SPOOKSHOW BABIES!! 💀💀💀

   “ I do not know what a  ‘leprechaun’  is. ”

And how could he?  …  his priorities do not align, yet, with non-major cultural mythologies.  ‘Zilla has been working his way through human culture and folklore from the broadest branch down, and thus far, he has barely scratched the surface of the dominant religions and regional beliefs  –  the practices of people;  what they are meant to represent.  Jojo has had no more time to look into funny, gold-possessive little people in green hats than he’s had to look into nightcrawlers and bogeymen.  Jojo feels no shame in taking his time.

One huge cleat comes down near the tiny creature, attempting to nudge him aside with his heel.  Earth expedition and years of unkempt wear have turned Jojo’s outfits dingy and threadbare, suits too soft, shoes too filthy.  There is a smear of river-dirt left on the Leprechaun’s hip, where he pushes him aside, and the Klown does not so much as apologize for the mess.  The Leprechaun is aggravating him.  One ear has begun to rhythmically flick  –  a cow swatting at flies  –  and his tail swishes side to side, side to side, lashing against some invisible plexus.  It would be very easy to flick the man-thing into the treeline.  The thought of the silence following his inevitable splatter against a tree trunk delights Jojo;  he cannot suppress his smile  –  ear to ear, all fangs.

The pack on his back is heavy with iron and gold.

   “ If this truly belongs to you, then I do not     understand why you feel so inclined to d-    -efend your right to it.   ‘M’lad, I dropped     that.    Might you give it here, please?’     You see?– I’d have listened.  But you did     not approach me this way.   you came at     me accusing me of theft.  I am no thief. ”

A massive claw fishes into the Leprechaun’s pocket, fumbling to reclaim his find.

   “ So we will try again.    This time, you are                                   going to say  please. ”

   The responding shriek that tears from Lep’s throat is piercing and animal. Outraged. Who in the name of his sainted mother does this LUMBERING BUFFOON think he is, pawing at Lep like some whore on the street corner?! The insolence of him! The bleedin’ nerve!

   “I beg no one for nothin’!”

   This enormous waste of oxygen doesn’t know what a leprechaun is? Ohhh, then he’ll gladly give him a demonstration!

   With teeth bared and eyes blown wide with fury — the bottom lid of the left one twitching — Lep jerks his hand upward, palm facing his adversary and a familiar, intoxicating heat beginning to ebb through his veins, making its way to his fingertips. He’s fortunate that they’re surrounded by forest, and that he’s so close to as much of his beloved gold as he is; the extra surge of power of more than welcome after so many years of stagnation underground.

   It’s just what he needs to send him skidding back several feet — a harsh, jerky movement that would leave most mortals reeling from the shock of it. Lep smirks, just slightly short of breath, forked tongue running over parted lips. Tosses the newly reclaimed gold nugget up in the air, then catches it between two talons, smugly brandishing it for them both to see.

   “Ah, it’s good to be back!” he boasts to no one in particular, letting loose a high-pitched, cackling laugh. Blows on his gold, then, polishing it on his breast pocket and sneering at the other man... or whatever he is.

   “Now what was that about saying please?” Lep makes a point of eyeing that pack the big lad’s been lugging around. How painfully easy it’ll be, he thinks, to take it from him. Like candy from an oversized baby. “It’s rather difficult to hear ya, lad, what with all that loose change you’ve got rattlin’ around in there.” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. A barely concealed threat.

she reminds him of somebody.  couldn’t ever place who  –  never had enough exposure to her to place, exactly, who.  had to’ve been somebody believed in the good of men.  somebody believed in healing.  every time he’s seen her, it’s ate at him;  he’s searched a million memories squashed down with his boot:  dug and dug until he found something that hurt so much he had to stop trying.  wanted to remember.  couldn’t remember.  couldn’t get a proper  scent  on her.

‘till now.

it hits him when she stands in his doorway, her small fist closed around the handle of an icebox that looks about half a lifetime too old to function.  the beast’s eyes are bloodshot with lack of sleep.  they haven’t given him a perch, and the first time he’d dug his claws into the foam lining of the ceiling, ruth’d just about had his head for it.  thought he was being malicious, didn’t seem to understand that he’s got this  –  this urge to be  up.  always gotta be up.  up was safe;  no one ever looked up.  no.  ruth hadn’t understood, so what rest he has gotten was in a corner, tight-jointed and painfully crouched.  ain’t his house, so he don’t feel right laying down.  hasn’t stretched, hasn’t decompressed his back.  the smell in here is  terrible. 

and susan’s still there, talking sweet to him, smile on her face  –  like they’re friendly.   she don’t hold no fear of you, no fear of you, no fear …

[ INT. MEDICAL WARD - OLD WEST - GOLD-MINING TOWN - NIGHT. ] It is a moonless evening, all darkness filtering in through glassless windows.  A TALL MAN  lies alone on a bed of knots and straw.  We can only see him from behind.  His clothes, black as coal and partly shredded, do not betray his injuries  –  but a white blood-soaked linen clings to a mural of shrapnel littering the space between his shoulderblades.  

[ EXT. ROADVIEW (LONG) - OLD WEST - GOLD-MINING TOWN - NIGHT. ] THE OLD SALOON SMOULDERS DOWN THE STREET.  It is in ruin.  WE ZOOM TO FOCUS ON THE WRECKAGE.  A few men pick through the ashes, but they don’t find much.  Bone and empty shell.

[ INT. MEDICAL WARD - OLD WEST - GOLD-MINING TOWN - NIGHT. ] A PRETTY, YOUNG WOMAN  enters the dusty red excuse for a hospital.  She is in nurse’s garb  –  as close to white and uniform as her wardrobe’d allow, the collar high and the skirts low, cap covering hair, socks covering skin.  She sits by the tall man, who groans in response.  While he doesn’t stand, or even sit upright, the shot of them together shows us that he dwarfs her by comparison.  Her tiny hand enters his mane of hair, and after a moment, we hear him start to snore.

susan, all grey and pink and pastel.  all gentle.  but she’s seen hell, he knows  –  can smell it on her  –  and in spite of himself, he goes lax.  those lashes sweeping over his eyes are too long, those eyes too pretty to belong to a thing like him.  

the creeper stretches, lazy cat, and rolls onto his back.  shows her his belly with a  trumpeting  sound.  his jaw hangs open, when he looks at her:  pleading.  he can feel the stab of pain below his ribs.  is he desperate?  is he lonely?  is he actually glad for the company?  who’s to say  –  he’ll only say one thing, one thing.  the one thing his brain will let him think.

—  -        FEED ME !

   Some monster, Susan muses. Not because she looks down on him, or because she has any doubt of what he’s capable of, but because of how he’d greeted her. No hissing, no spitting, no threats or hostility; just a frightened, hungry creature asking for his meal. And even if he had greeted her with anger, Susan would have understood. For all the trouble he’s caused, she doesn’t think this is the solution for getting him to behave — or, more importantly, getting him to trust them. You can’t punish someone without first explaining what they’ve done wrong, or else they won’t recognize the action as punishment in the first place. ( “Because I said so, Susan,” are words that still ring in her ears to this day. )

   The last thing this man needs is reason to believe they’re hurting him for the fun of it, and as much as she respects her mother, Susan knows Ruth’s patience with this entire situation has been worn thin. Between the the rescue of Belial Bradley, the stress of trying to keep an entire household calm and Belial’s subsequent injuries at the hands of his captor, Ruth doesn’t much have sympathy or understanding to spare. And that’s where Susan comes in.

   “It’s alright, I’ve got exactly what you need,” she soothes. Carefully setting the handle of the cooler down on the ground, Susan kneels to undo the cable lock, then the latches of the cooler itself. Meets the eyes of the beast — intelligent eyes. Human eyes, both figuratively and literally. Perhaps at one point they’d been wild, glazed over with bloodlust and fury, but Susan does not see that now. Does not recognize a wild animal staring back at her. She gives him a simple nod, opening the lid and pushing the insulated container towards him. Right there, sitting atop a pile of ice, is a freshly-acquired liver.

   “We saw that yours is failing,” is all Susan says. She steps back, sure to keep a wide berth between the Creeper and herself. He’ll surely be excited by his feast, and he’s much bigger than her — not to mention that massive wing still attached to his back. Susan’s been knocked over enough times to know when and how to avoid it by now. “So Granny Ruth had that ordered right away.”

   She does care about you, she wants so badly to tell him. She may not like you very much right now, but she does care about you.