“Grandpa! You promised us a story.”

Patrick McGillicuddy grinned wryly at his twelve-year-old grandson, Michael. Putting an empty tankard down on the table, he said, “That I did, but have you come prepared to listen?”

It warmed Patrick’s old heart to see the boy nodding, even if it was only once. Patrick turned to his nine-year-old granddaughter Mary and raised an eyebrow. “And have you got time for your grandpa’s tales?”

“Yes,” Mary gleefully sat in a chair, her eyes shining in her excitement. “Grandmum Sheila told us you had seen the fairies long ago. Can you tell us that one?”

“Sheila told you about the fairies, eh?” Patrick chuckled. “I suppose I can tell you about that. Though I have a question for you two. Do you believe in the good folk?”

Mary nodded but Michael only shrugged, and Patrick wondered briefly if his grandson would have reacted differently if the story were about trains or wars. The old man raised a kind eyebrow. “You doubt, Michael?”

The boy shrugged again as he slumped into another chair. “Well, I haven’t seen them.”

Turning to the small table beside him, Patrick filled his tankard with his famous home-brewed moonshine. Taking a sip, he relished in the taste. It was almost the same as his father used to brew but somehow a touch better than his old man’s. Throughout his long life he had never tasted anything quite like his own recipe for moonshine.

Patrick sat once more in his large armchair and ran a thumb over the worn cap of his cane. “You might see the good folk if you walked through the crossroads on the full moon.”

Leaping up from her chair, Mary ran to the small window. “Really? It’s the full moon tonight! Can we go?”

Laughing, Patrick placed his tankard back on the table. “Sheila would box our ears if we did something so foolish. But I can do something better.”

“What’s that?” Mary asked, turning away from the window.

The old man lowered his voice into a theatrical whisper. “I can tell you about the time I talked with the queen of fairies.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Fairies are only stories you old folk come up with to keep us from having fun outside.”

“And if I told you that I saw them with my own eyes?” Patrick asked, taking another swig.

Michael hesitated. “You swear?”

Nodding solemnly, he replied, “By the saints above us, I swear I saw the good folk.”

“Oh enough of this,” Mary said, walking back to her chair and settled into it. “Tell us the story!”

Thumping his cane lightly against the floor, Patrick launched into his tale.

“When I was a young man, nearing the end of my apprenticeship years, my mum, that would be your great grandma, bid me go to my friend Ryan’s house.”

“Was Ryan a fairy?” Mary whispered.

Patrick grinned. “Far from it. A more solid lad you’ve never met. He didn’t believe in the fairies either. Rather like Michael here.”

His grandson looked ready to protest this notion but Patrick tapped his cane on the floor again. Seeing his grandson start down the path of discarding the world of wonder and beauty for the more mechanized world of logic and purpose broke Patrick’s heart. Holding his grandson’s eyes in his gaze, his inner resolve settled. “All I ask is that you listen.”

After a moment of consideration, Michael gave a slow nod.

Smiling, Patrick continued. “My mum had entrusted me with the task of giving a fresh cheese to Ryan’s mum. That would be Mrs. Callahan, it would. As Mum handed me the bundle, she reminded me that while the road was fair in the day, it was perilous after dusk. But I barely heard her warning for in my youthful enthusiasm, I estimated that I could get to Mrs. Callahan’s and return well before the shades of dusk fell.”

“But did you?” Mary asked.

“I’m getting there, young Mary. I started off bright and early. My mother had given me my old father’s hawthorn walking stick. Even though he had passed on, God bless him, we thought a little bit of his protective spirit resided in that old hawthorn stick.”

Michael snorted. “Really?”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Yes, we did. Whenever my mum or I had that stick, no harm befell us. Even if we fell from a cliff or slipped near a bog, we came to no harm.”

“Do you still have it?” Mary whispered in awe.

Patrick grinned. “Of course I do.”

“Can you show us?” she asked.

“It’s right there,” he pointed to a rather worn but trusty-looking walking stick leaning against the corner of the house. Mary’s eyes widened and even Michael looked at it curiously.

“Now, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll never finish. So hush with your questions until I’m done, eh?” Patrick grinned to lessen the sting of his words.

Mary settled in her chair again and Michael’s eyes wandered to the window. Patrick sighed a little as he watched his grandson.

“So, there I was,” he continued, “walking on the road to Ryan’s house with my trusty walking stick in one hand and the fresh cheese in my satchel. The journey there caused no alarm, though I must say the back of my neck prickled as I passed the old oak trees at the crossroads. You know the ones. That crossroad appeared so peaceful but I didn’t trust it, so I clutched my walking stick and hurried through. It felt as though eyes watched me and I fairly flew the rest of the way.”

“So you didn’t see the fairies then?” Mary asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.

“No, I didn’t,” Patrick replied. He lowered his voice and added, “But I will tell you that I felt mighty queer having those ghostly eyes staring at me. I made it to Ryan’s house and it was a merry meeting. I gave Mrs. Callahan the cheese and while Ryan and I tusseled playfully as we did when we were younger, Mrs. Callahan made a plate of some bread and cheese for a small meal.”

Patrick leaned in closer to Mary and Michael and said in a lower voice, “But when I prepared to leave, Mrs. Callahan looked out the window, and what do you think she chanced to see?”

Mary bounced a little. “The sunset!”

“Exactly. As I put on my coat and grabbed my trusty stick, she pulled me aside. ‘Patrick,’ said she, ‘I don’t like the idea of you going out after dark like this. The perils of the crossroads are dangerous tonight for us mortal folk.’

“‘You mean the fairies are there?’ I asked her.

“‘Tis the full moon. They hold their court there and it isn’t wise for mortals to be caught in their mischief.’

“I stood up straight. ‘I have my walking stick. Pperhaps I can walk around the crossroads and not use the road.’

“Ryan’s mum shook her head. ‘That is even more dangerous, for the will-o-the-wisps are likely to bring you to your doom. You must stick to the path and run through that crossroads like the hounds of hell are at your heels. Don’t stop until you are far away from that crossroad.’”

Mary interrupted. “But why is it so dangerous?”

Patrick smiled wryly. “It is dangerous to disturb the fairies at their sport, for they don’t like being interrupted. They have the power to change me into anything they want, or to take my cows, or my mum, or make my life miserable in a hundred different ways. I know you wish to see the fairies, Mary. But listen to more of my tale.”

Mary settled once more, listening intently.

“I now had my mum’s warning of walking after dusk, and also Ryan’s mum’s warning about the crossroads. Clutching my father’s walking stick tightly, I hoped his spirit was indeed with me as I walked the path towards the crossroads.

“As dusk fell around me and shadows began to linger, my nerves tightened. I’d walked this path a hundred times in the day, but there’s something about the darkness that gives a familiar landscape new terrors.”

Michael scoffed. “You were scared?” Patrick shifted in his chair. “I was. Only a fool wouldn’t be. As the night creatures started making their noises, I crested the hill and the full moon’s light illuminated the crossroads before me. I watched them for a good while, making note if anything crossed them. I saw two hares dash across, but that was it. Glancing off to the surrounding countryside, I saw the little will-o-the-wisps. I knew not to follow those for they led to the bogs. There wasn’t anything else for it; I had to run through the crossroads. Both Mum’s words and Mrs. Callahan’s words stayed close in my mind as I cautiously stepped towards the place where the two roads crossed. The full moon reigned in the sky as I inched closer. Every sense clamored that I was being watched. My heart began to race and I clutched my walking stick tight as I prepared to run.

“But before I could take a step, a woman’s deep voice rang out through the clearing.

“‘Who dares enter my domain?’”