Brian pushed the uneasiness of the decision to move back home from his mind, settling on the mundane chore of unpacking. He plucked the hangers from the conspicuously ugly pole that stretched across the attic space. Molding his wife’s clothing around the metal band, he clanked them back in place quickly, reminding himself how her "no-time-for-anything" nurse’s hours paid most of the bills. He didn’t mind the chores, what he really minded, he decided, was the fact that he was back in this childhood house of horror.

He laughed softly at the superstition that still clung to him even after all these years had passed. Of course, there was never anything substantial to his sister and his own claims that the house was haunted. It had been a series of coincidencental happenings; merely one of those feelings that seeped through him, like the invisible blood flow that palpitated through his heart. Occasionally, something would happen just the way blood tended to burst forth visibly from it’s physical container at the slightest unexpected cut.

Brian jumped back from the chair that held his suitcase. Spiders, he shivered, he just hated them. Thank God he didn’t know of any poisonous ones in New England. He took the nearest unpacked shoe and tried to squash the offensive critter, but it managed to scamper away. He wondered what other creatures were lurking in the attic, now that his father had converted it into a temporary bedroom for him and his wife, Lucinda. He bet there were crickets, mice and more spiders in the grand old Victorian. Maybe even a ghost, as he had suspected when he was a child. If there was a ghost, Brian nodded to himself, it should be his mother’s ghost -- another good reason to have turned down his father’s offer to buy the house from them.

The memories of his childhood bothered him: his mother’s death, the dreams, the torments of a demon-face which had appeared to him in the middle of the night. It had been his imagination he was sure. A way for his mind to deal with the death of a mother from a disease that sucked the life from her slowly; not slow enough for her, but not fast enough for those that had to watch her die. It was after her death, a face had appeared by his bedside as if the evil of those last days needed to be personified in some way. He had seen the face many times, peering at him from the shadows in his room only to vanish when he opened his eyes wide. Brian wondered if it was the same evil that had taken his mother from him. He sweated the possibility that he was only seeing the nightmare vision because he was fated to die the same way his mother had. Then, one night, he had managed to gather enough voice to rebuke it. His voice quivering in a high pitch tone, he demanded that the demon image release him. That was the last time it had appeared. Years later, Brian could marveled at how well his mind had personified his grief. The creature had seemed so real. Back then, it had been living hell.

Brian dropped the hanger in his hands, startled by his wife’s soft entrance.

"I’m home," Lucinda whispered, as she hugged him from behind. "Didn’t mean to frighten you!"

Brian turned to kiss his wife of three years. "Just a little jumpy, I guess. Found a spider -- probably lots of those around up here."

"We’ll fumigate," Lucinda said, optimistically, an encouraging smile crossing her face. "It’s not perfect, I admit it, but it’s saving us $800.00 a month in rent. We’ll be able to save up the downpayment in no time flat!"

"Sure honey," Brian sighed, his flour-pale hands reaching up to straighten his gold-rimmed glasses. "If you really think owning this house is what you want..."

"It’s a treasure, Brian!" Lucinda rolled her deep brown eyes, not comprehending his lack of enthusiasm. "How many opportunities do you think we’ll ever have to own a three-storied Victorian ‘powderpuff?’ Did you ever notice the glass doorknobs in the place? They’re antiques!"

"If doorknobs make you happy, sweetheart," Brian wrapped his arms around her in a tight conspiracy, "we can always slip them into our suitcases and go back to our apartment." He suggested, his tone more hopeful that joking.

"Stop joking!" Lucinda laughed as she pushed him away. "You go downstairs while I get ready for dinner. We should celebrate, tonight. It’s a perfect arrangement: Your parents sell the house to us and they get to use the downpayment to move to Florida. Even the tax man gets cheated!"

"Great." Brian forced the word out. Lucinda was right, as always. It was the opportunity of a life-time and his father had chosen him, instead of his sister, for the honor. Not that his sister could have saved up the downpayment anyway as a day-care worker. Even, Brian himself, couldn’t have afforded it on a freelance writer’s income. It was Lucinda who made it clear that this was an investment too good to pass up, despite his reservations.

Brian closed the door on Lucinda and studied the doorknob. He hadn’t actually looked at the knobs in the old house the same way Lucinda had seen them. Now as he studied the doorknob, he saw his own reflection staring back at him: a twenty-six year old man with the worry tracks traced on his forehead that belonged to someone much older. Frowning, he pushed his concerns away and went down to the kitchen to watch his father prepare the dinner.

The first night was truly memorable, but not as pleasantly as Lucinda had prophesied. Minutes before the dinner was to be served, Brian heard his wife’s frightened screaming. He rushed up and slammed into her on the second set of stairs, as she escaped the attic, waving a hair brush wildly about her head.

"BAT! BAT!!!!" Lucinda screamed as she tried to squeeze by Brian on the narrow stairwell.

The sight of the emergency-room nurse with steel nerves fleeing from one of God’s creatures, might have made Brian laugh. However, when the rest of the family had gone in to the attic room to check it out, there was nothing there. Brian had pursed his lips thoughtfully as he informed a shaken Lucinda that the attic was empty. It was this fact, more than anything else, that triggered a memory, one of many such memories, of a similar occurrence that had happened, also, in this house many years ago.

"Old pipes, that’s what those noises were." Brian said, unawares he had spoken aloud.

"Old pipes?" Lucinda turned to him, hands on her hips. "I know what I saw. It was a bat! It flew right in my face and veered off at the last second."

"I believe you, honey," Brian backed off. He didn’t want to explain why he had mentioned the old pipes. For one thing, he wasn’t sure. Something had happened in the basement, he thought, maybe. However, now all that he could remember was what had happened after he had screamed.

"Probably noises from the old pipes startled you," his step-mom had told him. Eager to blot the memory from his mind and accept her version of the truth, he shoved the memory, along with all the other "unexplained" horrors, into the darkest recesses of his conscious mind. He was older now, but still couldn’t understand the memory. What really had happened in the basement all those years ago?

The question was left unanswered as the smoke detector’s incessant rings lassoed them back into the kitchen and to a burnt fish dinner. The stench in the air was enough to make them quickly decide that a restaurant was the best alternative.

They had all come home, tired and upset, retreating to their beds early. Lucinda had exhibited her first moment of caution in the house when they had come to the door of the attic.

"You first," she nudged Brian through. He shrugged and walked in. He knew he wasn’t going to find anything. He never did. He remembered the apparition of the headless frog that had scared away any chances of having childhood friends. If it had stayed around for them to examine it, he might have kept his friends. It was its disappearance that had spooked them all away. Coming back to Lucinda, he pronounced the room clear. Sheepishly, Lucinda walked in and made herself ready for bed, unwilling to talk about the bat again. Soon, Lucinda slept soundly, never having wasted a moment of rest since she began her career as a nurse. Brian fidgeted in the bed, hoping sleep would claim him as masterfully as it had done his wife. Instead, he fell into a wary slumber, wondering what other surprises the house had in store for them.

He heard the sounds at a little past midnight. He had woken to what sounded like glass being shattered into pieces. He woke abruptly, ready to hear other noises he might have heard before, but instead the night stretched still like a black shroud on a dead person. Brian rolled to the side of the bed, expecting the floor to be much farther away.

"Ouch"! He muffled a yelp as his toes struck the floor that was only inches from the mattress, another indignity he suffered for homeownership. A boxspring just didn’t fit up the narrow attic stairs, his father Kerry had told him. Now that they were married, Kerry had shaken his head knowingly, they needed more privacy.

He turned to Lucinda, lying next to him, who mumbled something groggily in her sleep. Fatigued as she’d been before she’d gone to bed for the night, Brian knew she probably wouldn’t notice if he left the attic to investigate. "I’ll be back, honey," he whispered, aware she probably hadn’t heard him, just before he closed the door and crept down the attic stairs.

He tiptoed down, pausing occasionally to listen for any noises, but all was silent. He reached the kitchen and turned the light on. Aside from the fish pan that was left soaking after many scrubbings, the kitchen was immaculate. His eyes spanned the spacious modern kitchen. It was this way now, since his father’s new wife had insisted on renovating when she had moved in. The old linoleum had been lifted to reveal a gorgeous oak floor that was typical of Victorian constructions. This had been sanded, buffed and shined to a golden honey glow. The faucets and appliances had been modernized as well and Brian supposed some of the pipes had been replaced at that time as well. Thoughts of the pipes, brought Brian’s mind back to his unanswered question earlier: What had really happened in the basement all those years ago? Did he dare to go down there now that he was a full-grown man?

Brian felt his pulse quicken at the thought. The basement had always been off-limits for the kids when they were growing up. His one foray into that forbidden domain had been enough to convince him his parents had made this rule up with his best concern at heart. It was silly to think that such a rule could still hold such sway over him, he told himself. He grabbed the ever-present, charging flashlight from out of the kitchen electrical outlet on the counter and stepped towards the basement door. Brian stopped, frozen at the sudden intrusion of the noise. There was a low growl that Brian was sure had come from behind the basement door. He sucked in his breath forcefully, facing the fear that was coursing through his veins, and let it out in a sudden expulsion of determination. As he approached the door, he felt his legs weaken in resolve but he commanded them to go on. He was a man now. Whatever was in the basement, he would find out tonight.

He opened the door and climbed down the steps, each one creaking softly under his weight. Near the end, he leaned down to get a view underneath the obstruction of the ceiling beams that cut the view off. Daringly, he flipped the flashlight on.

Gasping, he stopped unable to believe the scene in front of him. Next to the amber puddle of still-fizzing beer studded with shards of glass, was the small, although significantly bloated, demon of his youthful memories. The demon made a motion as if trying to salute him with the bottle that leaned up against his belly. The beer drizzled slowly down the creature’s face as it tried to lick as much of the beer into its mouth as the beer gushed out of the bottle and onto the floor. Then, the being seemed to melt before his eyes and only more beer was evident where he last stood.

"I’m dreaming," Brian told himself his hands trembling on the wooden board that served as a banister. He quickly struggled to make his way back up the stairs, pulling down cans of food his father had stored in the cubbies along the wall. The noise brought his father down, who opened the door and looked in at his son’s ashen appearance.

"Uh-huh!" Kerry commented at Brian’s questioning look. "I guess you saw it, again."

"Saw what?" Brian asked, fearing the answer.

"I’ve been meaning to tell you now that you’ve agreed to take the house," Kerry stuffed his hands into his plaid bathrobe as he smiled wanly. "Remember the little people of Ireland?"

"You mean, it’s a fairy?" Brian asked, one side of his smile lilting foolishly.

"Fairy! Fairy! I hate that word!" A voice from the basement called up to them. "Fairy’s got a bad connotation nowadays!"

Kerry switched the basement light on and pulled Brian down with him. Once in the basement, Kerry pointed out the figure that was slowly asserting itself into existence.

A paper doll cut-out of a five-inch evil cherub separated itself from the beer on the floor. Like a chameleon shedding its secret defense, the cut-out’s sudsy appearance melted to reveal the slovenly image of a significantly drunk, bathrobed, middle-aged man just six inches high. "I prefer ‘little people.’"

"You’re kidding, right Dad? This is a dream." He walked over emboldened by the notion of a dream and reached down to pick the little person up. "It has to be. A drunk fairy? I don’t get it."
The portly doll tried to free itself from Brian’s fist. "I am real -- you half-brain! Just because I’m not tall doesn’t mean I’m not real. Remember this?"
The little person’s mouth curled open, framing a set of teeth that grew sharper by the minute. The black hair that framed his face in bushy defiance, spiked itself sharply as the creature let out a shriek of rage.

Brian dropped the man sharply on the nearby workbench, and stepped back, his hand going to his heart as if to reassure himself it was still pumping blood. "It was you! You miserable little son-of-a-bitch! It was you, in the basement all those years ago!"
The little person rolled back and forth on the workbench like a miniature, bulgy rolling pin. The shrieks emanating from him were no longer ones of anger but of mirth.

"Meet Lionel," Mr. O’Donnell told his son. "He’s part of your inheritance. I’m afraid he’s not too fond of children."

"This creature? What the hell is it? And how?"

"He’s a little person. Fairy," the last word was whispered as an aside to Brian.

"I don’t believe it," Brian looked only at Lionel who had sat himself on the edge of the workbench now, his feet dangling like a child full of energy as a wide grin stretched itself from pointy ear to pointy ear. "Where are his wings?"
A groan issued from Brian’s father mouth. The fairy’s face flushed like a radish as his grin disappeared in a huff.

"Your great-grandpa took them in exchange for their healing touch. I can have no children, that’s true, but I suppose there aren t’any female fairies alive anymore anyway. T’was a fair bargain."

"Bargain? What bargain?" Brian turned to his father, his eyes twitching from Lionel to him, seeking an explanation.

"When great-grandfather, Patrick O’Donnell, caught the plague in 1791, he was sure to die. He would have left a wife and seven children behind without a penny. When Lionel came to the door, he appeared like an angel of mercy. He offered to heal great-grandpa only if he and his future generations promised (in writing, no less) to protect Lionel from the humans for the rest of his life. Being a Christian man, Patrick swore to repay Lionel his debt."

"That was over 200 years ago! What has the little bugger done for us recently?" Brian asked.

"We little people live up to 800 years, m’lad! And b’sides, if ye be a-wanting to kick me out you just be’s about it and see what ye get."

"What does he mean?" Brian turned to his father who hung his head as he answered carefully.

"He’s our inheritance. If we don’t live up to the bargain, the deal is null and void. Someone else in the family suffers the same fate your great-grandpa Patrick cheated."

"What!"
"T’is all in the fine print," Lionel wiggled his bare toes delighted at Brian’s reaction. "I have the contract in a safe place. The one who denies his duty t’is the one which pays the price. I told you t’was a fair deal!"

"I don’t get it! It makes no sense." Brian shook his head, denying the evidence in front of him.

"Like you humans ever made sense to the little people!" Lionel clapped his hands together. "I wouldnna have had to make THE deal if t’weren’t for all ye folks a-sporting us to extinction for the magic in our wee wings. It didn’t make no notice to ye that we needed them to birth our children, now did it? How do ye think a fairy is made, m’lad? Sex is an alien device to fairies. Were it my fault I was bright enough to give me wings away before they was a-taken from me? At least, I survived."

"You don’t seem all that happy about it," Brian pointed out.

"Ti’s your job," the fairy’s pudgy finger accused him. "Keeps me happy, and I won’t be trouble, no trouble at all."
Brian watched the lard-like chunk of fairy scratch his beard as he talked. It was preposterous, unreasonable, he thought. How was he ever going to tell Lucinda?

He didn’t mention it to Lucinda when she woke up and hurriedly sped off to work. He still couldn’t believe it. However, the questioning look on Kerry O’Donnell’s face told him all he had to know. It hadn’t been a dream.

After Lucinda had closed the door, Kerry turned to him, one hand in his bathrobe the other holding a coffee cup: "Well, when are you going to tell her?" he asked.

Brian shrugged.

Before he could broach the subject however, Lucinda had a surprise of her own when she came home. Once alone in the attic with her husband, she waved the pink stick in Brian’s face excitedly as she released the secret she had held all morning long: "I’m pregnant," she said.

It was agreed between Lucinda and Brian almost immediately that the secret would remain unspoken until the third month had passed.

"You don’t want to get them all excited now, and then miscarry?" Brian had settled on the one thing that might buy him some time. "You know that most miscarriages occur within the first trimester."
Lucinda’s smile faded at Brian’s suggestion. It was obvious to Brian from her earlier eagerness that she wanted to share the news with the whole world, not later but now.

"They’re going to suspect something when I refuse to drink wine with the rest of you," Lucinda had pointed out.

"Tell them you had too much last night," Brian answered. He added the rest in a hushed tone of realization: "It’s quite the truth. You shouldn’t have drank any."

"I didn’t know until today."

The anxiety in her voice had begged Brian for reassurance, but he had his own worries to think about. Namely, the little monster who lived in the basement and hated children.

**********

The first month had swept past the O’Donnell’s house with a routine becoming firmly established. Early in the morning, Lucinda and Mrs. O’Donnell would eat breakfast together and leave to their respective jobs. Kerry and Brian remained at home; the senior O’Donnell having retired recently and the junior one still working on his novel. However, the words refused to flow for Brian who repeatedly fended off his father’s queries about his duty to tell Lucinda.

"What did Sarah think when you told her?" Brian had turned to Kerry at one point, angry that he was being lectured on his cursed inheritance again.

Mr. O’Donnell hung his head in shame as he pretended to snuffle his dry nose. He admitted: "I never told her -- but it was a mistake! She almost found out the day you screamed bloody murder in the basement. It was Lionel, all right. We’d had a difference of opinion that day and Lionel was getting even. He never liked the new Mrs. O’Donnell, so he was more than happy, usually, to just keep out of her way. Do you think she would have married me if she’d known?"

Brian couldn’t believe the words coming from his father’s mouth. It was tantamount to having a venereal disease and not divulging the fact before relations began.

"What about Mom?" He demanded.

"Oh, your mother knew! She was from the old country and cherished Lionel. They had a special relationship, those two. He always behaved when she was in the house. Your mother always told me how special we were to be caretakers of a dying species. To your mother, Lionel represent the magic of Ireland. Isn’t that laughable?"
The nausea that settled in Brian’s stomach kept him from laughing. That, and the impression he got that Lionel might have been right there in the room with them, imitating a lace doily or a swatch of curtain, and Brian would have no way of knowing.

"MaryAnn is really into Irish folklore," Brian hated himself for suggesting his sister, but he felt he had no choice. "Why don’t you give him to her?"

"Lionel’s old now, even for a fairy. He’s almost 700 years old. He’s tired and cantankerous. He refuses to move with the family anymore. Heck, he only moved from Ireland because of the great potato famine!"
"So, the house comes with the fairy? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?"
"Son, MaryAnn does not have the money for the downpayment. Your step-mom and I can’t afford to give the house away. We have our retirement to think about."
"But, you told me he hates children!" Brian pointed out.

"So? He’s not dangerous. You grew up in the house with him. Besides, you and Lucinda don’t have any children."

"What if we refuse to have children?" Brian tried to cover his tracks. "Who gets him then?"

Brian’s father shrugged.

"If the line dies out, I suppose the curse means nothing anyway. At any rate, there’s only two or three more generations that have to put up with him, if he doesn’t have an accident before then."

An accident? Brian wondered. Was his father trying to tell him something? How did one prepare an accident for a fairy? Did one put out a fairy trap, a subtler version of a mouse trap? Beer could be the bait, Brian thought disgustedly. He didn’t have to actually kill the little bugger, he just had to let him do it himself.

Brian looked at his father who turned away, oblivious to the struggle within his son’s heart. Was it murder, Brian asked himself, to kill a fairy? Certainly, he’d never be charged with murder. No one would believe he’d killed a fairy. It wasn’t human. It behaved like a human, yes, but psychologically it was just a wounded animal. It was sick of humanity, and wanted nothing more than to torment them. If it had a use in nature, Brian could not see it. His mother, the ecological-minded person that she was, would have objected. All life was precious, even plant and animal life. Brian regretted that he couldn’t live up to her standard. Lionel was an aberration in modern society; a depraved, twisted creature that represented a menace to his unborn child. Next time his father was out gardening, he would make it his business to visit the one place in the house he had left alone since that fateful day: the basement.

**********

Brian lugged the six pack of Boston-brewed ale down to the basement.

"Lionel? Lionel?" He called, peeking out of the cement encased slits to that served as windows to make sure his father was busy planting fall bulbs in preparation for the winter snows. He looked around, waiting. Then he made his way to the spot where Lionel had frightened him those many years ago.

"I just thought if we’re going to be living together, we might as well be friends..."

The fairy refused to answer.

Brian walked to the chipped workbench in the far back and looked behind it. There, encircled by empty beer bottles, was the last cushion his mother had embroidered. Brian picked it up remembering how she had stitched it, eagerly at first and then painfully as the cancer had raced through her body. He never knew she had finished it. As he turned it over, a piece of paper which had stuck to it fell to the floor and he stooped to pick it up.

"Pu t’it back," Lionel’s voice threatened him as the nearest beer bottle took on Lionel’s real form.

"So you are here," Brian said, a twinge of pleasure flushed through him. He ignored Lionel’s warning as he brought the photograph up to the daylight streaming through one of the rectangular slits in the basement wall. It was the last picture taken of his mother before she had died. She sat in her hospital bed, smiling sadly, courageous to the end. "My dad told me how you two were really close."
Brian stooped down and put the photo back underneath the cushion as Lionel glowered at him, his hands on his hips.

"If I’dda had my wings, I wouldda given’em to her instead -- free of charge." Lionel replied, thrusting his chin out in defiance.

"You would have, now would you? See," Brian put the beer down and squatted next to Lionel, "you don’t have to hate us. We can be friends..."

"Who says I hate ye?" Lionel hopped onto the first beer’s long neck, riding it like a beloved stallion. "I hope ye got the dark amber, I’m rather partial to that."

"Uh-hm," Brian nodded. "Dad told me." He paused, trying to make sense of the photo. "Why did you haunt me as a child?" He asked, finally.

"Who’s really haunting whom?" Lionel cocked his head to the side and stared back at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Aw, forget it! I wasn’t a-haunting ye boy, as much as watching ye. Your momma thought a lot of you. She seemed to think ye were a brave young man. She usually t’was right. Don’t know how ye managed to fool her on that one!"
"Drink up," Brian said, thankful for the motivation Lionel had provided. "I opened them for you already, since I assume it’d be hard for you to do on your own."

"I manage," Lionel shrugged and tipped the first one over to try and slurp up the first suds.

"Why did you do it?" Brian asked, knowing this would be his last chance for some answers.

Lionel pushed the beer bottle away to answer: "Do what?"

"Why did you make the deal? Didn’t you want children?"
The small man growled at Brian’s query.

"Look, I was young and foolish. We’re all young and stupid sometimes, right?"

"You’re more of a coward than I am!" Brian laughed at the revelation, slapping his lap in genuine pleasure.

"If I’m a coward, I can be proud that there was only one fairy stupid enough for that honor."

A pang of guilt hit Brian as he watched the fairy begin to down his offering. It lasted only as long as it took for Lionel to spit out the brew and berate Brian: "Ugh! Tastes a wee bit off. Besides, ALL the O’Donnell’s are cowards in my opinion. Not one of you have had the courage to get rid of me. Don’t want to risk death, right? Let me tell you, there are worse things than death. And in this contract, the only loophole IS death. At least, that’s what that fairy lawyer told me when he drew the thing up. Iron-clad, he boasted to me, and then told me if I wanted to get out of it all I had to do was die! With a wink he says that to me, can you imagine?"

Brian stared at the menace wishing death would come upon him. Instead, he casually brushed his hair aside from his glasses and continued the conversation.

"Is that what you’re trying to do by scaring us kids all the time? Trying to get one of us to kill you?"
"Naw!" The evil fairy waved the thought aside, but turned his eyes away quickly. "I just thought it was funny. Besides, I was bored."
Hatred flared up within Brian, like a mass of lava lit up after years of lying dormant. His childhood had been ruined for nothing else that to give someone a few laughs. What was worse, Brian realized, was that his children would suffer the same fate if someone did not act to stop Lionel.

Lionel refused to look Brian in the eyes. Instead, he let the rest of the bear slip out of the bottle and said softly: "Now, why don’t ye go out and get me a little of the season’s special brew? T’is much nicer."

Brian stood still, heat rising to his face as he tried not to tip his hand any further.

"Is that what you want?" Brian asked, he clenched his teeth together as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Sure. Be a good lad and bring me some unopened this time? I prefer me beer fresh. It goes flat fast, ye know."
He heard Lionel laughing as he stomped up the stairs and slammed the door. He did return and deposited the beer on the staircase, unopened as Lionel had requested. He couldn’t chance annoying him, not with a child on the way. The sound of Lionel’s mocking laugh was still echoing in his mind, when Brian re-determined to dump this familiar inheritance forever.

**********

That night as Lionel lay in a beer-induced slumber, Brian crept down the stairs and bagged the tiny man into an open pillow case. He wrapped a heavy string around the top, to seal the irritable fairy from getting out. Then, he rushed out into the snowy drifts as he muffled the indignation suffered by Lionel from the ears of any light sleepers.

Taking route 128 north to route 2 west, he finally ended up where Thoreau had made his antisocial stand: Walden pond. He pulled off the road and dimmed his lights, waiting to make sure he was alone. Heaving the now still package from the back of his car, Brian knew that it was a sure thing. Even if someone were to see him, he realized, they’d think from the size of the pillow case that he was just dumping an unwanted pet. Carefully, he untied the string and pulled the pillow case down around the fairy whose normally frightful appearance bristled in spikes of frozen hair.

"He’s dead," Brian gasped, his hands trembling as he pushed the pillow case aside.

"Blooming COLD! Ye idiot!" The fairy’s dark eyes shot open as his crusted lips parted and the acid tongue slipped out. "I hope the plague falls upon ye this instant for all the discomfort I’ve suffered!"
"To protect you from humans," Brian echoed the earlier conversation. "It never said anything about the weather, right? You’re alive aren’t you? I didn’t kill you. Besides, I won’t be around to notice if you’re having trouble." Brian’s heavy leather boot swept up behind Lionel and struck him in the rear, flinging him a few feet away from the car. While Lionel cursed him as only a drunk can curse a man, Brian shut the back door hurriedly and jumped back into the driver’s seat. He sped out of the area thankfully, leaving Lionel to fend for himself.

**********

The next few days passed, without a sign of Lionel. Kerry O’Donnell’s eyebrows would arch suspiciously at Brian whenever Lionel’s name came up, but the absence of the dreaded nuisance was enough for the senior O’Donnell to press his lips firmly in silence.

"He’s probably taking a vacation," Brian told his father after a week had passed. "He probably got tired of all the new people in the house. Maybe, if we’re lucky, he won’t come back. Wouldn’t be our fault now, if he just up and left us? Right?"
A sly grin spread over Kerry O’Donnell’s face telling Brian that his father was beginning to like what he heard. That night as the O’Donnell’s finished dinner, Kerry brought out a bottle of aged Irish Whiskey.

"What’s that for?" Brian asked, noticing a bounce in his father’s steps that he hadn’t seen in quite some time. It was as if the older O’Donnell had found ten extra years he thought he’d spent already.

"Just felt like it," Kerry said, grimacing as he ripped off the wrappings and twisted the cap off.

"Oh," Lucinda looked at Brian who nodded. "Sorry, I can’t taste it."

"Oh, come on, a little taste won’t knock you out!"
"It’s not that, it’s just that -- I’m pregnant."

Sarah and Kerry both froze as the Lucinda’s secret sunk in before they blinked the surprise away.

"That’s wonderful!" Sarah clapped her hands, getting up to hug her daughter-in-law. "This big house could stand some children!"

The senior O’Donnell poured himself a shot glass of the liquid amber thoughtfully, finally asking: "How long have you known?"

"Over a month, now." Lucinda said, beaming the health shine of expectant mothers.

"Good timing," Kerry said as he lifted his glass in a toast. He never had time to complete the toast as the dinner was interrupted by a knocking at the door.

"I’m up," Sarah stood her arms resting on the back of Lucinda’s chair. "I’ll get it."

No sooner had the door been answered, however, as Sarah began calling for her husband.

"Kerry! Ker-r-r-y! Get over here! You’ll never believe this!"
"What is it?" Lucinda asked, placing her napkin on the table as she prepared to see what all the commotion was about.

The men in the dining room looked at each other, an unspoken thought passing between them.

"Stay here," Brian jumped up immediately following his father.

When the two O’Donnell men reached the foyer, Lionel’s ranting figure was enough to confirm their suspicions. Sarah pointed to the little man in shock.

"He says you know him," Sarah backed away from the fairy as he barged in. "He’s a, a very small person."

"For God’s sakes, Lionel!" Kerry blasted him. "What a way to introduce yourself!"
The fairy stamped up and down in manic fits, ignoring Kerry as he saw Brian coming up behind him.

"The deal’s off!" He shouted, pointing a thin, bony finger at Brian. "That cowardly son of yours took me like a cat to a pond! T’is a wonder he didn’t drown me on the spot! Ye’ll be sorry for that little act of yellow-bellyedness!"
"Brian, who is this creature?" Lucinda came up behind her husband, having ignored his suggestion to wait patiently.

"He’s a demon!" Brian’s nose flared as he realized his plan had failed.

"I’m a-going to be ye’r own personal demon, that I am!" Lionel promised Brian as he began to change shape. Lionel’s eyes sunk deep into their sockets and glowed a blood red while the hair twisted and bristled into a witch’s stick broom. Lionel growled as he snapped the sharp incisors he had grown just for this occasion.

"Brian!" Lucinda screamed at the creature as it flung itself at her husband’s knees.

"Stop it!" Kerry O’Donnell tried to pull the fairy from its hold, but the teeth had met flesh and the bone began to crunch audibly as Lionel refused to let go. Brian screamed in agony.

"I feel sick," Lucinda gasped, her hands going to her belly.

His wife’s plight cleared the pain from Brian’s mind, replacing it with only one motive: the protection of his unborn child, whatever that took.

Swinging down his fist, he pummeled the fairy’s head. He landed several blows, knocking Lionel to the ground. Kerry stepped in between them, appalled at Brian.

"Do you want to die? You kill him and you’ll reap Great-Grandpa Patrick’s fate!"

The fairy stayed on the floor, his white teeth gleaming in amusement, before his lips curled into a sneer.

"If he could save his family from me by giving up his life, he’d not do it! Ye know why? Because he be’s a coward! All the O’Donnell’s are cowards! Shall I tell them all how ye begged me to leave you alone as a child? Please, please..." Lionel laughed as he pretended to mimick the supplications of a terrified child.

Kerry covered his face in shame. "Is it true, Brian?"
Brian lunged at Lionel, wrapping his hands around the throat of the man who continued trying to mock him. He picked up Lionel like a rag doll that swung wildly at its owner’s every motion, as he strangled him fiercely.

"Damn you! I faced you! I did! You were the coward who disappeared when I demanded you show yourself!"

Lionel snarled at Brian as he continued to grip the fairy’s throat. Tears sprang forth from Brian’s eyes as he faced the terror of his childhood.

"I’m not a coward!" He yelled at the family who stood shocked at his rage. "I’m the only O’Donnell who’s ever been willing to stand up to this jackass! I’ll kill him even if it does mean my death! So, go ahead Lionel, take your last breath!" He pinched Lionel’s throat tight until the little body became limp and then Brian sighed. It was a relief that the truth was finally out. He let the little man’s body slide softly to the floor.

A stillness permeated the room as death entered the O’Donnell household. Kerry leaned against the doorframe for support as Lucinda sat herself on the stairs, bewildered. No one spoke until the silence was rudely broken by the victim.

"Why by Saint Patrick’s flute! That fairy lawyer knew his stuff!" Lionel’s figure flew up to the ceiling, a spark of vitality that sported a set of glittering wings.

Brian looked up and marveled at the transformation. It was Lionel, the fairy, in all of a his lost, golden glory.

"He said death t’was the only loophole!" Lionel gloated. "I just wasn’t sure it meant what I thought it meant! Ye are the bravest of the O’Donnell’s," Lionel tipped his head in respect, "thank ye."
Anger was replaced with understanding as Brian realized the role he had played in Lionel’s transformation.

"You wanted to die..." Brian gasped.

"No, I wanted to live but I couldn’t do it without me wings. T’wasn’t true to myself when I gave those up for life. Life is only good when ye’r true to yourself. I learned that too late. Sorry it’ll cost ye ye’r own life but, perhaps, death t’isn’t meant to be cheated." The fairy shrugged and twinkled out of existence.

Brian buried his head in his hands and wrung the fear from his heart. "Oh, God! What have I done? My child will be fatherless..."

Lucinda rushed to him, consoling him: "It’s over. You’re safe."

"No! You don’t understand -- I’ve broken the contract. I’m going to catch the plague!"
"The plague?" Lucinda questioned him as Kerry nodded his assent to her. "Why are you worried about the plague? Even if you were to get it, it’s eighty-five to ninety percent curable now. Don’t you know that we use antibiotics to treat it?"

A stunned look of comprehension flashed across Brian’s face before he picked up his wife and whirled her in the air, hugging her fiercely to himself.

"I love you," Brian said, as he kissed her passionately. "Stay here. I’ll be back." He grabbed his coat from off the coat rack.

"Where are you going, son?" Kerry asked him.

"To the hospital. My knee hurts. And, Bubonic Plague is curable!" He laughed at the joke. "So, it looks like I have a damn good chance of living to retirement -- even if it won’t be in this house."

With those words, Brian stepped out of his past and into a new life. One where, he decided, he’d be brave enough to be true to himself and live to regret nothing.