Getting O’Gilled

“Holy shit!” Jackson yelled as he came around the blind corner.  As if in slow motion, he watched as the child flipped through the air after bouncing off the grill of his truck.

Jackson felt an awful pit well up inside himself as he raced to the child’s side – that’s when he realized the child wasn’t a child after all – but a ‘little person.’ And this little person was a full-grown man.

The man was breathing, which was a relief to Jackson and he didn’t seem to have any cuts or broken bones. And since he was in the middle of the Redwood forest, Jackson knew his cellphone would be useless.

A minute or two later, the man opened his eyes, blinking hard as if he’d been sleeping and looked around, “What the feck happened?” he spoke in a thick Irish brogue.

“I hit you,” Jackson answered. He tried to get the little man to lay still, but ignoring any possible injuries, the man sat up, crawled to his knees and stood up.

“Well, diabhal!” the man exclaimed, “First time in over 400-years.”

More than a bit confused, Jackson asked, “Wha..?”

“Supposing now you’d like the gold?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, boyo. You caught me and now you get the pot of gold.”

“Mister, I think you hit your head a little too hard.”

“You’re the one that hit my head,” the little man returned. Then he walked over to the side of the road and dragged from under the ferns, a two-gallon pot of gold coins, “Here, take it – you earned it fair and square.”

Looking down, Jackson felt his heart skip-a-beat, realizing they were real. When he lifted his head again, the little man had vanished.


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