Father Mulcahy awoke in the early afternoon for the seventh or eight time
since he'd lain down that morning. The world was slightly smudgy around
him, as he didn't have his glasses on, but, as often, he was content to let
his vision drift inward in contemplation.
But today he was restless. He knew that he should be tired, that he should sleep, but he couldn't convince his body or his eyelids of this fact. He wheeled around in the cot that, for the first time since he'd arrived at the M*A*S*H 4077th, seemed too small.
He sighed resignedly as he confronted the fading but still glowing glyph that marked the drawer of his desk. The taint stared back at him, and not more than two seconds later he was out of bed.
Mulcahy stared at the floor, away from the glowing mark that brought images to his mind of a clawed beast raking its bloodthirsty talons over his property. "Henry Blake risked his life..." echoed in his head, Potter's voice, the new arrivals having silenced themselves for the moment. "Yes," he nodded silently to the floor as he changed into his bathrobe. Tears had begun to crawl down his face after Potter had told him the story. Not of repentance for his harsh behavior toward him, but rather the vestiges of his grief for Henry Blake renewed; he had no doubts that in life Henry wouldn't hesitate in a life-threatening situation to stick it out no matter the risk to life and limb. That the monster reminded him so much of the Colonel saddened him, maddened him, confused him. If it had been as simple a matter as a monster walking into camp, he'd have had no compunctions about following the directions he'd received from above, and would have ridded the camp of it already. But this... thing was still Henry! How could he kill Henry?
Father Mulcahy stepped out into the sunlight. It was warmer than it had been in a week or two, especially considering how cool the night had gotten, and the light and heat comforted him. He felt slightly ridiculous as he walked across the compound with the same feeling of ease as he used to get taking his sister to a horror film. The scenes at night were full of terrors; the scenes in which the pair of young teens could see the sun they knew, as if by instinct, were sacrosanct, and they loosed their grips on each other's hands.
Father Mulcahy smiled at the thought despite himself, then tilted his head a bit as he approached the shower tent and encountered a strange, metallic-fruitish scent. He sniffed a bit, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shivered, but, nonetheless curious, moved forward and opened the door.
"Another!" screamed the voice.
On the floor, glowing in the center of a cluster of puddles of purple liquid, was the crescent-moon and cross sigil which had come into his mind to write over the supine Henry Blake.
His arm grew stiff, he gripped the door, his eyes widening and his head tilting back radically at the sight, scent, and sound.
"Another!" he echoed weakly. His forehead knit up in agonizing sorrow. How?! How had he allowed another monster into the camp?! The sunlight, formerly pleasing, turned cold, and his knees grew weak as he identified the scent pervading the tent as that of Grape Nehi.
He steadied himself in the doorway as the situation suddenly came into focus.
"Radar!" he uttered in a wavering, breathy gasp.
"Yes, sir?"
Father Mulcahy wheeled around, having been snuck up on, and seemed about to say something before he got a good look at the young clerk and let out a horrified yelp.
"Hey, it's just me, Father," Radar giggled. "You need somethin'? And, hey, Hawkeye's gonna help me plan a party for the Colonel tonight when he wakes up, I was wonderin' if you could--"
Father Mulcahy wasn't listening. He gaped open-jawed at the creature that bleated at him so horribly. He could hear the words, and almost discern Radar's voice, but it was as much a monsterously distorted version of his voice as the demonic visage of clumps of shaggy fur, a bloodstained maw, and long ridged ram's horns was of the clerk's face. And to top off the horrific vision, a small dragon with the head of a falcon sat on the monster's head looking smug.
Bantelhopp, spotted, widened his little avian eyelids, and chirped, "Radar, duck!"
Radar ducked out of the way as Mulcahy leapt at him, trying to grab him around the shoulders. Instead, Mulcahy caught hold of Bantlehopp's long tail, and ripped him off of his ward's face. Bantlehopp squawked loudly in protest.
"Hey, Father, what're you doing? Give him back!" Radar yelled, and ran to tackle Mulcahy, reaching for the chimera. Mulcahy braced himself for the impact of the ram's horns as he lifted the dragon above his head, out of reach of the shorter Radar. Their bodies met, and in the collision Mulcahy almost lost hold of the creature, but reaffirmed his grip in a tight squeeze which caused the chimera to cry out in pain.
You're trying to hurt him!" Radar cried out as they awkwardly grappled.
"Stop struggling, and I'll stop." Mulcahy stated firmly.
Radar whimpered quietly in fear as he stopped struggling and in pain as Mulcahy deftly twisted his arm up behind his back and held him like that, in a most uncomfortable manner, as he marched him toward Colonel Potter's tent.
~
But today he was restless. He knew that he should be tired, that he should sleep, but he couldn't convince his body or his eyelids of this fact. He wheeled around in the cot that, for the first time since he'd arrived at the M*A*S*H 4077th, seemed too small.
He sighed resignedly as he confronted the fading but still glowing glyph that marked the drawer of his desk. The taint stared back at him, and not more than two seconds later he was out of bed.
Mulcahy stared at the floor, away from the glowing mark that brought images to his mind of a clawed beast raking its bloodthirsty talons over his property. "Henry Blake risked his life..." echoed in his head, Potter's voice, the new arrivals having silenced themselves for the moment. "Yes," he nodded silently to the floor as he changed into his bathrobe. Tears had begun to crawl down his face after Potter had told him the story. Not of repentance for his harsh behavior toward him, but rather the vestiges of his grief for Henry Blake renewed; he had no doubts that in life Henry wouldn't hesitate in a life-threatening situation to stick it out no matter the risk to life and limb. That the monster reminded him so much of the Colonel saddened him, maddened him, confused him. If it had been as simple a matter as a monster walking into camp, he'd have had no compunctions about following the directions he'd received from above, and would have ridded the camp of it already. But this... thing was still Henry! How could he kill Henry?
Father Mulcahy stepped out into the sunlight. It was warmer than it had been in a week or two, especially considering how cool the night had gotten, and the light and heat comforted him. He felt slightly ridiculous as he walked across the compound with the same feeling of ease as he used to get taking his sister to a horror film. The scenes at night were full of terrors; the scenes in which the pair of young teens could see the sun they knew, as if by instinct, were sacrosanct, and they loosed their grips on each other's hands.
Father Mulcahy smiled at the thought despite himself, then tilted his head a bit as he approached the shower tent and encountered a strange, metallic-fruitish scent. He sniffed a bit, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shivered, but, nonetheless curious, moved forward and opened the door.
"Another!" screamed the voice.
On the floor, glowing in the center of a cluster of puddles of purple liquid, was the crescent-moon and cross sigil which had come into his mind to write over the supine Henry Blake.
His arm grew stiff, he gripped the door, his eyes widening and his head tilting back radically at the sight, scent, and sound.
"Another!" he echoed weakly. His forehead knit up in agonizing sorrow. How?! How had he allowed another monster into the camp?! The sunlight, formerly pleasing, turned cold, and his knees grew weak as he identified the scent pervading the tent as that of Grape Nehi.
He steadied himself in the doorway as the situation suddenly came into focus.
"Radar!" he uttered in a wavering, breathy gasp.
"Yes, sir?"
Father Mulcahy wheeled around, having been snuck up on, and seemed about to say something before he got a good look at the young clerk and let out a horrified yelp.
"Hey, it's just me, Father," Radar giggled. "You need somethin'? And, hey, Hawkeye's gonna help me plan a party for the Colonel tonight when he wakes up, I was wonderin' if you could--"
Father Mulcahy wasn't listening. He gaped open-jawed at the creature that bleated at him so horribly. He could hear the words, and almost discern Radar's voice, but it was as much a monsterously distorted version of his voice as the demonic visage of clumps of shaggy fur, a bloodstained maw, and long ridged ram's horns was of the clerk's face. And to top off the horrific vision, a small dragon with the head of a falcon sat on the monster's head looking smug.
Bantelhopp, spotted, widened his little avian eyelids, and chirped, "Radar, duck!"
Radar ducked out of the way as Mulcahy leapt at him, trying to grab him around the shoulders. Instead, Mulcahy caught hold of Bantlehopp's long tail, and ripped him off of his ward's face. Bantlehopp squawked loudly in protest.
"Hey, Father, what're you doing? Give him back!" Radar yelled, and ran to tackle Mulcahy, reaching for the chimera. Mulcahy braced himself for the impact of the ram's horns as he lifted the dragon above his head, out of reach of the shorter Radar. Their bodies met, and in the collision Mulcahy almost lost hold of the creature, but reaffirmed his grip in a tight squeeze which caused the chimera to cry out in pain.
You're trying to hurt him!" Radar cried out as they awkwardly grappled.
"Stop struggling, and I'll stop." Mulcahy stated firmly.
Radar whimpered quietly in fear as he stopped struggling and in pain as Mulcahy deftly twisted his arm up behind his back and held him like that, in a most uncomfortable manner, as he marched him toward Colonel Potter's tent.
~