visible and then Jhonathan struck her head with the rocks he had.
Jhonathan collected his 5,000 crowns and he and his father lived
happily ever after.
The End
STEPHEN
KING
Keyholes
The
Leprechaun
by
Stephen King
Incomplete novel King was writing for his son Owen in 1983. King
had written several pages of the story in longhand in a notebook
and then transcribed them. While on a trip to California, he wrote
about 30 more pages of the story in the same notebook, which was
lost off the back of his motorcycle (somewhere in coastal New
Hampshire) on a trip from Boston to Bangor. He mentioned that he
could reconstruct what was lost, but had not gotten around to it (as
of June, 1983). The only part that still exists today is the 5
typescript pages that had been transcribed. The 5 pages, plus a 3-
page cover letter to a senior editor at Viking are now owned by a
King collector.
Once upon a time--which is how all the best stories start-- a little
boy named Owen was playing outside his big red house. He was
pretty bored because his big brother and big sister, who could
always think of things to do, were in school. His daddy was
working, and his mom was sleeping upstairs. She asked him if he
would like a nap, but Owen didn't really like naps. He thought they
were boring.
He played with his G.I. Joe men for awhile, and then he went
around to the back and swung on the swing for awhile. He gave the
tetherball a big hit with his first--ka-bamp!--and watched the rope
wind up as the ball went around and around the pole. He saw his
big sister's softball bat lying in the grass and wished Chris, the big
boy who sometimes came to play with him, was there to throw him
a few pitches. But Chris was in school too. Owen walked around
the house again. He thought he would pick some flowers for his
mother. She liked flowers pretty well.
He got around to the front of the house and that was when he saw
Springsteen in the grass. Springsteen was his big sister's new cat.
Owen liked most cats, but he didn't like Springsteen much. Hie
was big and black, with deep green eyes that seemed to see
everything. Every day owen had to make sure that Springsteen
wasn't trying to eat Butler. Butler was Owen's guinea pig. When
Springsteen thought no one was around, he would jump up on the
shelf' where Butler's big glass cage was and stare in through the
screen on top with his hungry green eyes. Springsteen wuld sit
there, all crouched down, and hardly move at all. Springsteen's tail
would wag back and forth a little, and sometimes one of his ears
would flick a bit, but that was all. I'll get in there pretty soon, you
cruddy little guinea pig, Springsteen seemed to say. And when I
get you, I'll eat you! Better believe it! If guinea pigs say prayers,
you better say yours!
Whenever Owen saw Springsteen the cat up on Butler's shelf, he
would make him get down. Sometimes Springsteen put his claws
out (although he knew better than to try to put them in Owen) and
Owen imagined the black cat saying, You caught me this time, but
so what? Big deal! Someday you won't! And then, yum! yum!
dinner is served! Owen tried to tell people that Springsteen wanted
to eat Butler, but nobody believed him.
"Don't worry, Owen," Daddy said, and went off to work on a
novel that's what he did for work.
"Don't worry, Owen," Mommy said, and went off to work on a
noivel-because that was what she did for work, too.
"Don't worry, Owen" Big Brother said, and went off to watch The
Tomorrow People on TV.
"You just hate my cat!" Big sister said, and went off to play The
Entertainer on the piano.
But no matter what they said, Owen knew he'd better keep a good
old eye on Springsteen, because Springsteen certainly did like to
kill things. Worse, he liked to play with them before he killed
them. Sometimes Owen would open the door in the morning and
there would be a dead bird on the doorsteo. Then he would look
further, and there would be Springsteen crouched on the porch rail,
the tip of his tail switching slightly and his big green eyes looking
at Owen, as if to say: Ha! I got another one... and you couldn't stop
me, could you? Then Owen would ask permission to bury the dead
bird. Sometimes his mommy or daddy would help him.
So when Owen saw Springsteen on the grass of the front lawn, all
crouched down with his tail twirching, he thought right away that
the cat might be playing with some poor, hurt little animal. Owen
forgot about picking flowers for his mom and ran over to see what
Springsteen had caught.
At first he thought Springsteen didn't have anything at all. Then
the cat leaped, and Owen heard a very tiny scream from the grass.
He saw something green and blue between Springsteen had was
shrieking and trying to get away. And now Owen saw something
else-little spots of blood on the grass.
"No!" Owen shouted. "Get away, Springsteen!" The cat flattened
his ears back and turned towards the sound of Owen's voice. His
big green eyes glared. The green and blue thing between
Springsteen paws squiggled and wiggled and got away. I started to
run and Owen saw it was a person, a little tiny man wearing a
green hat made out of a leaf. The little man looked back over his
shoulder, and Owen saw how scared the little guy was. He was no
bigger than the mice Springsteen sometimes killed in their big dark
cellar. The little man had a cut down one of his cheeks from one of
Springsteen's claws.
Springsteen hissed at Owen and Owen could almost hear him say:
"Leave me alone, he's mine and I'm going to have him!"
Then Springsteen jumped for the little man again, just as quick as a
cat can jump-and if you have a cat of your own, you'll know that
is very fast. The little man in the grass tried to dodge away, but he
didn't quite make it, Owen saw the back of the little man's shirt
tear open as Springsteen's claws ripped it apart. And, I am sorry to
say, he saw more blood and heard the little man cry out in pain. He
went tumbling in the grass. His little leaf hat went flying.
Springsteen got ready to jump again.
"No, Springsteen, no!" Owen cried. "Bad cat!"
He grabbed Springsteen. Springsteen hissed again, and his needle-
sharp teeth sank into one of Owen's hands. It hurt worse than a
doctor's shot. "Ow!" Owen yelled, tears coming to his eyes. But he
didn't let go of Springsteen. Now Springsteen started clawing at
Owen, but Owen would not let go. He ran all the way to the
driveway with Springsteen in his hands. Then he put Springsteen
down. "Leave him alone, Springsteen!" Owen said, and, trying to
think of the very worst thing he could, he added: "Leave him alone
or I'll put you in the Oven and bake you like a pizza!"
Springsteen hissed, showing his teeth. His tail switched back and
forth-not just the tip now but the whole thing.
"I don't care if you are mad!" Owen yelled at him. He was still
crying a little, because his hands hurt as if he had put them in the
fire. They were both bleeding, one from Springsteen biting him
and one from Springsteen clawing him. "You can't kill people on
our lawn even if they are little!"
Springsteen hised again and backed away. Okay, his mean green
eyes seemed to say. Okay for this time. Next time... we'll see!
Then he turned and ran away. Owen hurried back to see it the little
man was all right.
At first he thought the little man was gone. Then he saw the blood
on the grass, and the little leaf hat. The little man was nearby, lying