Gargoyle Rising

by Meraki P. Lyhne

  “Good night, sister.” Tavi smiled and left the room.

  Rebecca washed the mugs and made ready for bed. She liked the routine of it and couldn’t understand Tavi’s ability to walk among the profane the way he did. How he could party, and... she’d seen him walk home from one—drunk and with a girl rubbing her body all over him. She admired him, though—admired his ability to stay virtuous even though the harlots tried so hard to seduce him.

  She shivered at the thought of playing up to Alex the way she had. He was by no means an unattractive man, and she knew he attended mass often. His reputation was that of a gentleman, and she wondered whether he really was.

  She finished in the bathroom and went to her bed, finding her rosary in the bedside drawer. She then kissed the feet of Jesus on the crucifix and knelt by the bed to pray.

  Soon, Father would come to them and maybe answer some of all her questions. He would advise her on how to proceed.

  Chapter Four

  Meino felt groggy when he sat up on his sofa-bed the next morning. Seeing the candles and book lying out reminded him why that was. But he had to fix an old VW Golf, so he couldn’t just stay in bed and pretend he hadn’t heard the alarm clock.

  It dawned on him that he hadn’t heard it, and he turned his head to find he’d overslept by two hours. At least he didn’t have a boss to chew his ass anymore. He was his own boss, and bosses were allowed to sleep in when haunted by nightmares.

  He scrambled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, where he started a pot of coffee before heading to the bathroom. The coffee was made by the time he’d taken a quick shower and brushed his teeth. He took a sip and cringed, deciding his subconscious mind had apparently found him to need the caffeine enough to lose count and pour in an extra scoop. It was so bitter he had to add milk.

  Once dressed, he topped off the cup and took it to the balcony. The sun was up, and that was a clear indication he’d overslept. Half a cup later, he felt more human again, collecting his thoughts enough to think that he couldn’t stretch it any longer. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d called in sick the day after the yearly nightmares, but it was the first time he’d have to call himself.

  He smiled at the idea of calling the garage to call in sick. Turning, he dropped his coffee cup at the sight of the Gargoyle crouching by the door.

  “Oh, fuck,” he muttered and stepped back.

  Meino...

  “What?”

  Meino...

  It was the deep baritone voice he thought he’d heard all those years ago. That voice from the dreams, but no longer twisted by agony and longing. Instead, it was a soft whisper full of relief.

  “It’s you,” Meino whispered.

  Yes, finally, I am with you. Finally, we are not alone.

  “I didn’t get enough sleep, that’s the explanation... the only logical explanation,” Meino said to himself and took a tentative step toward the Gargoyle.

  Never fear me.

  Yeah, right! Meino turned, ran to the fire escape, and descended the stairs so fast he almost tripped down the last three steps.

  Never fear me...

  It sounded like the voice had followed him, and Meino sprinted around the building and straight for the garage door. It was locked. Of course, it was locked—he hadn’t unlocked it yet. Meino scolded himself and fumbled through his pockets for the keys, trying to stay calm and not hear the voice whispering at him.

  I’m sorry...

  “Mr. Ackermann?”

  Meino jumped, and his heart momentarily found its way into his throat. He turned to find the man whose Golf was on the lift.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?”

  “No, yes, I mean... I didn’t sleep well. Seeing... ghosts.”

  The man frowned, and Meino turned to unlock the door.

  “I’m sorry, come on in, I’ll just get the lights.” Meino held the door for his customer.

  “You haven’t finished, then?”

  “No, I only just got up, and as far as I remember our agreement was this afternoon.”

  “Oh. My wife thought you said before noon.”

  “No, this will take four hours. Unless something teases me, and something always does on old cars.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the most reliable car I’ve ever had.”

  “They refuse to go down,” Meino said, nodding at the man’s statement. German diesel.

  “Yeah,” the man said, looking toward the car. It was well-maintained, and Meino sent a thought to the Charger behind the wall dividing the garage. He usually didn’t want his customers to see his project, but the man seemed to be able to understand that special love, judging by the way he looked at his own car.

  “Let me show you something,” Meino said, waving the man to follow him. The man trailed him to the door. Meino took a deep breath, ridding himself of the morning weirdness, and opened the door.

  “Oh, wow, she’s gonna cost a pretty penny to restore.”

  Meino had been right in his assumptions about the man’s love for cars. “Yeah. She was my dad’s.”

  “Seventy Charger?”

  “Sixty-nine. Look at her tail.” Meino stepped back to let the man into his sanctuary. The man’s gaze glided along the raw chassis, his eyes glistening with visions of the car’s potential, and Meino smiled at the kindred spirit he glimpsed.

  “How do you spot the difference?”

  “Well, there are a few details. The grill, the position and length of the tail lights. The front is split in two, the seventy is whole.”

  “Ah... may I?” The man moved his hand as if to touch the car.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Meino said, smiling at his enthusiasm. The man ran his hand along the chassis, and Meino watched to see if he’d find the slight bumps from where it had been necessary for Meino to hammer out a new body part. But the smile never faltered.

  “What color are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking orange, but then again, I don’t want to give away the engine. Maybe turquoise to tease the nerds.”

  “Hmm.” The man nodded, taking in the entirety of the design, and Meino smiled at the dreamy look on his face. “The nerds?”

  Meino chuckled. “Yeah, the B-series engines of sixty-nine with a three-eighty-three were turquoise. The four-twenty-six hemi was orange. Making the body that color would send a signal.”

  “Ah, clever,” the man said, nodding.

  “You have other loves than the Golf?” Meino asked, walking to the door.

  “Yeah, but nothing with the kind of muscle this beauty has. I play golf, though.”

  Meino snorted.

  “Plus my wife sees a car as a means of transportation, and that’s it. Getting to keep that one and not trade it in was quite the struggle.”

  “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” Meino had heard couples argue about a car being repaired before, and he’d heard a few women, and men for that matter, argue that if it took that long to fix, then it wasn’t worth it. “Tell you what. I’ll spring for a cup of freshly made coffee, and you tell the wife that the delay is because I overslept.”

  “No, I’d put you in a bad light. But I wouldn’t mind the coffee.”

  Maino went to the break room with his customer following closely behind. “Okay. Tell her my lift was acting up. A new garage never starts with new and top notch inventory. Still getting to know some of the temperamental stuff here. Like the tire changer. I swear that thing is possessed.”

  The man chuckled, and Meino’s thoughts returned to the stone statue kneeling by the door to the roof terrace. At least he didn’t hear it anymore. It had to be the lack of sleep.

  The man chitchatted about cars while Meino made his way to the Golf, and that morning he really didn’t mind the company. Usually he liked being alone with the car and his thoughts, but he was still rattled by the night and morning, and he feared that if the man shut up, his mind would take him back t
o his spooky problems.

  They had their morning coffee together, and the man talked and asked questions while Meino fixed his car. At some point, the man obviously felt they had become close enough to introduce himself as Jochim.

  “She’s nagging me to buy a new car... what... when this one can’t go the distance anymore, what would you recommend?”

  “Are you expecting it to give up anytime soon?”

  “Well, you know. This and that all the time.”

  That peeked Meino’s interest. “Like?”

  “Like breaks hanging, the hand break going lose, the door hanging...”

  “In how long?” Meino remembered his dad saying something about material objects having a soul. Having a stone creature kneel by his door overnight certainly put that into perspective, but Meino shrugged that thought quickly enough. His dad had talked about a car giving notice to when it was getting tired. It would start up with little things, and the little things would become more frequent. Like it wanted to see how loved it was. No person would stay in a relationship if they felt unwanted, and it was the same for a car.

  Meino smiled to himself, thinking back to his favorite movie as a child—Herbie. He had always dreamed of a car that came alive. The Transformers movies had been a new look into that dream.

  And his thoughts were back with the Gargoyle.

  He shook his head. “Jochim, would you get us another cup of coffee?”

  “Sure thing!” Jochim ran off, and Meino did a quick inspection of the usual suspects on a Golf from ninety-two.

  “Tell you what, Jochim. This car is getting tired, but I do some scouting for restoration cars once in a while. I don’t have one out back that I think you’d fall in love with, but I’ll keep my eyes open for you. Give this one a max of two years, but if it throws another brake or brake cylinder, give me a call immediately.”

  Jochim smiled. “Well, you got yourself a steady customer, that’s for sure.”

  “Spread the word, please.”

  “Oh, I will. Is it that bad?” Jochim motioned toward his car.

  “No, I’ve seen worse, but it sounds like the wife doesn’t love the car as much as you do. And she’s gonna need some work.”

  “The wife or the car?”

  Meino laughed loudly, drying his hands to take the cup. “Well, I’ll take care of the car, and you get the wife.”

  “Well, after sixteen years married, I sometimes think the car would be less trouble.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Jochim.”

  Three months open and a customer like that. Meino wished they’d all be like Jochim, but he’d already had his share of you’re a mechanic, I make more than you, so shut up and don’t think you know anything customers.

  Meino assembled the top and tightened lose things here and there while Jochim explained something about a Toyota straight out of an article from last month’s car appendix in the Sunday paper. Meino let it slide, thinking the guy needed it and at least didn’t try to sound like a know-it-all. He turned everything into a question to be confirmed, and Meino sometimes pretended it was new information, giving the guy some confidence in his—albeit limited and strictly theoretical—knowledge of cars.

  “Let’s see how she runs.” Meino put the mechanic’s cover over the seat before he climbed in to start it up. The Golf purred like a kitten, and Jochim smiled, slapping his hands together. “Mind if I take her around the block?”

  “No, no, go.”

  “You can come.”

  Jochim hopped in, and Meino took care of the gate. They took the car around the block where the garage was situated, and Meino listened for any other little things.

  Once back, Jochim smiled at him. “It’s all ready to go?”

  “The release bearing is shot, hear that? When I step on the clutch, it gives off this noise.” Meino pressed the clutch down for a few seconds, then released.

  “Oh, no.”

  “It’s gonna last, don’t worry, it’s just one more I’m-tired reminder.”

  “Another two years?”

  “Yeah, since it’s only this far along. It’ll get louder and louder. I just know what to listen for to spot it early on.”

  “Ah,” Jochim said, nodding.

  “Well, all fixed, and not a lot of teasing on her part.” Meino petted the dashboard.

  “Okay, thanks. Let’s go take care of the bill, then.”

  “Let’s.” Meino shut off the engine and took Jochim to the small office, remembering the mechanic’s cover, which he dropped in a corner of the office. Jochim paid the bill, thanked Meino, and took off in his Golf.

  Meino smiled and did the paperwork while his stomach reminded him he hadn’t put anything but coffee in it so far. It was almost one in the afternoon, and since he lived upstairs, he never packed a lunchbox to bring down to the garage. Today he wished he had, because he really didn’t want to go upstairs.

  With so many hours in between, he wondered about all he’d seen that morning and decided to go back upstairs by the fire escape. He locked off the garage, hung the sign saying he was at lunch, and made his way around the building. Once high enough up the stairs to peek over the ledge of the roof, he saw the Gargoyle sitting there, and his heart sped up.

  “Shit.”

  But the Gargoyle stayed quiet. And why wouldn’t it? It had been his imagination, but then where the hell had the Gargoyle come from?

  Standing on the top rung, Meino stared at the huge stone creature crouching by the door, and it didn’t move. Had he expected it to? It looked exactly like he remembered, but not as big. That was probably because Meino had grown up since then. But it still looked remarkably human except for the wings, the pointy ears, the tail, and its feet and lower legs. As it was crouching, it was difficult to see properly, but the Gargoyle was huge, strong-looking, and naked except for a loincloth.

  Meino finally stepped onto the roof. As he stood square in front of the Gargoyle, though, something seemed off. Going through his memories of the statue, which had always made him feel safe, he finally noticed that its right arm was not straight and supporting it on its knuckles like the left. The right arm was bent, with its palm turned up. It looked like it cupped something in its hand.

  Meino took a deep breath for courage, and his stomach rumbled and twisted painfully from lack of food. He didn’t have all day to get past the thing and into his apartment to find food, so he stepped closer. And closer. Thinking himself ridiculous, he finally took the last five steps to stand in front of it. His gaze fell to the Gargoyle’s palm, where a broken and a whole vial lay.

  “Oh, fuck,” he whispered as he recognized them. “What the hell are you?”

  But it didn’t answer. Meino reached out slowly, but he feared it would grab his hand if he tried to pick up the unbroken vial, so he finally ripped open the terrace door and stormed inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He felt insane for doing so.

  He stepped over the book and candles to get to the kitchen, where he reheated something from the day before and ate, leaning against the fridge while keeping his eyes on the door. From there he could see the elbow and sharp angle of the Gargoyle’s triceps muscle. He’d never really looked at its muscles. Being eleven, he’d been focused on the loss of first his mom, then his dad. Later came the focus on why he didn’t like girls.

  With the last few mouthfuls still on his plate, Meino closed in on the door to peek through the glass to see more. More muscle. And yeah, if they were made to be watchmen, then no wonder they either looked like devils, feral animals or... strong and mighty beings.

  From that angle, Meino could make out its profile, and it had a strong and chiseled jaw. The pun almost made him laugh. But everything was fine. He’d even put the word beautiful to it. It was theorized that people felt attracted to beauty and trusted beautiful people more than... well, ugly was a harsh word to use for anyone or thing. But less symmetrical. Was its face symmetrical? He had no intention of go
ing outside to stare at it in order to find out. Besides, he’d finished his plate of food, and a Suzuki awaited an oil change.

  Meino left through the front door, ascended the stairs, and used the back entrance to the garage. The last few hours went by fast, and he was soon left with only the Charger or straightening up his apartment from when he’d finished the spell. Finally he opted to go grocery shopping in his work clothes.

  But his thoughts wouldn’t leave the stone creature crouching by his door as he walked the aisles at the grocery store. He tried to push it from his mind. Even as he made it home and emptied the bag, he kept trying to think about anything but the vials in the Gargoyle’s hand.

  He prepared dinner—an omelet and an apple were all he could muster—while his mind kept going back to how the vials could be there. Somewhere along the way, he managed to clear the floor and make room for himself to sit.

  The old book caught his attention, and he read a few pages while he ate. But the savoring of his meal was cut short as someone rapped on the glass of the terrace door.

  Meino jumped back on the sofa, dropping his fork, which landed halfway on the edge of the plate and catapulted the egg on it across the room. Gasping for air, he stared at the Gargoyle, standing on the other side.

  Meino, please talk to me. Don’t fear me. I come as called to watch over you. Please tell me from whom you need protection?

  The baritone voice was still in his head, as it had been that morning and back then in the crypt. Staring at its face, now illuminated by the light from the apartment, Meino saw nothing threatening, but adrenaline was still coursing through his body, making his mouth go dry and his ears thud from blood being pumped by his eardrums too fast.

  “As called?”

  I cried with you. At the loss of your father. I cried at being alone. I’ve cried since at being alone.

  Meino’s heart ached, not only from reliving his own torment, but especially from the sadness in the baritone voice, rising in pain. He’d called it to him, and it was in pain because of what he’d felt those many years ago. He felt like an asshole, so he finally left the sofa to unlock the terrace door and open it. And he finally saw how huge it was. It had to dip its head to come through the six-foot seven-inch opening. Its wings were packed tightly against its back, drawing down to fit through the width of the door, and Meino stepped back, stumbling over three books and a shirt on the floor as he backed away.