Another Option

“I know it's not the easiest decision to make; if you need me to come back later...”

“No, not necessary. Thanks for the offer but no I don't want that. I miss her enough as it is I just don't think that'll help. Somehow I just... Anyway, don't do it.”

Another bottle of my whiskey finished up in the belly of the leprechaun. “Well lad, I think you made a good choice there. Life is for going forward, not back. But you know, having had another think, maybe there is something I can do for you.”

Immediately, he had my attention again. “Yes? That would be?”

“Maybe I can give her to you.”

I tried to make sense of this statement but failed. “I thought you said you couldn't bring her back so how can you give her to me?”

“If the answer isn't removing her memories, perhaps the answer is refreshing your memories of her.”

“Refreshing? I should remember her better?”

“Aye.”

“How will that help? I'm already losing my mind here because I can't stop... I've tried to stop... Sometimes I'd really like to stop thinking about her but I just can't. She's been in my head for so long I guess it feels wrong for her not to be there. So how would thinking about her more help me?”

He smiled. “I didn't say you'd think about her more. Just refresh the memories a bit. Clarify them if that word helps.”

I really wasn't completely sure what he meant at that point. I could feel my face twist in confusion. “Not really.”

“I can't promise you'll think about her less or more than you are now. Maybe I can help you think about her better.”

All his words danced around his meaning as far as I was concerned. I really should have expected no less from a leprechaun. Everything I read said they were tricky little fellas. He'd even admitted to it. It was late, I was still tired, and I'd been drinking. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think around him. “Think about her better,” I found myself repeating. “Better is good, right?”

“Of course it is.” The leprechaun cracked open another bottle of whiskey.

I sighed. “How do I phrase it?”

“However you like.”

“I wish you'd tell me how to phrase this 'thinking about Sarah Jean' wish properly.”

He put the bottle down. “What you want to say is 'I wish to remember my friend Sarah Jean properly'.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I wish to remember my friend Sarah Jean properly.”

The leprechaun just grinned at me. “I never promised you more than one wish.”

I stared back at him. “What? Really?”

He laughed. “I'm just messing with you boyo.” He tapped my arm.

Huh

The idea is tempting.

A rush to recovery. No more suffering. No more nightmares. Just suddenly peace. It would be relaxing to not care anymore, just go back to working and playing and all those other abnormal things I got up to in my life. That is what I want, isn't it? To get on with my life, to not be trapped anymore by this grief? To not feel anymore?

Would that be any better? It should be but would it? Maybe I'd function better on a day to day basis but long term would I be better off barely remembering her? Would not remembering her turn me into a different Patrick? One still lingering over what Heather did to me in college? Even if the leprechaun is sincerely trying to help, there has got to be some catch to this, it can't be as simple as just that.

Can it?

Nobody Said Anything About Limits

The silence that followed was forever. To me anyway. The little fella just stared at me. Without speaking to me, he cracked open another of my bottles of whiskey and took a long gulp. When he looked at me again, it was from the corner of his eye, unable to fully look at me. “You've got the wrong fella. My magic doesn't work like that.”

“What if I wish for how to phrase the wish?”

“Lad, I'm sorry. I can't raise the dead. I could give you money and trick you out of it. I could provide you with fame and make it hollow. There are loads of ways you could find out wishes aren't all they're cracked up to be. This one's outside my ability.”

“That's not fair.” I choked on the words. Inhaling normally was beyond my abilities at that moment.
“You didn't say anything about limits on the wishes. Nobody said anything about limits.”

“I'm sorry; honestly I am.”

“It's not fair,” I repeated. “I'm cold inside.”

“You know lad, there is something I could do for you.”

Suddenly he had my full attention again. “Yes? What?”

“I dunno that you'll like it.”

“Try me.”

“I can take her away from you.”

I directed a strange look in his direction. I couldn't understand him. She's already...gone. “Huh?”

“I can take her memories from you. There'd be nothing there to make you hurt. Well, you'd have to remember her a little bit, otherwise people'd mention her and you'd be all 'who's that?' and they'd think you'd gone mad and all that. Can't have that now can we? All the detail'd be gone. You'd remember her name and what she looked like and that but none of the stuff that's breaking your heart at the moment. How about that?”

That Thing I Can Barely Think I Say

I grabbed hold of him before he could run or disappear or whatever they do when spotted. This did not go down well. There was some kicking and spitting and mostly swearing. Some really impressive swearing. “Let me go!”

“So long as I get my wishes!” I responded.

Immediately the little fella stopped kicking. “Is that all? Fine, ya can have some wishes. That's only fair for all the whiskey I've had off you.”

I set him back down. “Shall we drink on it?”

“So long as we're still drinking your whiskey, I'm fine with that.” He reclaimed the bottle he'd been drinking from before I grabbed him. “You'll have to pour your own.”

“It is my own.” I pointed out, trying to not sound bitter about it.

“All the more reason for you to drink it then,” was his response.

I splashed some whiskey into the glass I'd been using earlier that night. As the little gentleman extended his bottle, well my bottle that he was drinking from, I leaned my glass over to clink then together. “To your very good health sir,” he offered.

“And yourself.” We drank. “May I ask you a question?”

“If you feel you must,” he answered.

“Why were you drinking my whiskey?”

He laughed. “It was there. I never thought you'd notice so soon. I figured that the lady had bought a case or so and was stocking up for a time. Maybe she'd gotten a deal on it, somethin' like that. We like doing fun stuff like that. So when I checked in the next day and there was more, I figured it was my lucky day. You made yourself quite a generous host.”

“I suppose I did. I wasn't sure where it was going.”

“Well it was going to the 'no benefit to my liver' club.” He chuckled. “Why do you have all this whiskey then? Why didn't ya just leave a bottle in here and be done with that if you didn't know what was going on?”

“That thought never occurred to me.”

“Blame it on the whiskey then?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Energetically he finished off the bottle, clearly having enjoyed it. “You have picked a fine beverage here, fine beverage indeed. Now then, I suppose we should start talking about those wishes then.”

I shook. My hands quivered. To be this close, finally this close...it's almost more than I could bear. “Yes.” My voice was a croak.

“Looks like you either need more whiskey or less.” He encouraged me to pour a bit more whiskey into my glass. “Less is rarely the right answer. Drink up.”

I did. It barely burned as it flowed down my throat. I stared at the glass. I breathed deeply. I fought the shakes.

“It's not normally this complicated a process,” noted the leprechaun with some concern. “You alright?”

“I'm, I'm trying to phrase this properly,” I explained. “No monkey's paw type shenanigans.”

“Would I be up to something like that now?”

“Because...I want my Sarah Jane back.”

“Boyo, I don't do love potions and that sort of thing...”

I interrupted. “She didn't leave me. She left life. Or life left her. Ugh. I'm trying to say she's dead. How do I wish her back properly?”

Ah Ha!

Have you ever snored so loud that you wake yourself up? I just did. It is a possible side effect of whiskey drinking. I have gotten used to it.

Upon gaining control over the sounds of my sinuses, I listened. Silence. I turned over, started to relax again. That's when I heard the bottles clank.

My attention was grabbed. A charge ran through me. Adrenaline? All I know is that I suddenly felt alert and sober. Slowly, I peeked up over the boxes between me and the whiskey chest.

The lid to the chest was ajar. It was certainly more open that I recalled leaving it. I didn't see anyone in front of it or near it. Perhaps the bottles were just settling. While a logical conclusion, I still rose slowly, careful to be as quiet as I could manage as I approached the chest. At least I could prove to myself the status of the whiskey before I relaxed again.

The lid lifted with the slightest of squeaks. As it opened, a glow began to pour from the interior of the chest. Not the brightness of a light bulb but still the glow of illumination.

This glow emanated from a fungus, a mushroom tucked in the corner of the chest. I'd seen the type of thing before, from deep underground. They give off almost a blueish light.

Inside the chest was a small chap, about three times the height of the whiskey bottle from which he was slugging drinks down. He was dressed entirely in red: suit, shirt, jacket. Even his broad hat with the tall peak was red. He looked up at me and grinned. “Ah. Is this your drink then? Might I compliment you on your choice of beverages?”

A leprechaun has been drinking my whiskey! How about that?

Gotta Try Something

I have come to a conclusion regarding the matter of my whiskey. It is there when I check on it just before bed. It is gone when I check on it first thing in the morning. It seems a simple enough conclusion to reach; the whiskey disappears while I'm asleep, under cover of darkness, at night. The question that comes with that conclusion, to my mind at least, revolves around why. Why then? Is it the cover of darkness? Is it my lack of presence? Is it the night?

While I cannot remove the night, I can change my presence from 'not there' to 'there'. That may also remove the cover of darkness if I'm not careful. When troubleshooting a problem, its best to change as few of the elements as possible before retrying. That way you can be more confident about which change resolved the problem. While it may seem more logical to have the lights on in the shed overnight, I think my presence will be a bigger change. It eliminates more possibilities than just leaving the lights on all night.

I cleared a little space near the chest where I've been storing the whiskey. Not directly in front of it or on top of it or anything like that. Just nearby. Hopefully close enough where I'll be able to keep an eye on what goes on without being too obvious. Its been warm out so it should be a comfortable enough night. I've got a pillow. I've got a few blankets. I've got a book. I've got a reading light. Most importantly, I've got whiskey.

One way or another, this should be a fun night.

I Suppose That's Something

The whiskey supply has been restored. I set a different 'trap' for myself involving string around the bottles and multiple pieces of wood set up to form the letter 'X' across the tops of the bottles. It's still not terribly complicated but it should be enough to reflect more information about the information pinching my booze. That is why I have hurried to the shed this morning. I'm so curious.

I'm almost happy to see the whiskey is gone. Clearly this is a sign I've gone completely mad. That should not be a good thing. The string sits in the bottom of the wooden box, placed dead in the center and tried very delicately into a rose. At least something that looks enough like a rose for me to think that it looks like a rose. That is not a skill I'm aware that I have which would seem to mean that this skill is locked away in my brain and emerges only when my conscious mind leaves me. Or I'm being possessed. Or I didn't do it.

The wood has been carefully rearranged so that it spells out 'HI TY'. As my name is not 'TY' I'm guessing this is short for 'thank you'.

Well, at least whomever it is taking my whiskey is trying to be polite.