Imagines [Book Four]

American Gods [Mad Sweeney] pt. 1

Since you were a little girl, you've always believed in the otherworldly. But then your mother gets sick and you have other things to worry about. Many years later, your eyes and mind are reopened.

. .

. .

Ever since you were a little girl and learned how to read, you were obsessed with fairytales. But while most little girls were drawn to princes and princesses, you were drawn to fairies, pixies, elves and leprechauns all because of the name you were given at birth. Being named Fela made you believe you were lucky and had some sort of connection to the leprechauns. This was a notion your parents never dissuaded you from and, in fact, your mother encouraged.

So to feel like you had some form of connection with your favorite otherworldly beings, once a month your mother would bake a fresh loaf of sweet bread and you would put a piece of it along with a bottle of sweet cream on the kitchen windowsill. The following morning, the plate would be empty and the sweet cream gone. You always believed a leprechaun had taken it, but once or twice you caught your parents questioning where the food went since neither of them touched it.

The tradition of giving offerings lasted for a few years before your mother became ill. Her mental stability started to dwindle, you spent less and less time with her, and then she was admitted to the hospital for full time observation. You and your twin Stiles spent more and more time with Melissa McCall and her son Scott, and it wasn't long before your mother succumbed to her illness.

It wasn't until after you buried your mother and your father took to the liquor bottle did you remember your tradition. You had no one to bake with, so you asked Mrs. McCall to get you some sweet bread and sweet cream from the store. She thought it was an odd request, but bought it nonetheless. Then one night, after your father had more than a little too much to drink and passed out on the living room couch, you took the bread and sweet cream to your room.

The bread and sweet cream found its way to your windowsill, and you climbed into bed while praying to whoever and whatever was listening that things would get better. Then sometime in the middle of the night, the sound of your window being pushed upward woke you. You sat up, rubbing at your eyes and watched as a hand reached in for the bread.

"Blegh. What is this shit?!" You frown at the heavily accented voice, watching as the hand reaches in again, grabbing the bottle of sweet cream.

Crawling towards the bottom of your bed, you fold your knees beneath you and sit on your legs. You should be scared of the stranger right outside your bedroom window, but you're not. Oddly enough, you feel as if this person is someone you know though you can't place the voice. "Sorry it's not fresh," you say. "Mrs. McCall isn't a baker and she had to buy it from the store."

All movement outside your window ceases and then a moment later, a head of shocking reddish orange hair cut into a mohawk peers in. "What was that, little lamb?"

You smile at the strange man, the smile falling seconds later. "Mom died. This was the best I could do."

The man blinks at you and then suddenly he's folding himself in half just to climb into your room. Your eyes widen at how enormous he is. "Sorry, lass. I had no idea."

"Are you really a leprechaun or are you some homeless guy eating up my leprechaun's offerings?"

His lips twitch. "Your leprechaun, huh?"

"Mhm." You nod. "Daddy's the sheriff. If you're some hobo, he'll shoot you."

The redhead chuckles. "I've had many names and many shapes, little lamb, but alas I've been cursed into who and what I am now. Name's Sweeney. Mad Sweeney."