MicroHorror

Colm was soaked through and his satchel was heavy, otherwise he’d never have taken the shortcut his mother had warned him against–through the fairy field.

He entered the field through a hole in the hedge. It was a big wide field and he reasoned that if he stayed right in the middle on the trodden path, he’d have time to run away from anyone suspect. Anyway, he could see the housing estate through the hedge and he was twelve years old now. It wasn’t as if he was a little kid.

The rain continued steadily and a thick fog filled the space between the hedges on three sides and the tree line. Colm ploughed on. He should reach the gap at the diagonal any minute now. The road home always seemed longer in evil weather. But this was not just evil weather. He couldn’t find the exit. He walked up and down the length of the hedge. Still he couldn’t find it. He patrolled the entire field boundary. There was no sign of the way he’d come in, either. As he walked, a green light grew in the middle of the field, glowing golden at the centre, and expanded towards him.

Colm found himself sitting by a fountain in the shopping mall. It was full of shiny coins that people had thrown in. Why did people just throw away money like that? He rubbed his face with his hands and felt a hint of stubble.

“Are you all right there, Colm?” asked the security guard.

“Aye, only where am I?”

“You’re in the Braid Centre. Are you okay?”

“And who are you?”

“Come on now, Colm, sure you see me every day. Michael. Michael Duffy. We were in the same class all through school.”

Colm looked at the tall man in front of him, who bore little resemblance to his old school friend. “No, you’re not,” he said.

“Well, I was this morning. Maybe you’d better get yourself away on home, Colm. And dry out.”

Colm followed the exit signs to a door. He could see the trees of the park. This was the wrong exit. He went back in the opposite direction and found another door. Stepping out, he found himself enveloped in a green mist.

“Father. Father Colm?”

“What the devil…?”

“Father, we’ve been looking for you all over,” said Cecelia Rea.

“Is it me you’re talkin’ to?” asked Colm, looking around for another addressee.

“Surely you haven’t forgot? You promised you’d give the St. Patrick’s Day blessing to the people carrying the pot of shamrock to the top of the mountain for charity. They’re waiting for you to go with them, so they are.”

Colm looked at his hands. They were the hands of a middle-aged man, not a twelve-year-old boy. He covered his face with them and a vague memory stirred of sitting in a shopping mall by a fountain, of trying to find his way out of a field, and of a thick green mist swallowing him up.

He looked at Cecelia.

“How long has this church been here?” he asked.

“Why, Father, ever since they pulled down the old shopping mall–twenty years at least. Before that it was just a field, I’m told.”

“Just a field–aye,” he said ironically. “And I’ve been here all that time?”

“Yes, Father, ever since I was a wee’un.”

A shopping mall, then a church, it made sense–two perfectly sound commercial ventures.

“Maybe it’s time to move on, then,” he said.

They wouldn’t abduct a priest, would they? He said a prayer and crossed himself just to be sure.

Outside the main door, it was a bright St. Patrick’s Day morning. He could see the houses and the trees in the park. Colm breathed the clear air in deeply. Maybe later on he’d pay a visit home.