There are times when the world of the Fey has interjected itself painfully into our own. Deaths have occurred, firstborn sons have been snatched, and death has run rampant.
June 12 was not one of those occasions.
A Clurachan arrived in Cross sometime shortly after midnight, though I am not really certain as to how or why. Perhaps it heard of the shipment of whiskey. Maybe it was truly a lucky creature.
Regardless as to the how or why, the Clurachan discovered the large shipment of whiskey, and – true to all its kind – fell upon the liquor with great alacrity.
Within the space of six hours, the damned thing drank over $150,000 dollars-worth of whiskey. No mean feat for any creature, let alone one the size of a toddler.
While the shipping company complained greatly about the damage to their reputation – and bars and hotels around the Boston area were distraught – I have to say it was not done without a sense of humor by the Clurachan.
He left behind a note, written in beautiful Gaelic, about the fine aftertaste of the whiskey and the generally pleasant atmosphere of Cross.
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