Author's note from 2022: This fic is a prequel dedicated to an episode from the Caretaker Lady's childhood. She and her family has no idea that a kindly mop monster is guarding their home from fears and grief. Their own and their neighbor's, who happened to be through a major grief. Except for that neighbor is not even a bit happy about having a "dangerous beast" living alongside him...
...Also greatly inspired by the new DHMIS and the episode with what seemed to be the magic Red Guy consists of. It really moved me to tears, a reminding of how fragile and precious a magical creature's life can be.

His little Daughter finally opened one grey eye, gave a faint mew and weakly pawed at his mane: she was thirsty. Snuggling her close to himself, he nodded understandingly, yet only licked her between the eyes. It was dangerous to step out of their hideout before the dark.

He let out a brief concerned purr, a sign for his both little Sons to stop tumbling about in hay and crawl up to his side: a shadow of the Farmer showed in their hideout's doorway.

Luckily for him and his cubs, the Farmer didn't spot them among the hay. Nor did he notice a pair of bulgy eyes sticking out of it, half-lidded as not to give them out with the shine. The man only put a full bucket of water on the ground and got back out, mumbling something under his breath.

Fear for his cubs completely erased from his memory how he escaped the "barn", as their hideout was called in man language, and what noise made the Farmer flinch and return there: was it his Daughter lapping up the water a little too loud as he held her above the bucket, or the splash as she accidentally reached out too far and fell in the bucket, or probably his own gasp, – but one thing was still standing before his eyes even here, where he shifted cubs and hoped to hide for longer.

Horror and hatred in the Farmer's eyes as he froze in the doorway, overwhelmed by what he saw.

An ochre-colored monster. Almost as tall as him. With a long shaggy mane – nothing else in sight but two bulgy eyes on top of the monster's head. With sharp fangs – barely, but still visible between the strands of its mane. And three smaller monsters at its feet – one sopping wet and frantically shaking its head as it was trying to get out of a fallen bucket.

"…Fear God." The Farmer's Neighbor shook his head. "Hadn't you buried your wife this summer? Didn't we all try our best to support you but had been failing until recently? I swear to you it was a–"

"You cut off those tall tales, will you?" snapped the Farmer. "Told ya, it was a puma. With a whole litter of young. On my own yard at that!"

"…A fear-eater," insisted the Neighbor. "I can believe in anything but a puma with eyes on top of its head. There's only one creature with eyes like those, and you know darn well it's–"

"Whatever it is." The Farmer gritted his teeth. "'S after my cows, and I'm not gonna just sit there and wait till it shows up again and does something worse!"

Yet something… Something made him doubt the guess.

Pumas may be dangerous beasts, but even the most dangerous beast won't just invite itself to a human farm and stay there unnoticed long enough to have a litter of cubs.

From the other side, was it really a big cat? The Farmer remembered well combing through all the hay in the barn. And his find in one of its corners. Large empty egg shells, light ochre, with darker polka dots.
They looked too large to belong to any ordinary fowl. Too… out of the usual world.
The Farmer picked one up. The shell seemed lighter than paper – as if whatever protection it had for whatever was inside had wore off – and turned into fine dust in his hand shortly afterwards. Same happened to all the other ones the moment he shifted the hay around.

"…Can't be." He shook his head. "Like I'm ever gonna believe there's a thing that just comes and takes away your sorrows. A grieving man sticks to his kind."

Not even when you finally started to sleep calmly, whispered some little voice in his head. Not even after the numb pain you'd been living with since the day of her funeral stopped?

"…Nah," he exhaled, stepping onto one last shell piece.

It turned into golden dust under his boot, mixing with the ground.

As if it never existed.

Kind Man, his Mate – Wife, and a little Man-Cub – their own Daughter. So many humans living here he had counted, hidden from their sight by twilight, watching them either from a far corher of the yard, or a hay nest in their barn. And two of his distant kin – much smaller ones that had no manes, but had pointy ears, clawed paws and long tails.
He'd been ever so grateful to both of his Kin. For agreeing to lay with his cubs while he's away to keep them warm. For calling at their masters to leave some sweet white drink outside (the Kind Man's Wife thought it was for them and, not without a pretend grumble, carried a whole bowl of it out to leave in the shade). For sensing whatever might be a danger way before their masters did, and letting him know.

But every night he kept returning to The Farmer's farm. The Farmer's grief seemed to have grown since the day he escaped the place, and, whatever it might cost him, he had to absorb it while he could. Feeding himself meant being able to warm his young – and letting the poor man live on calmly, without grief gnawing at his heart.

Every night till the dawn.

Grief and hatred stroke back at one dawn, when he wasn't expecting. It flied out of the Farmer's gun barrel with a loud bang. Stung him in the back, piercing his chest and staining the ochre mane with dark red gooey magic.

The hatred roared out of the man – THAT'LL TEACH YA – piercing the dark and his ears; chased him as he stumbled through the constantly spinning and blurring way back, waiting for his paws to give off; froze at the fence, as he crossed the Kind Man's yard; let out the last spit and "hmph" at the sound of his fall.
And went out like a torch.
Along with him.

Something was wrong with the cat. He didn't even seem to notice a full bowl of milk the Girl carried out and put on the porch for him, only looked up at the Girl, meowing anxiously and pawing at her leg, as if asking to follow him.
She obeyed – not as fast as he'd want her to, not able to get her eyes off a trail of dark maroon blots on the ground that led to the barn. From there, faint creaky mews could be heard.

The cat stopped at the doorway, waiting.
The Girl stepped inside and – almost stumbled over something living, fuzzy and golden. It rolled aside with a plaintive mew, turning out to be- at first she mistook it for a kitten. If there ever were golden kittens without ears and tails. And with large bulgy eyes on the top of the pom-pom-like head.

The cub of an unknown kind wriggled in her arms, batting at empty air with its little soft paws, begging and pleading the Girl to let it back down in its own language.
Two more mewed in response a few steps away.
The Girl glanced there and… almost dropped the cub, flabbergasted by what she saw.

An ochre-colored monster lay in the hay. Almost as tall as her Dad. Its head almost entirely hidden with a long shaggy mane, dark maroon stains caked on it in some places. Same bulgy eyes sticking out of the mane.
It might have seemed scary… if it wasn't laying so still.
Too still for a living wounded creature.

The Girl carefully let the little monster down, stretched out a hand and touched the big one's velvety eyelid.
It did not open.
She ran a hand down the monster's soft pelt.
Not even a wisp of warmth. It even seemed drier than the cub's short fleecy fuzz, now that life had almost completely evaporated out of it.
And yet its three little kits – or whatever they were called – didn't stop trying to wake their parent up, mewing over its ears, kneading at its large still paws, nudging them with their heads.

Anxiety stung at the Girl's heart. As much as she felt for the monster, there was no way she could get it out of the barn by herself – let alone bury.
Nor could she leave the little ones. If their parent got killed, what if something even worse happens to them?

Something else brushed her leg, something warm and living. The cat was back. He gave a loud meow, calling the cubs, and lay by the big monster's side.

"That's right," whispered the Girl: she guessed he came to comfort and warm them. "Good boy. Be here, I'll go get Dad."

It wasn't easy for her to make anything out of the noise their yard got full of all of a sudden. The grown-ups crowded it so much she could barely get to the barn, where, as she found out, her Dad and their neighbor, the Farmer, were arguing, standing over the poor ochre monster. The Farmer was holding one cub by the scruff and, completely taken away with the arguing, paid no attention to its protesting mews.

Just when the Girl got to them through the crowd, he threw a few strands of the big monster's mane off its face, revealing sharp fangs underneath, and turned back to her Dad:

"See for yourself, you defender! That's been after me and my cattle all this time! You should be grateful I didn't let it slay you and yours in your sleep!"

"Let go," said Dad firmly, gesturing the Farmer to let go of the mane, and lowered his head, addressing the monster and its cubs. "And you forgive us."

"A puma, for crying out loud! Proud of yourself now?" A female voice came from somewhere in the crowd, addressing obviously the Farmer. "Some marksman you are, shooting a harmless mop!"

"What's even the use of a dead one?" Another voice chimed in. "Did you really want to watch it dry up and turn into dust?"

"Mop?" The Girl whispered to her Dad while the rest of neignbors were busy chastising the "marksman". "That's how they're called? Mops?"

"Yes." He nodded, turning to her with a sad smile. "See, a whole mop of hair on this one's head. Poor fellow, didn't get to dodge the bullet." He then nodded at the beetroot-red Farmer. "His grief, that's what this fear-eater wanted. They come to those who grieve. Or who's afraid. To take away whatever torments people. That's what I heard." He let out a heavy sigh. "Who would've thought he'd get mistaken for a predator."

"And the fangs?"

"Don't ever be afraid of them." Dad shook his head. "You aren't afraid of our cats? Don't be afraid of these guys either. They'll never harm."

The noise of the crowd, now carried away with discussing whether or not they could call the Sheriff here, suddenly seemed odd to the Girl. Something was missing. She suddenly realized she no longer can hear the fear-eater's cubs mewing. The Farmer also was out of sight.

Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he didn't carry them too far away yet. The Girl slipped past the grown-ups and got out of the barn. Just in time to see the Farmer walking away.
Hiding something writhing and mewing under his jacket.

A low plaintive meowl right at her side made her flinch. She didn't even have to look down to guess the cat was here, worried about the little ones just as much – if not more – and ready to follow her and maybe, if they make it in time…

How fast a kid's two legs and a cat's four paws can be when it's a question of life and death? But even they can't beat the rage in the man once it wakes up and clouds his mind, making him even faster – and barely think what he's even doing, making a beeline to the waterwell and pulling out a full bucket. The revenge opens his eyes wide so he can see his enemy die, so what if the enemy is that small, it writhes and yells in his hand, doesn't want to be– yet gets pressed firm against the bottom of the bucket, letting out a mute mew – a stream of bubbles out of its mouth (sharp fangs, those damned sharp fangs) – and thrashing in agony, and in a moment, it's over, here it is, a cold small body laying still at his feet, and another one, and another, and-

At first the Farmer thought he got deaf. But it was only his rage ebbing away and no longer ringing in his ears, and in a moment, he realized that a squeal behind his back was the Girl's scream of horror.
And that the rest of neighbors, a Sheriff in front, had already gathered around.

It took the Girl several days to come back to her senses, but in the end she agreed to go with Dad and see what he promised to show her and why they had to take a watering can and flower seeds with them.

The walk didn't take them long – the place turned out to be a maple tree near their own farm. Underneath it was a fresh grave with a small gravestone that had "Ochre + kids" carved on it.

"I'll never forget you," promised the Girl, lowering on her knees besides the grave and laying a hand on the ground. "Poor Ochre. It never was your fault that our Neighbor got so afraid of you."

"Thanks for guarding us," said Dad with a sad smile, joining his Daughter. "Even him. God be a judge to him. Forgive us, mate."

They stayed like that for a while, not saying a word, – just remembering now. The strangely human-like footprints in the yard. A rumble from somewhere in the barn, as if a large cat purring. Leaves sometimes getting bitten off mint plants. Splashing sounds at night – Mom stayed up late with knitting and couldn't even have thought it was one of the baby fear-eaters lapping up water from a bucket. And – yes, milk, how much more of it they had to leave outside in a bowl, thinking it were their two cats craving that much.

"If only I knew," smiled the Girl. "If only you'd let me know back then, I'd leave a whole pitcher for you!"

Something warm and golden lightly brushed her hair.
A large maple leaf. It fell off her head and glided down, to where her hand lay.
Almost like a familiar paw.

"…let's plant marigolds now, shall we?" smiled Dad, nudging her slightly and handing a small bag of seeds.

Several years later

That's it; the promise she gave finally came true.

A slightly worried Young Lady – the future Caretaker – entered the orphanage garden, led by the Headmistress.
She could almost feel the kids watch her behind the windows. Probably wondering whether or not they will get along, but not any less worth love and her help.
And… someone else watching her.
Over there. Behind the briar bushes in full bloom.
She was almost afraid to turn her head – what if by accident she'll scare it off, what if it turns out to be not what she hoped it to be.
As much as the Lady wanted to look there, in the end she decided there'll be plenty of time to figure that out later, by herself, – a glimpse of hope was enough for now, – and let the orphanage doors close behind her back.

The past grief that followed her made him freeze for a moment in his briar hideout, and even stretch out his neck to take a better look.
There could be no mistake. Fresh food. Plenty of it. So many poor man-cubs, and now their new Caretaker, needing his help.
Everyone in the orphanage was too busy greeting a new guest to notice a bright red mop monster sneak up to the open storage window and dive into a pile of pillows and blankets.