Burnt Sugar & Mischief

By Deborah Bainbridge

Fern pressed a wrinkled finger against each of the tiny shamrocks embedded in the mossy roof. “I used to love playing leprechauns,” she mused, turning the miniature clover-colored house in her stiff hands. “Guess you’re not so magical after all.”

Peering inside the tiny dwelling, a sense of unease gripped her. “Though, many times I’d have sworn someone was watching me.”

She replaced the gift her mother had bought her in Ireland to the only clean spot on the shelf. Grasping the familiar doorknob, Fern’s hand trembled. How has life gone by so quickly? She closed her childhood closet. Aching hips caused her to hobble across the floor. She nestled into bed as a tall man with a bushy brown beard entered.

“Just popping in to say goodnight, Ma.”

“Thanks, Nathan.”

He lifted the book resting on her bed and smiled. “I always loved this story.” He pulled the stack of blankets, four-high, over her legs.

“Why does old age mean I’m cold all the time?” She attempted a smile.

Nathan wrapped Fern’s faded green sweater around her shoulders. “Is it strange, moving back into your old room?”

“A little. But you and Audra will be more comfortable in the master bedroom. It means so much, you two moving in with me.” Fern sighed, patting Nathan’s hand. “We Irish keep our family homes for generations.” I just can’t care for it by myself anymore.

Tears welled in Nathan’s eyes. “Hit the call button if you need anything. One of us will come help.”

“I will.” As Nathan left, Fern said her prayers, then drifted to sleep.

***

The pungent aroma of green leaves mingled with sweat and rancid yeast gnawed at Fern’s memories, pulling her from her precious sleep. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the strong, earthy fragrance to saturate her senses.

“The smell of my childhood,” she whispered to herself.

The perplexing scent rewound her thoughts to when her younger self lay in a small bed, debilitated by fear. With only the darkness to accompany her.

Fern squeezed her eyes tight, then sighed against her childish fear. She hadn’t thought of the monster in her closet for decades. She was eighty-two years old, for goodness’ sake! Didn’t monsters-in-closets prey on the imaginations of youth?

Something shifted inside her wardrobe. Hangers clanked together like a windchime blowing in a light breeze. She glanced at her clock. Huge red numbers glared back. 4:00 A.M.

The optimum time for monsters to haunt children and, apparently, the elderly. Fern tugged her comforter over her head.

A soft thud sounded against the closet floor. Fern’s heart pounded as a pitter-patter of tiny feet rushed the length of the closet.

She traced the electrical cord until her fingers wrapped around the panic button. Fern tightened her sweater, the one Mom always let her wear when Fern was afraid. It still smelled like Mom’s favorite perfume, the hints of vanilla reminding her of Mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies.

The hinges of the closet door creaked open. A lively, grassy scent wafted from the small gap. The aroma shifted into a mixture of burnt sugar and mischief with a fresh, almost playful, quality. Fern sighed. I’m not a child. It’s time to face whatever’s lurking inside that closet.

Pressing the upward toggle, the bedframe quietly crept into an upright position. Fern detached the compact red flashlight from her bedside railing.

Something brushed past the end of her bed. Books knocked against one another on the bookshelf beside her.

Fern swallowed hard. One harsh sound was followed by another with deep resonance.

It’s looking for something.

Leaning forward, she lifted her walking cane from her bedside into the air, aimed the small torch, and clicked. The beam illuminated a small, dark creature with a fuzzy outline.

The elusive monster fought and clawed as it attempted to climb the bookshelf.

Fern’s hand trembled as she fumbled for her spectacles, which quickly settled into the indented section on her nasal bridge.

A small man with a bushy, white beard bent forward. He wore a red suit, matching bow tie, and top hat. His chest rose and fell quickly, his green eyes darting about.

Fern’s head tilted. “Well, I’ll be buggered.” Her smile stretched.

The elderly leprechaun rubbed his lower back. “I used to bound back to the house in seven giant leaps.” He raised his shaggy eyebrows. “I’m not as spry as I once was.”

“Don’t worry.” Fern lowered her cane. “I won’t be chasing after you.”

“Grand. Because I need a wee rest.” He sat, still huffing.

“To which house were you referring?”

“The one with the shamrocks, o’ course.” He pointed toward the closet. “The portal to my world.”

Fern gasped. “It is magical.” I knew it. She met her childhood monster’s gaze. “I’m Fern. Nice to finally meet you.”

He tipped his hat. “Flynn O’Dare.”

“What brings you back to haunt me at our ages, Flynn?”

“Haunt? Oh!” He waved his hand in the air as if pushing his monster-in-the-closet days into the past. “I was just acting the maggot. You know, a bit of mischief. I heard sounds coming from this room. I used to love sneaking in for bedtime stories. Shenanigans was my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” Fern beamed. “Mom used to read it to me.”

“I remember.” The scent of fermented ambrosia wafted in her direction.

“You smell of grass and honey.”

“Clover, actually.” Flynn shrugged his shoulders. “Though, I suppose I do partake in a wee too much mead.”

“After all this time… The mysterious smell was clover and mead.” Fern lifted Shenanigans so he could see its cover. “Well, Flynn, I don’t have any mead. But since we’re both awake, why don’t we read it together? This time, as friends.”

“That sounds grand. Maybe someday, you could bring it to Carlingford? Read it to my grandchildren?”

“Visit your world?” A rush of joy and wonder overtook Fern. She giggled like a young girl. “Oh, Flynn! I guess we’re never too old for an adventure.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Deborah Bainbridge is a semi-retired Pharmacist who dreams of teleporting internationally and into fantastical realms. Her short fiction has appeared in Havok, Iron Faerie, Spark, and her poetry with Twenty Hills Publishing. She’s a Christian, Realm Awards Finalist, and the wife of a Great Eagle (LOTR) who desires to take people on adventures through story. She enjoys running and eating cookies, preferably not at the same time, and would leave her Christmas lights up all year if the neighbors wouldn’t stare.

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