A Nightly Ride

The second story in my series of fairy tales. This one is inspired by the Pooka. Pookas have many different names and origins. This story is inspired by the Irish Pooka, a shapeshifting fey creature that can take many forms including a horse, rabbit, dog or a person. They have a taste for wreaking havoc and mischief, often appearing as a horse to take drunks on a wild ride. There are many traditions when it comes to a Pooka including farmers sharing their crops to appease the creature on the first of November. Pookas may appear to you and start a conversation, saying they used to live in your house. I used all these parts to inspire the story below. There’s a lot to a Pooka; I hope this tale does it justice.

The car rumbled up the driveway, spitting pebbles in all directions. The house, once a bright white, lay before her dirty and decrepit. Her radio hummed quietly, a song she didn’t recognize, but why would she? She was in Ireland now. She had come back to the place she was born, the place her mother had just died and left her their house. The house that stood looking like a used napkin in the middle of an overgrown field. 

“Annie! Annie!” A short woman was standing in the doorway, waving her hands over her hand enthusiastically. Mrs. McKenzie, Anne recalled. She was the one who had called her to tell her of her mother’s death and that a lawyer would be calling about her will. The lawyer called a few hours later, Irish accent thick as syrup, and explained what her mother had left her: the house, the land, and several chickens. Recently divorce and looking for an opportunity to escape the clutches of San Francisco where her ex-husband had brought all their friends to his side, she packed several suitcases, booked a flight, and here she was. Ireland. 

Anne turned off the car and stepped out into the gray morning. She didn’t remember much about growing up in Ireland. They had moved to the states before she had even started school. They had visited once when she was ten but those memories were foggy and lost under years of her father bashing her mother when she finally fled for her homeland after he admitted he was unhappy and wanted out. He was hard to blame; she yearned for Ireland ever since they set foot in California, blaming him at every opportunity for bringing them there. He remarried and Anne saw her mother only a few times a year until she was about twenty and her mother stopped coming. She wrote to Anne, begging her to visit and Anne always said she would when she wasn’t so ‘busy’. That time never came and now her mother was dead and buried somewhere in the small village down the road. One of those things that seemed there would always be time for until there wasn’t.

“Annie, my, what a woman you’ve become! You look just like your ma!” Mrs. McKenzie skipped down the steps, arms open wide. Anne offered a tight smile and nodded at the compliment. “How was the flight over? You remember this house? My, when you were little, Annie, you loved to run through…”

“It’s Anne,” Anne interrupted. “Just Anne.” Her mother had called her Annie and it made her stomach twist each time she heard it. 

Mrs. McKenzie’s face fell slightly. “Right, of course. Your mother always called you Annie, so.” Mrs. McKenzie sucked in a breath and clapped her hands. “Well, let’s get you unpack and give you the tour, shall we?” Her Irish accent was as thick as the lawyer’s and Anne had troubled making out every word. Something to get used to, she thought to herself as she grabbed a duffel bag from the trunk. Mrs. McKenzie tried to wave her off but Anne insisted, carrying another over her shoulder. 

“Remind me what it is you did for my mother, Mrs. McKenzie?” The front steps creaked and groaned as they stepped onto the porch.

“Please, my dear, call me Doreen,” she answered. “Your mother and I were old friends. I helped her with the house when she grew ill. Laundry, weeding, that type of thing.” She saw Anne eyeing the unmown lawn. “I fell behind a bit. My husband has been off work so my house needed a bit of extra loving care.” Anne smiled weakly and pushed open the front door. Paint chips fell against her shoulder as she did. “I can get someone out here for that,” Mrs. McKenzie was saying behind her. 

The house’s entry way was wide and deep. A sloping staircase lay a few feet from the door leading up to a landing with halls on either side. To her left, Anne saw a neatly organized sitting room with two couches, a coffee table between them and a fireplace. To her right was a dining room with a long table, four chairs around it, and several bookshelves. Books covered the table alongside papers, notebooks, and coffee cups. The kitchen looked beyond the room towards the back, tile floor peeking out from a doorway. 

“The bedrooms are upstairs, the master along to the left. There are two others and two bathrooms. One is an en suite. I dusted a bit before you got here but it could use some more loving. Your mother was not the neatest lass.” She chuckled to herself and began to ascend the stairs. “You’ll be wanting the master, I’m guessing?” 

“I’ll take a look,” Anne replied. There were picture frames on the mantle and she saw her little baby face featured prominently. She shook it off and followed Mrs. McKenzie up to the master suite.

The bedroom was large and tidy in spite of the rest of the house. Anne didn’t have to ask to know why. She assumed her mother died in this room and they had cleaned it after removing her. Dark thoughts, Annie, she mused to herself. Your therapist wouldn’t like that. The queen size four poster bed loomed against the wall nearest the window. A faded rug lay in the center of the room and an armchair was stuffed in the corner. She dropped her bags on the floor and Mrs. McKenzie did the same. 

“How about that tour?” Anne asked. “I’m feeling a bit tired from the flight so I wouldn’t mind seeing the house and getting some rest.” She avoided looking at the bed her mother once slept in. That could be discovered and dissected later. 

“Of course! Right this way.” 

Mrs. McKenzie started with the second floor. The other bedrooms were modest and both had twin beds in them with ample closet space. The second bathroom was small with a shower and decorated with horse wallpaper. There were several closets and an attic that Mrs. McKenzie advised not going up without taking precautions. “That floor is ready to give out any day now,” she warned. Heading back downstairs, they traipsed through the living room and towards the back. There was a back porch with a few chairs that faced the massive backyard. An overgrown garden and shed lay out back as well as the chicken coop which was bustling with hens. The kitchen was surprisingly beautiful and clean. The one thing Anne remembered about her mother was her love of cooking and this kitchen reflected that. Pots and pans hung over an island in the center of the room and the cabinets were a gorgeous wood with glass paneling. There were plates, glassware, and vases as well as bags of baking supplies and various food items. A long door to the side led to a pantry that was half full with goods as well as a broom and vacuum. 

“And that’s the house. Here are the keys,” Mrs. McKenzie said, dropping the keys into a bowl on the kitchen island. “Well, if you won’t be needing anything more from me, I best be off. I’ll check on you tomorrow morning.”

“I should be good. Thank you again.” 

Mrs. McKenzie smiled warmly. “You look so much like her,” she said quietly. “Truly.” Anne froze, unsure how to react. “Well, I’ll be seeing you. Welcome back to Ireland, Annie.” Before Anne could correct her a second time, Mrs. McKenzie turned and left, Anne hearing the front door shut behind her. 

Anne took a deep breath in. “I guess I’ll unpack,” she sighed. She headed back upstairs, making note of all the pictures to remove and items of her mother’s to put in a box and take into the village to give away so she wouldn’t have to be reminded of the woman who no longer existed. 

A few hours and a long nap later, Anne heard a car pull up in front of the house. Thinking it was Mrs. McKenzie, she went to the front door without taking a glance out a window. A man stood at the front gate, his black car parked behind him. He was tall and dressed well in a suit with a long black coat. His dark hair was curly and blowing in the wind. He stood still as a statue, staring at the house, his arms at his sides. Anne opened the front door. 

“Hello?” she called out. The man broke into a grin and strode forward. “Can I help you?” Anne began to back into the house more. 

“You are new here,” the man replied. 

“Uh, yes. I just moved in here.”

“From America?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “What gave it away?”

“Your accent,” he answered flatly. 

Anne pursed her lips. “And you are?” 

“I used to live here.”

Anne cocked her head to the side. Live here? Her mother was the only person who had lived here. “Yeah, I don’t think so. This is my mother’s house.”

The man continued to smile. “Yes, I know. I rented a room from her. How are you liking it?” He walked closer, edging towards the steps. He was handsome with a sharp jawline and blazing white smile. His eyes appeared hazel at first but as he got closer, Anne realized they were actually a golden color, shining bright against his dark features. “The chickens keeping you company?”

“My husband is,” Anne lied. Something about the man made her uneasy. ‘He’s just upstairs. Brad? Brad, can you come down here?”

“You don’t have a husband,” the man stated. Anne, caught off guard, scrambled to find words for a retort as the man’s grin widened. “Mrs. McKenzie told me it was only you. She can be a gossip.” 

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Anne said. The man stopped at the bottom of the steps as if waiting to be invited in. “So what brings you by?”

The man shrugged. “Have you been to the village yet?”

Anne hesitated, studying the man. There was something charming about him with his musical Irish accent. “Uh, I haven’t. I drove through it but haven’t been in it yet. Looked cute.”

“Quite ‘cute’, yes,” the man said. “Would you do me the honor of joining me tonight for dinner? I will show you around. Give you a nightly tour, if you’d like.” He remained still, smiling up at her, his black coat rustling a bit in the wind. There was no reason to say no, Anne realized. Here was a nice, young, handsome Irish lad willing to take her lonely new-in-town self out. What was she going to do instead? Sit inside and cry into her mom’s old sweaters in the closet? 

“Sure, that’d be great,” Anne replied. “What time?”

“Let’s say seven,” the man said. “There’s a few pubs but the best one is the Horse and Stag is my personal favorite. I shall see you there at the bar at seven.” With that, the man gave a little bow which gave Anne school girl giggles and he walked back to his car. 

“Thanks, Mom,” Anne joked and went back to find something to wear. She didn’t realize until she was half way up the stairs that she hadn’t gotten the man’s name.

The Horse and Stag was an easy find in the village. Anne found a parking spot in its minuscule lot and headed inside, fixing her hair in every window that she passed. She hadn’t been on a date in over five years and now she was out with an actual stranger. 

“First thing, ask his name,” Anne reminded herself as she pulled open the heavy wooden door. The pub was ancient with a tattered wooden floor and long wooden bar. Stools with torn cushions were filled with patrons working on foaming pints of dark beer. There were crooked frames plastered on the walls of horses, hounds, and various paintings of hunting excursions. The chatter was joyous and constant as Anne scanned the seats to find her date. He was wearing the same coat and suit, his back turned to the door. 

“Hi there,” Anne called cheerily. “Didn’t catch your name before. What is it?”

The man turned, his white smile bared. “You’re kidding! I swear I told you my name. You look nice.” 

Anne shook her head. “Nope, no name.” She sat down on the empty stool beside him. “What’s good here?” 

“Loads,” the man said. He gestured to the taps. “They’ve got dark and light. Both are good, depending on your mood. Personally I go for the dark.” 

“Go figure,” Anne said under her breath. “I’ll have light, I think.” The bartender made his way over and greeted her, sloshing a pint glass of golden liquid in front of her a moment later. “So, what is it?”

“What is what?”

“Your name.”

“Oh! Wow, still haven’t said it, have I?” The man chuckled. “It’s kind of a fun game though, isn’t it? What if you never know it?”

Anne crossed her arms, giving a frustrated glare. “Well, then I don’t think this date is going to last very long.” The man sized her up playfully, crossing his arms in reply. “Come on. Do you hate it or something?”

“Nah, it’s just not an exciting one,” the man said. “Now what brings you to Ireland? I was sorry to hear about your ma. She was a kind woman.”

Anne’s chest tightened at the mention of her mother. She hadn’t taken time to grieve and wasn’t exactly sure how to for a woman who was absent for most of her adult life. “Thank you,” she answered politely. “She was. I’m here because she left me that house and I thought why not move to Ireland.” 

“Where did you live before?”

“San Francisco. But my life there is pretty much done. Long story.”

“Sounds like a sad story.” Anne turned to face the man. His golden eyes were soft and kind, watching her closely. 

“It is,” she replied. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m here now and I guess I’ll figure it all out. What’s this town about anyway? Anything to do?”

“Certainly,” the man said, straightening up in his stool. “There’s lots of fun to be had, especially after a few of these.” He took a sip of beer. “When was the last time you let loose?”

Anne laughed in spite of herself. “God, is never a good answer? Because I think I have to say never. Or maybe when I was in my twenties. It’s been a long time.”

The man smirked and lifted his glass. “Then let us cheers to an evening of frivolity and mischief, shall we?” Anne inhaled deeply and clinked her glass against his. 

“Why not?” she consented. There had been a lot of ‘why nots’ since she found out her mother had died and left her a house in Ireland. This was the first day of the rest of her life, she thought. Might as well start with a bang. 

Her pounding head woke her. Anne opened her eyes and immediately closed them as the blinding mid morning light poured in through the bedroom window. She groaned as she pulled herself up to sitting, a wave of nausea stalling her half way. She wiped the dried spit pooled on the side of her mouth and stared out the window into the yard. 

“What happened?” she croaked out. She was fully clothed and, after turning around as slowly as possible to save her swimming head, alone in her mother’s bedroom. A shoe lay on the floor in front of her and the other was nowhere to be seen. Her coat and purse were on the chair in the corner and the light in the en suite bathroom was on. There was a plate of crackers and a wedge of cheese on the nightstand as well as a glass with a sip of red wine left. 

“Ugh,” Anne muttered as she stood. She held onto the bed post for a moment before getting the rest of the way up. As she headed to the bathroom, something raced past the window in the yard below. Stepping closer to the window, Anne saw a black horse grazing on the overgrown grass. Did her mom have a horse? Mrs. McKenzie would have said something. It must be from a neighbor farm, Anne thought. Maybe it would help clean up the yard, she joked to herself, chuckling and immediately clutching her head as the laughter made it throb more. She made it to the bathroom where she fell to her knees, head in the toilet. 

After vomiting up what she was fairly certain was the remains of a burger and fries, Anne managed to make her way downstairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass and filled it with water as she scoured the cabinets for coffee. The coffee maker was still plugged in and there was a box of filters with a few left beside it but no coffee. 

“Please no,” Anne moaned as she realized she would have to go into the village to grab some. Fuzzy memories were coming back to her from last night. The mysterious man who took her out had shown her a very drunk time filled with cackling laughter, plenty of pints of beer, and a trip to a playground if she was remembering correctly. As much as she wanted to automatically shame herself, she couldn’t recall any mistakes or bad behavior. She had made it home, in her bed, alone and though her hangover was epic, she felt fairly content. The man had been right: it was good to let loose once in a while.  

Anne stepped out into the brightly overcast day and her heart immediately sank. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. It must still be at the pub, she realized and considering how she felt this morning, it was best she hadn’t driven home. The village was less than a mile down the round.

“Guess I’m walking,” she sighed. As she got close to the front gate, she noticed parts of it were crooked or on the ground as if something had torn them up or, rather, crashed into them. The driveway’s rocks were also strewn about as if something had raced inside towards the house. “What the hell happened?” she asked again. “Seriously.” She struggled to bend over to right a fallen post. She hoped she was able to go to the village and back before Mrs. McKenzie laid her eyes on the results of Anne’s first night in Ireland.

It took less than a half an hour for Anne to reach the small grocery store in the village. A few villagers were out and about on an early afternoon stroll and the store had several customers. Anne grabbed a cart and a few staples as she meandered up and down the aisle. Her headache was dulling with the Advil she had popped before leaving the house and her nausea was coming in fewer waves. The grocery was quaint and tiny but Anne managed to grab coffee, eggs, bread, and few creature comforts to stock up for a few days. 

A few of the customers that passed by Anne kept stealing glances at her. At first, she brushed it off, remembering it was a small town and she was a new face. But after the fifth person glared at her, Anne was starting to feel something was amiss. She felt around her face and hair to see if there was something on it. Was her shirt twisted up somehow? No, that was all fine. No stains on it either. Her fly was zipped. She couldn’t feel anything in her teeth. Why was this gray hair shrunken old woman staring daggers at her.

“Is something wrong?” Anne asked a little too snappily. Her hangover had shortened her temper. “Can I help you with something?”

The old woman huffed and scurried away, glancing back over her shoulder and huffing again. “What the f,” Anne breathed. As she headed towards checkout, a man and his young daughter were also staring at her. “WHAT?” Anne snapped. 

“You owe my daughter a swing, lass,” the man growled. 

“What?”

“A swing. You broke hers last night.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The old woman came up behind them. “She broke two of my windows!” 

Anne spun around on her heel, too fast for her pounding head. “What are you talking about? I didn’t break anything. I wouldn’t!” “Oh yes, it was you!” The old woman pointed a twisted finger at her. “I saw your face, laughing as you ran off!”

“And I saw you pull that swing right off its chains,” the father added. “My daughter has been crying all morning.” Baffled, Anne looked down at the little girl and saw her eyes were red and puffy. 

“I....I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m so sorry. I’ll, um, I’ll pay for them. I’ll pay for them both.” Anne scrambled to grab her wallet from her purse. “I don’t remember doing any of that.”

“You were drunk off your rocker,” the old woman hissed. “Taking a good nightly ride, you were!”

“A what?”

“A nightly ride!” the old woman repeated. “Keep yourself and your trouble off my property!” With that, she scurried away again with her cart, going to another checkout aisle. 

“I’ll pay for the windows!” Anne called after her. She pulled some cash from her wallet. “And the swing,” she said, handing the man two twenties. “Is that enough?” The father nodded, wadding the cash up and into his pocket. “Um, sir, was I with someone else last night? A man?” “No, lass, just you. You’re Mary’s daughter, aren’t you?” Anne confirmed she was. “Ah, well. Sorry about your ma. Grief is tricky. Quit while you’re ahead next time, would you?” He smiled and took his daughter by the hand to continue paying. 

Anne stood frozen for a moment. Her mind racing, she connected that the playground must have been this little girl’s swing set but wasn’t her date with her? As for the old woman’s windows, Anne had no recollection of breaking anything last night, especially a woman’s windows. She peered over the checkout aisle to see if she could spot her to offer her the rest of the cash she had but the old woman must have checked out and left. Pulling out her cell to call her date, Anne realized she still hadn’t gotten the man’s name let alone his phone number. “Shit,” she blurted. Who the hell was that guy?

Heading out of the store, a young couple holding hands passed by her and tossed her a dirty look. Not bothering to inquire as to what she did to them, Anne picked up her pace to breeze past them. She spotted the Horse and Stag pub across the way and her car in the little lot out back. “There you are,” she muttered. Anne crossed the street, tossing her groceries in the trunk and heading to drive off but paused. She was still lost on the events of last night and how they all started. Might as well find out, she thought to herself. 

Yanking open the pub door, she was met with the dank odor of spilled beer and fried food. The pub was different in the daylight; less appealing and more bleak. A few patrons sat at the bar. The bartender caught her eye and broke into a hearty laugh. 

“Why, hello there. How’s the morning treating you?” he snickered. 

“Not great,” Anne said, leaning against the bar. “I thought you might be able to help me, um, retrace some steps.” 

“Sure thing,” the bartender said. He picked up a glass and began polishing. “You left here mighty wasted and hollering that you owned this town.” 

“Wow,” Anne grumbled. She felt her face grow hot. “Great. That, um, I’m not usually like that.”

“Yeah, you said that, too,” the bartender added. “You broke a few of my glasses which is common round these parts but not usually from an American.”

“You haven’t been to America, I take it,” Anne quipped. 

The bartender laughed even harder. “Nah, I haven’t. Thought you might be a bit calmer over there. Anyways, you drank your weight in beer and left around ten, screaming and hollering you were going to let loose on this place.” The bartender leaned towards her as if they were conspiring together. “Did ya?” he whispered. 

Anne sighed. “I guess I did. I got the third degree in the grocery store. What happened to the guy I was with?”

The bartender looked confused. “What guy?”

“The guy I was sitting here with. He was my date and he was the one who encouraged me to drink that much. I don’t usually.” She searched his face but he was still lost. “Tall, wearing a long black coat. Had a suit on for some reason.”

“Huh,” the bartender said. “Don’t recall a guy. But that doesn't matter. I don’t remember every face that comes through that door.”

A slow rise of panic began to crawl up Anne’s neck. “Right, of course. I thought maybe you did. Okay, well, I guess that’s all I did in here.” 

“Some folks came in earlier, said you were taking a nightly ride.”

Anne clutched the bar. “Yeah,what does that mean?”

The bartender chuckled. “We call it a nightly ride. It happens when the pooka comes to get you. Though he usually doesn’t come for new folk.”

“The what?”

The bartender’s laughter died slightly. “Ah, right. No point in explaining our crazy fairy tales to ya. Let’s just say it’s one of our expressions for a very merry evening, lass.”

“And you really don’t remember the guy I was with? He was drinking the dark beer.”

“You made a lot of friends last night. And a lot of enemies it seems. Don’t recall one dark beer over the other,” the bartender replied. He turned and went to grab pints for two men at the end of the bar. Anne kept her hands grasping the bar for a few moments before steeling herself enough to continue back to the house. She called out thank you as she let the pub door close behind her.

Rattling up the driveway, Anne parked and headed out to the backyard to see if the horse was still grazing in the field. It wasn’t and Anne assumed it had wandered off back to its own farm. She went into the house from the back porch, going straight to the kitchen to put the groceries away. The task distracted her from the embarrassing reality that was hanging heavy on her shoulders. Anne, the good girl who never caused a fuss and broke anything that wasn’t hers. Despite a bit of a hellcat phase in her early twenties, Anne was even keeled and calm and never the person she apparently was last night. She instantly blamed the man who had taken her out, cursing him and listing all the things she planned to say when she saw him again.

A knock at the door interrupted her stream of nasty insults directed at the man in the black coat. Anne was not surprised to see Mrs. McKenzie in the doorway, arms crossed and her face dark. 

“Hi, Mrs. McKenzie,” Anne said defeated. 

“Anne,” Mrs. McKenzie stated. “I don’t think I have to tell you why I am here. Those fence posts cost a pretty penny.”

“I’ll pay for them, Mrs. McKenzie,” Anne offered. “I don’t know what happened last night.”

Mrs. McKenzie shuffled and uncrossed and crossed her arms. “I don’t either, lass, but it can not happen again. You’re making yourself a reputation already!”

Anne pinched the bridge of her nose, her headache returning slightly. “Mrs. McKenzie, do you know the young guy who came over yesterday? Black coat, tall. He’s the one who took me out and did...all this.” 

Mrs. McKenzie wrinkled her brow. “A young man? No, Anne, I didn’t see anyone and not sure who you would mean. Not many folks know you’ve moved in here yet. I haven’t had the chance to spread that gossip.” Anne’s heart began to pound in her chest. Who the hell was this guy? Had she imagined it?

“Right, well, I will pay for the fence post,” Anne said quickly. “I am sorry to leave you so quickly but I, uh, have something on the stove. If you could leave me a number of who to call for the fence, I’d get it done right away.”

Mrs. McKenzie pursed her lips and exhaled loudly. “There’s a list in the kitchen, on a pad of paper. Your ma had a place she preferred.” She turned to go. “Perhaps stay in tonight, Annie. Might be good for you. The pooka doesn’t need to have another go at you.” Mrs. McKenzie gave a backwards wave and headed up the driveway.

“What is that? What’s a ‘pooka’?” 

Mrs. McKenzie stopped, her back still to Anne. “A little goblin that likes to take good folk out on nightly rides when they are deep in their drink. A devil, if you ask me, causing mayhem all over.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Be best if you figure out how best to appease him. He’s taken a liking to you.” Mrs. McKenzie breezed through the front gate and was gone out of sight. 

The pad was on the kitchen counter by the toaster. Anne picked it up and began to scan the top piece which was a scribbled drawing, not a list. A black horse with a long mane and almond shaped eyes stared up at her. Anne couldn’t tell if her mother had done this or if it was more recent but she did know it was the same horse that she had seen that morning. Unsure how she was so certain, something told her there was a deeper connection between the animal and what happened last night. Tearing off the drawing and crumpling it in one hand, Anne found the number for the company to fix the fence post and took out her phone to call. The black horse in the yard flashed across her vision and she realized the connection, almost dropping her cell to the kitchen floor. 

The horse and the man who had taken her out, they had the same golden eyes.