St. Patrick's Day, or Leprechaun Conspiracy?

by Tim Delaney

Silently lurking behind the facade of daily life across America, there is a truth, bound in absolute secrecy, of which none dare speak. The conspiracy of this hidden reality runs deeper than many can comprehend, and it has lasted since its beginning, hidden deep in the mists of history. With every new development that has propelled mankind forward, the hand of this furtive organization has guided each step, imperceptibly moving mankind as a whole towards an unidentifiable purpose. Isolated from the real world, members of this fraternity of manipulators show themselves only one day every year, just long enough to reinforce their dominance of mankind before fading once more into the shadows. That one day, named for the one who first laid down their maddeningly complex master plan, is today, and while the festivities rage on St. Patrick’s Day, the Leprechauns will once again rise and bend mankind to their will.

Scholars have oft sought evidence that this long-rumored society exists at all, but those who have gotten too close to the truth have either disappeared or gone insane. As time has passed, their existence has faded into myth, and the Leprechauns have cultivated this status to their advantage. Those who speak of the threat they pose to society today are laughed at, and those who know of their existence are believed to be mad. The secrecy of the Leprechauns has paid off, and mankind’s only interest in them now is as a fairy tale, a story for young children and festive occasions. There now remains no source anywhere that could lead an investigator to them, save one.

Years, perhaps centuries, in the past, a member of the Delaney clan saved the life of a Leprechaun, sheltering it from its pursuers and giving it time to recuperate before returning it to its people. In that time, my ancestor found amongst the injured creature’s belongings a journal, scrawled in a barely discernable language that, while unknown in that portion of Ireland, would lead to the heart of the Leprechaun secret. Much like Nicholas Cage in National Treasure, I have spent my life following the clues this ancestor left behind in the hopes that through my courage and dashing good looks I might uncover this dark and terrible secret, saving mankind from whatever devilish machinations the Leprechauns have planned.

Like the rest of the world, I didn’t believe a word of the ramblings of this forgotten Delaney when I first found his diary in a trunk full of old family possessions. I mentioned the conspiracy the diary spoke of to only a few friends, merely remarking on its oddity and the obvious insanity that had possessed my ancestor. Apparently, those simple exchanges with people I trusted were enough for the Leprechauns to hear of this leak in their security, and they sent an agent to tighten my loose lips. The agent found me on Sunday, April 15, 2007, and we fought to the death on the first floor of the Bronxville school. By sheer luck and the virtue of my Irish blood, my link to the nation that once stood as the only barrier between the world and the devouring maw of the Leprechaun plot, I was able to prevail over this assassin. The next day, however, I returned to school to find the building close off. They said it was a flood. They said that it was unsafe for people to go downstairs, to the very stage of my battle with the Leprechaun agent. No one suspected the cover-up, blindly accepting that our school had been the victim of a disastrous flood, and in the wake of this fabrication my suspicions solidified into the certainty that the conspiracy was real, and it had to be stopped.

I have searched long and furiously for the any hint of Leprechaun involvement in modern society, hoping against mad hope that I would find the one slip up, the one mistake that I could exploit to reveal their entire organization. With the aid of an immense fortune, my overly proper butler, and my spunky sidekick, I have traveled the globe, hunting through back alleys and questioning those in positions of power. From the back alleys I have been given only the sensation of failure and the aroma of compost, and more often than not the intensity of my questioning has led my hosts to call for security. Only one man I spoke to could look me in the eye and tell me, without hesitating, that he had seen the Leprechauns operate once and since has been unable to forget them. His mind was shattered from long years spent in longer wars, and his speech was broken by the fear that seized his body, but his message only confirmed what I already knew: the Leprechaun threat was alive and well, and they were always watching.

I have not yet cracked this insane plot, but I share it with you, dear reader, in the hopes that you might carry this knowledge forward as a flag of resistance against the growing shadow. I fear my time may be short, and the Leprechaun noose may soon find its way to my neck, but now eliminating me now would be a hollow victory. If you are reading this, you have a choice. You can go back to your everyday life, ignoring the dagger that softly prepares to strike, or you can stand with me against the Leprechauns and strike against them in their moment of triumph, today, their holy day, St. Patrick’s Day.