mr. Harris asked his guest, who had come all the way from New Jersey to Cork city. “These are a special kind of fairy. They live in manor houses and are devilish tricksters.”
Mr. Johnson, a wine merchant, laughed. “You’re just trying to spook me into giving you a better deal.”
“No, no.” Mr. Harris protested. “My Cluricaun lives in the cellar. He protects my wine stock from thieves.”
“You pay this rascal?” Mr. Johnson inquired.
“He eats and drinks more than he’s worth, but I can’t get him out of the house without bringing the Cluricaun’s curse on my head.” Mr. Harris replied.
“Master, are you all finished dinner?” The cook asked, interrupting their conversation.
“Yes Molly,” Mr. Harris replied. “Bring us brandy, and when you’re in the cellar be sure to feed Wildbeam.”
That rascal Wildbeam won’t be happy with these bits of herring and cold potato, Molly mumbled to herself as she descended the stone steps.
The Cluricaun fairy was slouched atop a wine casket, legs hanging by the sides.
“Asleep. You drunkard,” Molly spat. She took a sip from his whiskey jar and put the plate on the ground. “Don’t want to be around when he sees that dinner,” she muttered, grabbing three bottles of brandy and making her escape.
Wildbeam woke up at midnight.
“What’s this?” he roared looking at the plate. He raced to Molly’s room, dragged her from the bed by the heels, and pulled her down the stairs. With each knock of her head against the stone steps, Wildbeam would shout out --

‘Molly Jones -- Molly Jones --
Potato skins and herring bones!
I’ll knock your head against the stones!
Molly Jones -- Molly Jones’ --

Mr. Harris and his guest staggered into the hallway, gaping at the spectacle.
“That does it, Wildbeam,” Mr. Harris said through his teeth. “I’m told on good authority, that if I move to another house, putting running water between myself and a Cluricaun, I can be rid of you. Well hear this, I’ll put the whole Atlantic Ocean between us!”
When Molly recovered, they boarded a ship and sailed away to Americay. Neither noticed the stowaway!
Wildbeam had pulled the cork from a whiskey jar and eased his six-inch frame down, feet first. He sipped away ‘til his feet touched the bottom. He was up to the neck in Scotch whiskey!
I’ll be the first Cluricaun to set foot on American soil, Wildbeam said to himself.
They arrived at Mr. Johnson’s home at sundown, just in time for Halloween!
“This is my son, Paul,” Mr. Johnson greeted his friend “He’s ten, and a bit of a scallywag like your Wildbeam.”
“Don’t mention that name,” Mr. Harris groaned. “It’s been great without him around.”
Wildbeam peeped out of his empty jar! Well look at that, he said to himself when he saw Paul, dressed up as a vampire.
Soon Paul’s friends arrived. Wildbeam followed along as they made their way down the dark street. This is my kind of game, he thought gleefully.
“Trick or treat,” they yelled at every door.
He was amazed when they didn’t play a trick on skinflints who gave them nothing. They’re missing the fun part, he muttered to himself angrily.
They had come to a dark house.
“There’s no one here,” Paul said, moving on.
But Wildbeam could see a woman peering through the lace curtain. I’ll teach her not to turn off the lights, he thought.
The back door was open, and there was a bottle of brandy on the kitchen table!
He sneaked into the front room.
She was sipping brandy in the dark!
Wildbeam took twine from his red purse and tied one end around a vase full of flowers, the other to the back of a chair.
He then ran back through the kitchen, picking up the brandy bottle on his way out.
Soon he heard the woman scream and then a loud crash, and he skipped away down the driveway.
Wildbeam caught up to the kids as they were knocking on a big oak door.
“Hello Mr. Murphy,” Paul said. “Mr. Harris arrived today.”
“Great,” Mr. Murphy replied. “I need his advice right away.”
“What’s up?” Paul inquired.
“Last trip to Ireland, I brought back a Cluricaun lass that had nowhere to go when Lord Dunsinay’s mansion burned down.”
“Can I see her?” Paul asked.
“Not this one! She’s either wailing like a banshee in my cellar or breaking everything in the house. Lonely, she says!”
“I’ll solve your problem,” Wildbeam piped up cheerfully, stepping out in front of Paul.
“Cool,” a boy whispered when he saw the fairy trot up to the porch.
“And who are you?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“Wildbeam’s the name, Sir. At your service.” The fairy doffed his hat and bowed almost to the ground. “Allow me to speak to the young lady.”
Mr. Murphy stepped aside.
“Princess, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance!” Wildbeam greeted the fairy girl lying on her bed.
The blotched face lit up at the sight of her own kind. She ran to embrace and kiss Wildbeam. “Let’s celebrate,” she shouted.
“Hold your horses,” Mr. Murphy yelled at the door. “You can celebrate when you’re gone from this house!”
“According to Cluricaun law,” Wildbeam said softly, “I’m obliged to marry this young lady now that she has seen me. And you Sir, have no choice but to take me in or suffer the curse of a Cluricaun!”
“Oh no,” Mr. Murphy moaned, but being a keen businessman who could think on his feet, he thought of a way to best the mischievous fairy. “Listen here, young man. If I have to take you in, you two in turn will have to live by American rules!”
“And what do you mean by that, Sir.” Wildbeam asked belligerently.
“You can’t sleep all day and drink all night in this country, like you did in Ireland. You’ll work for your keep and buy your own booze like the rest of us!”
“Then we’ll not stay in this house,” Wildbeam responded, taking the girl by the hand. “We may be in America, but we’re Cluricauns. Work is absolutely out of the question.”
The couple marched out the door.
“Don’t worry girl, we’ll never be short of a dollar while I have my red purse.” Wildbeam said, taking it out of his pocket. Digging in two fingers he pulled out a large coin. “See this silver piece. A Cluricaun can spend it, and right away there will be another to replace it in his purse. So we can invest the same coin over and over again in this land of opportunity, and we’ll be rich in no time.”
“You know Wildbeam,” she nudged him with her elbow. “I too have a little red purse!”
“Then by god, we’ll be doubly rich,” he replied, giving her waist a squeeze.

Tales of Old Ireland

Hello, this story is based on my experiences in Gowran, Co. Kilkenny when I was about 12 years old. The "hide and seek" took place in the 1940's when there were no cars in Ireland(except for the priest, the doctor and the local military commander). We had the wooded estate, the old church that was once catholic but had been confiscated during the days of the Penal Laws, the Fair Green where farmers marketed their goods, and politicians sold their lies. It was a wonderful childhood environment but of course it had its enmities and rivalries, the stuff of personality formation. Enjoy its simplicity.


"The Perfect Hiding Place" published in Hodgepodge, won the "1997 Writing for Children Contest Sponsored by Goodin Williams and Goodwin Literary Associates".


THE PERFECT HIDING PLACE

Thirty kids stood in the village square ready to play hide and seek or fox and hounds as we called it. I was twelve and it was my first time to play the fox. No one knew what I was going to do, not even my sister, and I always told her everything.
Surrounded by his pack of “hounds”, big Harry Hogan taunted me. “We’ll get you, too, just like your brother.” Harry had never been caught. “Are you ready?” He shouted..
I ran up the main road past the old courthouse. Once out of sight, I climbed over a wall and doubled back through an orchard. I took no notice of the ripe pears and apples. Soon I was in Mr. Farrell’s farmyard not far from the square. Earlier in the day I had left the tiny red door high up on the back wall of the bull’s house slightly ajar. Now I found a foothold in the granite tone wall and with my fingers in a crevice, pulled myself up.
From the distance I heard Hogan urge on the crowd. “Tally Ho! Tally Ho! The fifteen
minutes are up!”
A big cheer filled the square, and the hounds were off!
I closed the door firmly, and crawled through the darkness across the straw-covered floor
of the loft toward the light. Reaching the edge of the loft I peeped over. Below me the big Hereford bull raised his head. He had heard me.
Mr. Farrell had tied a thick board to the bull’s horns to limit his view. He contorted his neck to see around the board. The white of one eye glared at me and he backed up to an iron gate that led to the barnyard. His head swayed back and forth. I stared at the flared nostrils, all moist, red and ugly from the ring that secured a heavy chain. I quietly withdrew.
Settling into a dark corner, I recalled how I had found this special place. I was walking through the yard one day and heard the loud cackle of the hen that had laid her egg in the loft. She came to the little door and flew to the ground. The thought made me giggle, but then I heard a dog bark. It was Harry Hogan’s Alsatian! He was using Pete to track me! I had often thrown a ball for him, but now he was barking outside my lair. He knew! Hogan’s pack came to the gate.
Digging my special marble out of my trouser pocket I tossed it at the bull striking him in the flank. He began to twist and turn crashing his head against the iron gate. The board tied to his horns gave a loud crack. Raising his nose in the air, he released a deep sound that ended with an angry snort. The dog barked even louder. The bull roared again. The chickens ran from their nesting places.
“Come away. Come away!” Peggy Quinn called out, her voice filled with fear.
Then I heard Mr. Farrell. “Get away from there! Get away from that crazy bull!”
Harry Hogan backed off. “Let’s go everybody. No one would dare get in a stall with that bull.”
As they moved away I heard the awe in Peggy’s voice. ”Did you see that big eye?” Soon there was silence.
I began to relax and ate some candy. They caught my brother three times, I thought to myself. One summer he had climbed the highest oak tree. Now I knew how Harry found him. That dog picked up his trail. I listened to the wind as it lifted the branches on the trees and brushed the dead leaves along the galvanized roof above. The bull was quiet and merely pawed the cobblestones with his hoof. There was fresh hay in the feed bin. It smelled good. I could hear little sounds in the straw. I fell asleep.
Waking up, I heard the slow swish of the bull’s tail. The loft seemed darker. I crept over to the little door and pushed it open. Not a sound. The sun was setting. It was safe. I jumped to the soft earth below.
The kids, all but Harry that is were in the square. When they saw me they cheered and opened a corridor to let me pass through to my house.
When I walked in the kitchen door Mom was at the stove turning the eggs, “I knew you wouldn’t be late for supper!” She spoke without turning round.
I sat down quietly in my chair.
“So, where were you anyway?” she asked putting a plate on the table. “Your brother says you outfoxed them all.”
“Hiding,” I answered, and she said no more.