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One Weird Day



One Weird Day

One Weird Day

Johnny Walker woke to the buzzing of the alarm clock. His eyes popped open; he looked at the thing and groaned. It read at 7:00 am. He set his feet on the carpet, clenching and unclenching his toes. Then something gleaming caught his eye. Next to the bedroom door sat a pot of gold!

The pot itself resembled a witch’s cauldron but it was tinted purple. Johnny also noticed a typewriter next to it. Upon examining the gold he deduced it was real. Johnny threw the pot of gold into his bedroom closet. A little later, after a shower and getting dressed, he took the typewriter downstairs and started typing in the kitchen. After a half-hour, he was done typing and hurried off in his blue pick- up truck. He drove to McDonald’s. The line crept until he finally got to the order box where he was greeted by a cheery voice:

“Hello, my name is Dave. May I take your order?” The fast-food worker said.

“I’ll take a dollar coffee, a hash brown, and a sausage McMuffin,” Johnny replied.

“That will be $5.82,” Dave told him. He collected his order and headed to work.

The light poured into the window of the magazine office. Amy tapped her teeth using her fingernail as she perused the article Johnny had written.

“Good stuff,” Amy said. “No one is better at persuading people to believe bullshit as you can.”

“Thanks. You’re not the worst boss I’ve ever had,” Johnny said.

“Isn’t dishing out backhanded compliments fun?” Amy joked.

“They sure are,” Johnny remarked.

“Got any plans for your upcoming vacation?” Amy asked.

“I’m hoping for a real adventure,” admitted Johnny. Five o’clock rolled around, Johnny clocked out and headed home. About 7:05 that evening Johnny heard a knock on the front door. Upon answering it he discovered a green-clad fellow, about three feet tall, standing on his front porch. He held a six-pack of green beer in his right hand.

“Where’s my stuff?” the little fellow demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Johnny asked.

“I hid my pot of gold and typewriter at your place. I want them back!” the short guy insisted.

“Well aren’t you a leprechaun?” Johnny asked.

“Obviously,” muttered the critter.

“Don’t you have to grant me a wish?” Johnny asked. “I did find your pot of gold after all.”

“You want a genie? Go find Barbara Eden.” Croaked the leprechaun. “Did you ever see a leprechaun? Don’t piss me off!”

“Come inside,” Johnny said. The mysterious being stepped inside and Johnny closed the door behind him. “Wait right here,” Johnny instructed. He hurried to the kitchen and returned brandishing a butcher knife. “It’s my gold now!” Wide-eyed the leprechaun fled from the house.

“Keep the gold you damn fool. But don’t come crying to me when the banshee comes a wailing!” the leprechaun warned. Johnny locked the little guy out. Then he logged onto his computer and looked up various vacation spots.

A storm blew in and thunder boomed and lightning cracked. It was as if God were blowing a massive bubble with chewing gum. The wails of the damned cried out through the night. This rattled Johnny to the bone. He looked all around and found nothing seemed out of sorts. When the cries died off, the rain and thunder became the only sounds again.

Johnny awoke to scratch noises on his bedroom window. A white-haired hag scratched at the glass pane. He noticed the horrid thing glowering at him and shrieked. The hag leaped in through the window and pounced on the panicked man. The crone ripped out Johnny’s tongue and snapped his neck. It swept into the closet like a shadowy fog, retrieved the leprechaun’s gold and typewriter, and fled into the night.