THE DEVIL’S HANGNAIL
By Kathleen McDonnell
An old woman was walking down the road on her way to visit her grandchildren. A horse-drawn cart rolled up and stopped beside her. The driver – a young man – called out.
“Like a ride, Miss?”
The old woman considered his offer. The weather was fine, and normally she enjoyed walking. But the young man seemed friendly, and she was a bit flattered to be addressed as “Miss.”
“Why, thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”
She stepped up onto the cart and positioned herself on the bench. The driver did turn out to be a friendly sort, chatting about this and that as they went along the road. At first, the old woman was cordial, but she soon began to grow weary of his chattiness. She realized she preferred to walk after all, but did not wish the young man to think her rude or ungrateful.
She turned toward him and was struck by something in his appearance. His ears were long and folded over, almost like a rabbit’s. She looked away, wondering why she hadn’t noticed this oddity before. But when she turned back toward the young man, his ears looked completely normal.
Could he be a puca, she wondered? One of those loquacious creatures who can change shape at will? A puca can be good or bad. You just never know. But now she definitely wanted to get out and walk.
“May I ask where you are going?” she said. “I don’t wish to take you out of your way.”
“Oh, I think you already know.”
She found his response somewhat unsettling.
“I assure you I don’t,” she replied.
“We are going to the place you don’t want to go.”
We?
A chill ran down her spine. Now she knew. It wasn’t a puca driving the cart.
It was Death.
What to do? She thought of begging for mercy, saying, “Please do not take me from my beloved grandchildren. It will break their hearts.” But she knew it was useless. Death has no pity.
She considered an exchange, asking “Is there something you want? Tell me. I’ll get it for you.” But she knew it was useless. There is no bargaining with Death.
There was nothing to be done. She had to escape. If she could just get him to stop the cart, even for a moment, she could make a run for it. But how?
There was a pub at the crossroads just up the road. She suggested he make a stop there.
“It’s a nice place. The people are very friendly.”
No response. She tried again.
“The owner’s wife makes an excellent tea cake.”
He grunted slightly. Perhaps the mention of the tea cake had piqued his interest. Then…
“What’s it called?”
“What?”
“The pub? What’s it called?”
“You mean the name? I don’t know. I’m not sure it has a name. People around here just know it as the pub at the crossroads.”
He fell silent again. Now they were coming up to the crossroads, and she was beginning to panic. Why did he want to know the name? Why would he care?
“Actually,” she heard herself say, “The pub does have a name.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, I cannot tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a secret. Only the people around here know it.”
He said nothing, but she could tell that he really wanted to know the secret name.
“Since you’ve been so kind as to offer me a ride, I don’t think my neighbors would mind if I told you the name of the pub.”
“Well? What is it?”
The old woman had no idea what she would say until she opened her mouth.
“It’s called… the Devil’s Hangnail.”
For a moment, her words hung in the air. She wondered if he’d heard. Then she watched as he doubled over. His body began to shake and emit peculiar sounds. It was only when he raised his head that she understood what the sounds were: Laughter. Heaving, shrieking laughter. Laughter so untrammeled it made him drop the reins, bringing the horse and cart to a dead stop.
She scrambled off the cart and began running up the road. Behind her the laughter continued, crescendoing into a thunderous roar. Then suddenly, it stopped.
She looked back. The young man, the horse and the cart were gone.
The old woman hurried on till she arrived at her daughter’s cottage, where her grandchildren rushed out to greet her with hugs and kisses. She was overjoyed that her time had not yet come. And she had learned two important lessons:
Never accept a ride from a stranger, when you can walk perfectly well on your own, and:
If you meet Death on the road, don’t bother pleading or trying to bargain.
Just make Death laugh.
