Piper and the Gren - Part 7

“Struggling won’t help you,” cooed Critter.

Piper’s feet thrashed. She tried to roll but her face was pinned against the damp ground. The taste of sweat filled her mouth as she bit down on the hand Critter had forced over her mouth. He stifled a yell but smoothly moved his hand to her throat.

“Do that again…and you’ll be joining your dead friends here.” A wicked snarl spread across his face as he let Piper taste just a trickle of air. She wheezed loudly but calmed her fighting.

Piper sought confidence by struggling to remember the small, frightened man she had seen behind Critter’s façade. As he knelt over her in the darkness, however, she was unable to find anything but her own fear. She knew what a braver Piper would say to this man and could only hope that acting like a braver Piper would be enough.

“You don’t scare me,” she lied in a croaking voice, the movement of her mouth grinding dirt across her lips.

His eyes flashed dangerously, “Then I’m not trying hard enough,” he whispered. Piper fought as a cloth of some sort was stuffed into her mouth. As she resumed her kicking, Critter rolled her onto her back. There was a tearing sound followed by duct tape slapped across her mouth. She threw her hands toward his face, imagined gouging his eyes with her fingernails but he deftly caught her attack and taped her hand together before she was sure what had happened. Her feet were quickly immobilized in the same way.

“Ya see,” Critter explained as her worked, “I had this gren thing figured all wrong. I’ve been bringing it food. I’ve been offering it shining little trinkets. But it ignored me. I’ve lit candles and danced around all prayin’ like. I’ve even killed a cat or two for it. But it just sits there in its tree and chases me off if I get too close. But the Old Man got his attention, right? Tortured him a little kid and suddenly the gren’s all buddy-buddy with him.”

Piper struggled against her bonds, but couldn’t move. Her screams were nothing more than muffled moans and it was difficult to breath as tears filled her eyes and nose.

“I mean, if the gren liked a few rocks,” Critter’s lip trembled as his eyes followed the curves of Piper’s body, “it’s gonna love this.”

As the wiry man slowly unfastened his belt, Piper felt her mind drifting from the events occurring to her. Her eyes focused past the nearest tombstone and she realized the grave markers aligned to perfectly frame the gren’s hollow. As she lay staring, oblivious to Critter’s continued monologue above her, something stirred in the shadows beneath the great oak. She could not be sure if her sense of time was confused or if everything had truly slowed to a crawl, but the long, shadowy arm that reached from the rotten gloom seemed to move impossibly slow. The glowing eyes moved smoothly into the faint moonlight and Piper watched breathlessly as the vague shape of the gren emerged, reflective eyes set against a form visible only in silhouette.

It was impossible for Piper to follow the overlapping outline of crouched arms and legs, so she had no idea how large the gren would have been if it had stood. But as it crawled forward cautiously, its head cocked to the side to peer around the distant tombstones, Piper could see long, gnarled fingers ending in sharp points that were familiar from her dreams. Its arms seemed too long for its body and she could make out what seemed to be curved horns like those of a ram on its head.

She wondered, in an almost dreamlike way, whether she had been aware of the horns in her visions. She seemed to remember a weight on her head, but couldn’t be sure if she was really remembering it or if she was adjusting her memory.

In an instant, the claws that tipped the gren’s feet dug into the ground and the small creature sprang forward in a blur, charging toward the Blair Cemetery. Piper’s head swam as she felt the gren’s mind brush agasint her own. She could see the small shadow scuttling across Medry’s yard toward the cemetery and feel Critter’s weight holding her down. But, she could also feel the wind rush past her face as she flew on all fours toward the graveyard, familiar rage bursting through her muscles.

Critter had just grabbed the elastic on Piper’s pajama bottoms when he caught sight of the motion to his left. For just an instant, he smiled, confident that he had finally succeeded in winning the gren’s affection. As the reality of the situation dawned on him, his eyes shot wide in panic and he scrambled off Piper and tried to flee. A soundless scream contorted his face as he tripped over his captive and toppled to the ground, clearly gripped by the unnatural fear and hallucinations the gren inflicted on its victims.

The dark streak of the gren shot over Piper’s head and landed beside Critter. The scrawny man’s face was still twisted in terror as his fist swung toward the crouching beast. The gren slid smoothly to the side of the blow without letting its stare flinch from Critter’s eyes.

Panicked, Critter swung again and cursed loudly as his knuckles scraped against the rough edge of a grave stone. The gren pressed forward, a wicked grin taunting Critter to make another attempt. Critter’s legs kicked out at the creature’s head, but by the time his foot extended, the gren had dove to the side. Piper barely tracked the gren’s movement as it pushed off the side of a tombstone and leapt for Critter’s chest.

Imagines of blood and rending flesh filled Piper’s imagination involuntarily as the gren sprang for the prone Critter. Horror filled her as she realized what was about to happen. And although part of her very much wanted to see Critter ripped apart as the gren obviously intended…Piper found herself screaming a cloth-muffled, “No!”

The small beast crouched on Critter’s chest, its claws hovering menacingly over the fallen man’s throat. A look of crazed panic flashed in the gren’s eyes as its focus twitched from it prone victim to Piper and back again. Bloodlust was evident on its face, but it resisted, every muscle in its tiny body taut with internal struggle. Jeffery Creedor lay frozen, his face a mask of unmoving terror as the smell of urine filled the air. The gren sniffed, then shook its head in disgust, driving away the look of uncontrolled rage.

Her blood pounding against her adhesive restraints, Piper had her first chance to view the gren up close.

One curled ram horn flanked the right side of a gristly face with oversized yellow eyes and elongated mandibles. A tale of violence was told by the broken horn on the left side of its head and the countless scars that crisscrossed its face to disappear beneath the thick fur that lined the underside of its jaw. Long, down-turned ears fell behind the horns, but the left ear ended in a jagged, torn edge. A thin line of fur like the ones Piper had seen on the goblins ran down its spine and blossomed into a full coat of dark hair by the time it reached the gren’s muscular legs. It was difficult to tell precise colors in the sparse light, but Piper guessed that its skin was tan with blotted sections of darker browns. And though the gren’s crouch made her estimate sketchy at best, she supposed the gren would stand about three feet tall were it to do so.

It smelled of moss and musk.

Incoherent pleas and apologies blubbered their way from Critter’s mouth. The gren slowly moved one finger to its lips; Piper noticed the smallest finger and half the ring finger were missing. “Shhhhhhh,” it cooed as a smile lit its face. Critter’s eyes flashed to the vicious teeth behind the gren’s smile and was silent again.

Piper lay transfixed by the gren. She remembered a trip to the zoo with her father, watching the hyenas feed. She had thought then that the brutes looked like random pieces of other animals slapped haphazardly together. She had this thought again as she tried to say what, exactly the gren was. There were elements of the goblins she had seen in her dream…the same leathery skin, the same overlong limbs and the same teeth and claws. But this was certainly no goblin. Though no bigger than a goblin, the gren’s damaged and mismatched body radiated strength…power and confidence. Where the goblins’ wild eyes had spoken of flittering creatures that crawl from dark places to spread mayhem and breed in damp pits, the gren’s expressive eyes told a tale of ancient wickedness tucked behind a thin veil of sadness.

Piper was snapped from her contemplation as she heard footsteps slowly approaching from the Medry house. She fought to twist her head toward the approaching sound to see Old Man Medry walking purposefully toward the graveyard with what appeared to be a sword.

The Old Man strode past Piper and without breaking stride, hoisted the sword above his head. Piper again fought to protest through her gag, but this time, the attacker was indifferent to her complaints. As the sword swung a perfect arch, the gren deftly sprang to the side. Critter, suddenly becoming aware of the new attack, had barely enough time to flinch before the weapon smashed into the side of his head. Critter’s face twisted horribly to the side as a loud woody crack and a sickening thud filled the cool air. Medry looked at the now unconscious body beneath him and then looked sadly at the half of a wooden sword in his hand. “hurm…” he muttered. “Shouldn’t have used an antique, I guess.” He shrugged then and turned to Piper. “Seems I’ve broken my bokken,” he smiled. “And you,” he said softly as he kneeled to remove the duct tape from her cheek as gently as he could. “Are you hurt?” His accent was slight enough that Piper wondered if it had faded in the last 22 years or if Critter had exaggerated it in his impression.

“I don’t think so,” she answered, anxious to free her hands so she could wipe the tears from her face.

He nodded and reached to pat the gren on the shoulder before removing the bindings from Piper’s wrist. The gren crouched solemnly beside Medry and watched carefully as Piper freed her legs.

“I always knew this little monster was going to be trouble,” grumbled Medry as he jabbed a finger into the unmoving Critter. “Sneaking around my yard, throwing steaks at the gren’s tree.” He turned to make sure Piper appreciated the gravity of what he had said. “Steaks,” he repeated, “left to rot on my lawn. Waste of perfectly good beef since the gren stopped eating meat back in ’68.” He turned to regard the lanky beast with a warm grin, “Which is itself a waste of perfectly good teeth.”

The gren bared pointed teeth that had obviously been made for ripping and made a flurry of hand gestures.

Medry laughed and turned back to Piper. He noted Piper’s confusion. “What? In this day and age of political correctness and Americans with Disabilities, et cetera, et cetera…are you saying you don’t even recognize sign language?”

Feeling vaguely insulted, Piper ripped the last of the duct tape from her ankles. “I know what it is…I just didn’t expect it to sign. Why doesn’t it speak?”

“Well,” mused Medry, “he’d describe it as a vow of silence, but the truth is he lost his vocal chords in a…little skirmish in Edinburgh.”

The gren cock his head back and to one side to display a gruesome scar that ran from under his right ear to a jagged stop at his left collar bone.

Piper cringed.

“So,” Medry groaned as he pushed himself up and leaned against a nearby tombstone. His aged face appeared smoother, younger in the dim light with fewer shadows to highlight the deep creases Piper knew to be there. “You want to be a friend to the gren.”

“I don’t know,” responded Piper, rubbing her wrists. “I don’t think I ever said that.”

“It wasn’t so much a question.”

“What do you mean? I don’t have a choice?” asked Piper, fear creeping into her voice.

“Of course you have a choice, child,” Medry soothed. “But you’ve already decided, haven’t you? And besides…the gren…he likes you.”

Her eyes drifting to the diminutive beast squatting beside the Old Man, Piper caught the gren looking curiously back at her. As her gaze traveled down its long arms and rested on the wicked claws at the tip of its fingers, the gren casually tucked them beneath its palms.

“He likes me, huh?” pondered the girl. “Is that a good thing?”

Medry shared a weary smile with the gren before answering, “I suppose it depends on what day you ask me. Some days he is a blessing and I cannot imagine my life without him. Other days…” His smile faded into a face of contemplation. “Other days he is a trying child,” he said at last. The gren looked up at his friend and nodded solemnly, accepting the answer with what appeared to Piper a quiet apology. “It is, I suppose,” Medry continued, “the way it is with any friendship that has lasted as long as ours.”

Mustering her courage, “Are you really over 100? Or did you die and come back?”

In the dim light, Piper saw Guillaume Medrier smile in genuine amusement. “As clever as is the story of my death and secret tombstone…I assure you I have lived every one of my long years, right here on the earthly plane. And believe me when I say I feel every one of them in my bones.”

Piper sighed. “So that means the gren probably can’t talk to the dead. I read that goblins could do that.”

“Sadly, child, the veil of death is as closed to the gren as it is to all of us. That’s not a trick the gren inherited from the lutin.” He smiled fondly at the creature beside him. “The gren has enough trouble communicating with the living…let alone the dead,” he laughed. The gren made a series of hand gestures that Piper didn’t understand…but which appeared indignant. The Old Man laughed harder until he noticed Piper’s saddened expression.

“I know what you were hoping,” he began comfortingly. “But even the lutin cannot do what you’re wanting. No one can, not like that. And that’s a very good thing, to my way of thinking.” He let the silence sit for a few moments before adding, “But don’t despair, young Piper. You see, the gren, he has a certain…calm about him these days…when he’s not attacking pedophiles at least. And if you have not yet noticed, he is…quiet generous with his moods, yes?”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

Medry nodded. “What you’re seeking, Piper…it doesn’t come from some mythical conversation with those departed,” he gestured expansively about the cemetery. “It comes from our memories of them and through how we live out what they meant to us…what they taught us. So, I know no better way to talk to the dead than to sit for a while and not to talk at all. And luckily, for an active girl with, I assume, very little inclination to sit and reflect on the finer details of life… the gren can make it a little easier.” He leaned in and whispered as if sharing a secret, “He’s been in a bit of a meditative mood the last few decades.”

“That’s not really what I was looking for,” Piper reiterated quietly.

“I know. But I think,” continued Medry, “it is, in the end, much better than what you were hoping for.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments more as Piper digested what she had been told. Eventually she continued her questions.

“Why did the gren choose me?”

Medry hummed thoughfully. He looked serenely about the trees and the night sky, as if contemplating the mystery of it all before answering. “Why are any of us brought together, really? Why do we choose the friends we do? Why this one and not that one? Why does this one like that one but that one doesn’t return the feeling?” He shrugged. “So, if you are asking why the gren likes you and why you feel drawn to the gren…that’s as difficult and as simple to answer as why you and your friend Simon like each other.”

Piper moved to interrupt, but Medry continued. “However, if you are instead asking why you share a bond of communication…well…that’s even more mysterious, in the end. But it is late…and there is, fortunately, a short answer. You are…how do I say it?…emotionally compatible at this particular moment in time. The gren, he can empathize with you…and you with the gren. You are….alike in some manner that is significant to both of you right now. And this is rare. Some…lower creatures like the lutin can do this amongst themselves easily…for their thoughts are simple enough to almost always overlap. But, truly thinking beasts such as the three of us…our minds go this way and that and so infrequently open to others. Do you see?”

Piper looked at the undersized creature. He stared back patiently. “So I can see his memories because we…think the same?”

“Yes, yes, exactly. But not only do you see his memories, he also sees yours. Always a two-way street, yes?” He mimed passing traffic with his hands. “You offer images and you receive images. You’ll get better at choosing what images to make more of a…conversation, but…”

“Wait. You could do this with him for the same reason, right?” Piper’s mind returned to the various images she had seen of the life of the aged man who now stood before her. She fought the urge to scoot away as she recalled his torture of the other child. “The gren could talk to you because you were a monster…just like him.”

Guillaume Medrier nodded quietly. He made no excuses nor explanations. He merely accepted the term.

“Well, what does that say about me?” Piper’s mind raced. The distrusting eyes of the town, the hurtful accusations…had they been right about her? Was this hideous beast hunkered beside a tombstone truly her kindred spirit?

Medry flashed an understanding half-smile and leaned in closer to Piper. “Rest easy, little one. Had you met the gren when I did…he most likely would have killed you. The gren you have seen in your dreams is a gren over 100 years gone…a gren you have almost nothing in common with. We…the gren and I…we have changed each other significantly. Empathy, little one. Empathy with a fellow being. It is powerful. And you saw us both before we had ever experienced it.”

“So you’re saying he’s a good gren now?”

Genuine laughter escaped Medry’s chest. “Maybe in another hundred years, child. Maybe in another hundred years.”

The gren nodded slowly in acceptance of the half-compliment.

Medry continued. “He has much more to learn, much more to grow. Which is why he looks to you, Piper. I have changed more in my lifetime than any man has a right to, but I honestly don’t think I’m going to be able to change enough to take the gren where he wants to go. I don’t think I’m doing him any favors by allowing him to hide away in a tree, for instance. And so…you have found each other. It is as simple and as utterly unfathomable as that.”

“So does that mean I’ll live to one-hundred and something, too?” Piper asked…with growing unease.

“You ask me what will happen?” responded the gray-haired man. “There has been, so far as I know, but one gren. And that gren has had but one friend. So, I cannot say what will happen. We were both surprised, you see, when I kept ticking along past my expiration date. But, if I had to guess…I’d say you’ll have a pretty long shelf life, yourself.”

The horned creature tilted its head questioningly and leaned toward Piper. The now familiar pull of the gren’s mind encircled her own with curiosity, but she shook it away and was startled to realize that she was more afraid of the gren at this moment than at any since she had rescued Toady. That abstract gren that had scurried about in shadows had seemed alluring to Piper, frightening in the mesmerizing way of a horror film. This misshapen beast before her, however, seemed too real. Dirt and twigs clung to the fur on its legs and the thick, leathery skin made Piper’s own skin go clammy. The claws on its fingers and toes were not the fantastical weapons she had imagined from fairy tales. They were horrifying talons clearly meant to rend flesh and Piper had no doubt that they had been used countless times for exactly that purpose. Despite Old Man Medry’s use of the word “friend,” and despite the fact that the gren had undoubtedly saved her…Piper found that the reality of the goblin-like creature before her made her less inclined to forgive his confessed and suddenly very real crimes.

“He burned a baby alive.” She said finally. “He laughed and he burned a baby. How am I supposed to trust a monster like that?”

“So it is the baby that is bothering you?” spoke Medry softly. “Well, as luck would have it…it never happened…what you think happened. The gren, he has done horrible things. I will not deny this and neither will he. But that particular horrible thing didn’t happen.”

“I saw it! I saw it through its own eyes!” Piper protested.

“Yes, yes. I know what you saw. But there is seeing, and then there is understanding.” Medry let out a small groan as he pushed himself up. “But I think I’ve done enough explaining this night. If you have questions, little one…you should ask the one who was there. For myself…I think it is time we alert the authorities to the situation with our unconscious Critter here.”

Critter. Piper had nearly forgotten. She had given no thought to what to do about Critter. “How do we explain any of this? What do I say? I mean…isn’t there just some way for the gren to just…you know…make it all go away?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Medry, “there was such a way. Such was the gren’s way. But you…you opted for compassion. Myself…I would have gone with the gren had the miserable Mr. Creedor attacked me in such a manner. But that just shows why it’s probably best that you teach the gren a thing or two for a while, yes?”

The gren jumped onto a tombstone to bring itself close to Medry’s face as the old man whispered something to the perched creature who responded with a flurry of hand motion. With a final scratch behind the gren’s horns, Medry started out of the graveyard.

“Wait!” called Piper. “I…” But Medry simply waved his hand over his shoulder as if he couldn’t be bothered any further.

She turned slowly to face the gren, perched silently on its gravestone as it watched Medry go. Suddenly, it turned, a twinkle of mischievous amusement flashed in its eyes as it assessed Piper. The corner of its mouth curled in a tiny smile as it raised its eyebrows as if to say, “You were going to ask me something?”

Piper stood defiantly for a moment before muttering, “Fine. Why should I trust you when I watched you burn down a house with a baby in it?” In response, she again felt the familiar encroachment of the gren’s mind and she again fought it away.

The gren shook its head and tapped its long index finger against its temple. Piper reluctantly relaxed her mind and let the images enter.

Piper crept along the roof ledge of a small home. Through the darkness she could see many other tightly packed buildings along a cobblestone street. She felt excited and cantankerous…she was looking for mayhem. Down the street she saw a large, well-kept home and knew it to be the home of the region’s prefect. Powerful men are always the most enjoyable to watch squirm under the heels of misfortune. Piper smiled as she remembered the stables behind the home and considered the beauty of bringing a host of goblin tricks, tricks the rural communities had been suffering for generations, to the house of wealth and fame. She cared nothing for the social justice of such a plan, thought nothing of balance in this instance…she merely enjoyed the unexpected and had elevated the frustrating, the cumbersome, and the frightening to an art form. This pampered man would not be expecting such a thing.

She made her way toward the home, leaping silently from rooftop to rooftop, then froze. Four deft shadows had caught her eye as they moved against the stately home ahead. Pressing herself against a chimney to get a better look, she sniffed the air and her sensitive nose confirmed what she already suspected.

Lutin. Three fully grown and one very small.

The four dark shapes disappeared into a window on the second floor of the house and Piper took the opportunity to slink closer still to the action. After barely a minute, the three grown goblins reemerged from the window. The center beast clutched a human infant in its arms. The baby was smiling and waving its arms happily, no doubt soothed by pleasing glamours.

Piper fought to stifle a laugh. Such delicious bedlam was already underway before she had even arrived and she was willing to give credit when it was due. As she watched the goblins disappear down the street, she amused herself by imagining the panic that would ensue in the prefect’s home when they discovered their baby had been replaced by a changeling. How long would the little lutin inside let the illusion stand? Hours? Days? Years? It was just too perfect. And for it to happen to the prefect made it that much more delicious. Goblins typically aimed this mischievousness at the lower class since the upper class would have the means for retribution. She tried to remember if she could remember the lutin ever swapping a baby with such a powerful family as this, but she could think of no examples.

This gave her pause. Perhaps this was not simple goblin turmoil she had witnessed. Perhaps larger plans than mere discord were playing out this night. She nodded to herself in the darkness, silently congratulating the lutin on an impressive hoax. But in the end, she had no love for the lutin and owed them no loyalty. The fact that they most likely had high expectations for the results of their mischief only made them a greater target for mischief of her own. She had come to town for havoc, and while the frustration of one family was wonderful…the disturbance of all parties involved here tonight would be a masterful stroke.

She crept into the house and quickly went to work igniting luxurious curtains with embers from the various fire places. She took special care to spread a ring of fire around the entrance to the nursery. It would do no good for household to rescue the tiny changeling. She danced and skipped merrily as she played the coming events in her mind. The grieving family, incorrectly assuming their child had burned. The outraged lutin, watching helplessly as whatever plan they had concocted went quite literally up in smoke. The glow of the spreading fire matched her pride as she darted back into the chilled night air.

Piper’s attention returned to the cemetery as the flashing red and blue of the approaching police cruisers rounded Banner Street’s circle drive. The gren glanced at the advancing lights before returning his gaze to Piper. His yellow eyes waited patiently and she knew an unspoken question made him linger.

She didn’t understand everything she had seen. So much context had been missing. But she had confidence, at least, that she had been right about one thing. The gren was not a complete monster…and that was something.

She nodded.

The gren flashed a wide smile that Piper assumed was meant to be reassuring despite the scarred face and pointed teeth. As the gren darted for the safety of his tree, Piper raised her hands to gain the attention of the search lights.



...Concluded in Part 8