In The Little People, O’Mullligan, an old Irishman, sits in a wooden chair illuminated by firelight on a dark stage. He speaks of the Little People, whom he loves and has seen many times. He leaves dark chocolates, creamed corn, and applesauce out for them at night. He says the Little People are mischievous and change the tv channel when he falls asleep and once they painted his tallywhacker green with a little smiley face on top. He says the Little People are good, with tender emotions. Around Christmas every year “we” put out mouse traps with dark chocolate and, if the trap doesn’t kill them, their necks are snapped and then they are fried in butter. The women and the little babies, he says, are delicious, their little heads crunching like walnuts. He loves the Little People, but he prefers enchiladas.