Author's
Note : The standard disclaimer applies. Mulder
and Scully belong to 1013. I'm only borrowing them
for a moment and intend no infringement. Everyone else belongs
to me. This story may not be archived anywhere either in
part or in whole without my permission. Rated PG-13.
This
story was written as part of the XF Lyric Wheel Challenge with the theme
of monsters.
The
Watcher
by
Gyrfalcon
May 2003
"It’s
just a cemetery statue, Mulder. I think it’s supposed to be a gryphon;
not a particularly well-carved one though," the red-head added with a
critical glare.
Gry
remained still, refusing to rise to the insult to his carver or to himself.
He allowed himself a brief rustle of his feathers and a tiny twitch
of his tail under cover of a rising wind. True, he lacked the traditional
eagle’s head and beak, but frankly he was satisfied with just avian
wings and claws. The ability to ability to roar in the middle of the
night more than made up for the deficiency in traditional form in his
opinion.
Bringing
himself back to the problem at hand, he stared down at the two investigators
he’d briefly glimpsed in the forest last night. Gry was tempted to complain
to the gods about this intrusion, but he ruefully admitted that he had
only himself to blame. He’d been seen; a collision of hunters on the
trail of a man who fed on the innocence and fear of children. Gry’s
rage had been too great to step back and allow the humans to take the
man. A child’s terror had summoned him and he would have vengeance for
her suffering. Wisdom had urged him to slay and leave, but instinct
had made him pause to reassure the child. That pause had given this
man a fleeting glimpse of his shadow as he slipped into the darkness.
Humans
dealt too kindly with these vampires who fed upon the spirit and souls
of children, brutalizing them for their pleasure. Gry took care to deal
out agony with justice. Whether the man deserved to die did not concern
him. Gry was vengeance without mercy – the embodiment of the nightmarish
death of the young girl whose grave he guarded. Her unrequited death
gave birth to the spirit that dwelled within his stone form and decreed
the manner of death he would deal out to those who preyed on children.
In return, he bled whenever the children bled out their innocence at
the hands of monsters.
"Scully,
this statue matches exactly the description Chandra gave of the creature
who attacked Oberson – a big stone lion with wings and huge claws. It’s
the only statue of its kind in a three county area," the man replied
calmly. Gry suspected that he was used to explaining the obvious to
the woman.
Gry
studied the pair as they argued. At first glance, he’d taken the red-head
for the questing mind he’d touched briefly in the forest. She was obviously
a descendant of the Celts who’d understood that vengeance could reach
beyond the grave. Now he realized that she was a stunted child of that
race. She did not believe and had hardened her heart against the mysteries
that lurked beyond her science. The man, on the other hand, had the
look of one who had been to Fey and returned. His eyes were like the
hollow hills where mysteries were remembered. He believed. He sought
the small truths that were shadows of the Great Truth. Gry wished he
could tell him that he was right, that more things moved unseen through
the world of men than he ever believed possible, but the time was not
right.
"Mulder,
Chandra was in shock. She’d been abducted, raped, and nearly strangled
by Oberson before he was killed by a puma attracted by the blood. There’s
no X-Files here, Mulder. Oberson was mauled to death in a national forest
where numerous pumas have been sighted. Chandra was reported to be a
very imaginative child. She simply created a mythical creature to explain
what happened," the red-head retorted sharply.
It
didn’t take preternatural intuition to know that they had had this argument
before. The woman’s voice was edgy, but determined as she refuted the
truth with rationalization and science. Gry was very grateful to science
– it made it all but impossible for any but the children to see him
or, in those rare cases where he encountered a true-seer, to admit that
they had seen him. He was superstition carved in stone perched atop
the grave of a murdered child.
"She
was very calm when I found her, Scully. Calm enough to say that the
lion had told her to be brave because the bad man was dead and she would
be rescued very soon," came the reply from the man apparently undaunted
by the woman’s determined rationalism.
"Mulder,
I’m going to need more than the word of a hysterical child before I’m
even willing to entertain the idea that statues get up and move around,"
Scully retorted defiantly.
Gry
growled deep in his throat at the slur on Chandra, then caught himself
as he heard his claws scrape the surface of the rock. A few feet away,
carved in an eternal nap atop another grave, a small feline statue hissed
sending leaves flying in the air. Distracted, the man turned his head
and Gry relaxed. He had to remember to thank Patches come nightfall.
Maybe one of his old stories would do – She loved old stories, especially
those with heroic cats. Gry put part of his mind culling through stories
to tell.
"It’s
just the wind, Mulder."
Gry
watched her and wondered if she was talking as much to convince herself
as the man. Beneath her layer of scientific denial of the supernatural,
the Celt lived and listened for the sounds of things that go bump in
the night. Gry wondered what she would do if he suddenly rose up in
the air with a single sweep of his wings then returned to his perch.
It was tempting, but the repercussions for all of them here were too
costly. Men had to go on believing that statues didn’t move, think,
laugh, or kill. Of course, Gry acknowledged, not all of them did, but
put a statue in a cemetery and the strangest things were likely to happen.
"There’s
blood on the statue, Scully," Mulder resumed the argument.
I
bleed for the children. Gry whispered silently wishing the man would
understand and go away.
"Hello,"
the cheery voice of Father Kearny broke through the morning fog to Gry’s
relief. He had never been able to decide if Father Kearney knew that
the statues in his cemetery were sentient, but he always had a cheerful
word of greeting to say to each of them whenever he passed through.
Even the grumpy Weeping Angel in the old part of the cemetery brightened
up at this courtesy. Gry had had to warn Patches about her purring response
more than once. Gry seized the moment to cautiously curl his claws tighter
on the stone. He’d been in too much of a hurry to return here before
daylight to thoroughly clean them. Ordinarily this wouldn’t matter,
people were easily persuaded that the evidence of their eyes was mistaken,
but Gry was taking no chances with this man. He saw entirely too clearly
and all he needed was a hint that he was on the right trail to pursue
it to the truth.
"Father,
what do you know about this statue?" Mulder asked brusquely.
"Ah,
admiring the lad, are you? He’s over a hundred years old; carved in
Wales and shipped over by special commission by the father of the girl
buried here," Kearney said proudly. "There was a bit of a fuss at the
time about putting a mythological creature on consecrated ground, but
the priest at the time put his foot down and he came in. He’s a bit
of a local mystery," Kearney said proudly.
"Why?"
Mulder asked while Scully smiled politely. Gry suspected that she would
have rolled her eyes if it had been anyone other than a priest spinning
the tale.
"He
cries blood."
"Like
this?" Mulder asked, pointing to two small red pools on Gry’s muzzle.
"He’s
doing it again." Kearney shook his head after giving Gry a sympathetic
look. "I’ve had a stonemason out here along with a geologist and they
say it has something to do with the composition of the stone and atmospheric
changes. Perfectly logical, but I like to think that there’s something
of a mystery involved. Life would be pretty dull if everything could
be explained away," Kearney said cheerfully.
‘Would
you say that this statue has the ability to get up and move around,
Father?" Scully asked with a shade more contempt than Gry liked to hear.
He was on her side in her attempts to dissuade Mulder from pursuing
the investigation, but a bit more humility in the face of the unknown
would be prudent, in his opinion.
"Never
heard that he has," Kearney replied cautiously after a searching glance
at Gry who concentrated on being an immovable statue.
"Chandra
Ralls claims a stone lion flew in to rescue her," Scully said before
Mulder could say a word.
"Ah,
the young girl who was kidnapped. Well, if a child sees an avenging
angel they’re likely to see it in a form that is most reassuring to
them. If she believes in this lion, then it’s real to her."
"I
don’t think it was an angel she saw, Father," Scully retorted sharply.
"Angels
come in many forms, Miss. And in many unlikely ones. However, the gates
have been locked all night and the watchman didn’t report any flying
statues, so I suspect the girl saw what she most needed to see," Kearney
replied, not quite looking at Mulder who was alternately staring at
him and at the statues scattered about the cemetery.
"If
you have a record of when the statue has bled, I’d like to see it,"
Mulder asked politely after giving Gry one last stare that left no doubt
that he was not buying the logical explanations. It was clear that he
wasn’t giving up, but had accepted that he wasn’t going to win this
round with both Scully and Father Kearney offering competing, but logical
explanations for the child’s testimony.
Gry
watched them walk away until they turned the corner towards the chapel
and Father Kearney’s office. He had a reprieve. Gry relaxed his guard
and allowed himself to slip into sleep. If the gods were merciful, he
would not bleed again.
The
End
Lyrics
"I Bleed"
recorded by the Pixies
| lyrics
by Black Francis
as loud as hell
a ringing bell
behind my smile
it shakes my teeth
and all the while
as vampires feed
prithee, my dear,
why are we here
nobody knows
we go to sleep
as breathing flows
my mind secedes
I bleed.
