YOU BETTER WATCH OUT


*…better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why.*

Mary Ellen was humming in bed as softly as she could to the song playing downstairs when she heard the noise: a loud THUD that echoed all the way up to her room and sounded sort of like what she imagined the big sack of potatoes her mommy had bought at the grocery store yesterday would sound like if it had been dropped on the floor; something she’d almost done herself when she helped bring the bags inside, in fact.

The song died in her throat along with the words to it in her head, and for what felt like the longest time, she just kept her position in bed — on her side, the covers wrapped all the way up to her head and around her like a big protective bubble — and didn’t move an inch, even and especially when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Suppose it was someone breaking in? That would be way more likely than Santa. It wasn’t like that didn’t happen around town, even in her neighborhood which she knew was a little nicer than the ones some of the other kids at school lived in, but this time of the year was bad because it was Christmas. And it was really, *really* bad because there wasn’t any more superheroes. People got funny when you talked about them, even her own parents, but like just about everything else adults hated talking about like anything that started with “why” and anything about babies, it was probably because they didn’t want to admit to something.

And that something, Mary Ellen suspected, was that maybe having superheroes around even just for one day of the year would probably be a good idea.

The door creaked open. A second or so later, Mommy’s voice whispered into her room.

“Mary? Are you awake?”

If she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t make her look nutso, she would have laughed. Of course— *Duh—*

“Yeah,” Mary Ellen said. “What happened, mommy? I heard something…”

That was just your father wrapping presents. He dropped a box.” A small pause, followed by a sneaky sounding “Don’t worry, it wasn’t yours.”

Mary Ellen held back a giggle that was very close to becoming a yawn, but Mommy must have heard it because she added, “Go to sleep. Santa won’t deliver the rest of your presents if you’re still awake.”

Mary Ellen shifted in bed, moving to lie on the side facing the door. She pulled down the blankets to get a better look.

Mommy was standing halfway in her room, still wearing her day clothes, not looking the least bit sleepy herself. That wasn’t weird.

But the thing she was trying to hide behind her back was.

“Okay.” And then, reluctantly, “Santa will come, right? The chimney in our old house was way bigger. What if he can’t fit in this one?”

Mommy’s smile was in her voice. “He can, don’t worry. Santa’s magic is special. He’ll always find a way inside.”

“Even in a city house?”

“Even in a city house.”

It didn’t feel like a promise, but it was good enough.

“’kay. Night, Mommy.”

Satisfied, Mommy closed the door. Mary Ellen heard her walk back downstairs and turn up the television. *Santa Claus is Coming to Town* was over and something that sounded like *The Year Without a Santa Claus* was on. That was also weird. Her mom was the type to yell at her for playing cartoons too loud, but here she was doing the same thing.

Same with taking stuff from the fireplace upstairs. It seemed kind of stupid that she’d bring a poker all the way up here and then hold it the same way Mary Ellen had when she caught her playing with one, like she wouldn’t notice. She was seven, but that didn’t mean she was stupid.

Sleepy, maybe, and she still believed in Santa and that, one day, maybe the superheroes would come back, but not stupid.



She must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after that. One minute she was listening to Heat Miser shriek about not being able to shoot those two elves out of the sky, the next minute there was nothing. Total silence.

Well, not completely. Something had woken her up. It wasn’t a thud this time, it was more like a—

BANG

Like that.

Against her better judgment, Mary Ellen bolted up, head swiveling as she looked around her room. It came from right beside her, but no one was here. Even her door was still closed.

Before she could get really afraid, she heard it again, and this time, she saw it too: an elbow slamming against her window, hard enough to leave a spiderweb-shaped crack in the glass. The arm dropped down and out of sight. So did Mary Ellen.

She wanted to hide under her covers; that would’ve been the easiest thing to do, even easier than running to get Mommy because, as logic dictated, if you didn’t see someone, they wouldn’t see you. And she thought she’d definitely see whoever it was out there if she got up. It could be someone getting mugged. It could have been a drunk. It could’ve been a lot of things.

But it could’ve also been Santa, somehow. And that last “could’ve” promised way more than the other more dangerous two, which was enough to drive her back up, timid as she felt, to creep over to the window and quietly — *quietly* — peek up over the windowsill and out the glass.

And as it turned out, she was right. That last “could’ve”? It was, well, *was*. It *was* Santa.

Her window looked out directly onto her roof, which, while flatter than most, was still sloped enough that you could slip and fall if you weren’t careful, and that was exactly what the two men wrestling on it looked like they were about to do. The streetlights and the moon made it so that it wasn’t completely dark, but even if it was, she would have known the red costume the one man was wearing anywhere, even if the fur trim around it looked mangy and closer to smog-colored than white. It was the same with his equally grimy hat, and the beard that looked closer to the ones she saw on some of the homeless people in the subway instead of the fluffy, grandfatherly looking ones in movies and cartoons.

She couldn’t see the other man too well because his clothes weren’t as bright, but she could see the thing Santa was using to choke and pin him with: an axe with a wooden handle, the blade as dirty and dark as the rest of his clothes. Santa had him on his back while he knelt atop him with the kind of look Mary Ellen had also seen on the people in the subway: skittery and wide-eyed, the kind that could either come before a scream or a laugh. In Santa’s case, he looked like he was about to do the second. His lips were pulled back in a big happy smile, showing off red gums and very little teeth while the man beneath him thrashed and kicked out, trying to throw Santa off. Even with the window closed, Mary Ellen could hear the man choking and hissing out like a wounded cat.

Then she did something she would have never done in any other situation, if it had been any other person but Santa.

She knocked on the window.

Santa froze. His head darted up and over to the window. He looked as surprised in that instant as she felt, though fear would’ve been more accurate in her case as the first true lick of it came at the bottom of her spine once she realized what she’d done.

Then a leg came up from beneath Santa and a foot slammed square into his chest and he tumbled backwards off the roof.

The whole thing happened so quickly that the only thing Mary Ellen was certain of was that Santa was gone. Even his axe had skittered over the edge and fell somewhere on the ground. She could still hear the pinned man panting, trying to catch his breath, and the fear had settled in for good this time because now that Santa was gone all that was left was someone who really could have been a thief. Maybe that’s why Santa had the axe.

All that changed when the man drew himself, standing on her roof in a crouch as he adjusted himself, pulling at his face. He fastened the belts on his coat, making sure they were secure, and reached for something lying on the roof: a hat that looked like the kind detectives wore. Once he put it on, Mary Ellen’s heart gave a jump.

It wasn’t a burglar at all. It was, in fact, someone better than Santa. Much better.

Mary Ellen opened her window. A blast of cold December air hit her in the face, but that was okay. You could have hit her in the face with a snowball and it would’ve been okay because *she was looking at a real life superhero*, and not just any superhero, but the only one left in America and maybe the whole world. Except for Dr. Manhattan and maybe that other guy her dad and older brother Rudy would argue about before Rudy went off to college.

“Are you okay?” It seemed like the best thing to ask, Mary Ellen thought.

Head canted at a downward angle as he rubbed at his throat, almost like he was trying to figure that out for himself, the man didn’t say anything. The expressive black splotches on his face shifted and started fanning out as if a finger had poked them. Mary Ellen was mystified enough to stare — it really did look like what everyone at school said, even liars like Jake and Danny Richards.

After what felt like an eternity of silence with occasional interludes of New York City’s usual noises to make sure things didn’t get too quiet, Mary Ellen said, “My mommy and daddy keep stuff in the bathroom for when we get hurt. Um. If you are. Hurt, I mean.”

Again, nothing. Mary Ellen felt her cheeks heat up. “You can come inside, if you want,” she added, just in case she wasn’t specific enough.

Rorschach tilted his head again, this time leveled directly at her. Just when she thought she’d get more of the same nothing, he slowly nodded, just once.

Mary Ellen opened the window as wide as she could, throwing herself back on her bed. With great care, Rorschach lifted himself onto the windowsill. Even with his heavy coat, he didn’t make a single peep when he entered her room. That was way more like Santa than Santa was. Speaking of—

“What were you doing to Santa?” Mary Ellen asked. Rorschach hadn’t even pulled his other leg in all the way yet, and the question seemed to lend him enough pause that it turned what should have been a graceful motion into a hesitant one. “Why was he trying to hurt you?”

To her surprise, the voice that replied to her a moment later wasn’t deep or growly like she thought it’d be, but low, scratchy and flat — but thoughtful. “He wasn’t good this year,” he said. “Didn’t like that I knew.”

That made sense. In a weird way. Mary Ellen couldn’t see eyes, but she imagined the two smaller blotches below the brim of his hat were them and so that was what she stared up at when she asked, “So that’s why he tried to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you threw him off the roof?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been good,” Mary Ellen said, maybe a little too quickly. Rorschach made a weird sound from the back of his throat that sounded like a half-formed word, or maybe a hum. A purple-gloved hand fell gently on Mary Ellen’s shoulder, didn’t move up or down, just stayed still like a heavy but firm and strangely comforting weight.

“I know,” he said. *Don’t worry* is what she would’ve liked to have thought would come after that, but nothing did, just more awkward silence along with the uncomfortable realization that, as ferocious and mysterious and cool as America’s Last Superhero was, he kind of smelled like a dumpster.

But Mary Ellen grinned anyway.

“C’mon,” she said, grabbing Rorschach’s hand. “You can have Santa’s milk and cookies. And then when you’re done, you can help me bring in all our presents!”

Rorschach hurmed again, his rigid form loosening up when Mary Ellen tugged him over to the door, and eventually he fell in an obedient trot beside her. She opened the door to the hallway and led him to the stairs. The lights were still on in the living room, and as Mary Ellen guided Rorschach down, she wondered if her parents had fallen asleep, and if they had, how would they feel when they woke up Rorschach *and* Santa? (Well, Santa’s presents, rather.)

“Mommy?” Mary Ellen called. It was quiet downstairs, but the fireplace was still blazing, stuffed with clumps of newspapers. Rorschach was staring at them, then at the stand where the pokers were kept — all neatly accounted for except one. The marble edge guard was wet as if it had just been cleaned, and sloppily at that. There were still flecks of something red smeared on the stone.

Rorschach’s hand tightened around Mary Ellen’s. This didn’t faze her, and she yelled again, “Mommy? Daddy?”

“Mary Ellen?” Mommy’s voice from even further downstairs, in the basement. Mary Ellen could hear her thundering footsteps before she could say anything else. Quick as a flash, Mommy appeared. She looked exhausted and scared, bags under her eyes, normally pretty blonde hair frazzled, makeup all runny. Even after all this time, she was still holding the poker. She took one look at Rorschach and froze, and whether or not Mary Ellen saw the scream forming was irrelevant, because none came, especially once she started talking.

“It’s okay! You said Santa’d come, and he did, but so did Rorschach! And it’s a good thing, too, because Santa was being really bad!” Mary Ellen looked from Rorschach, who was staring at Mommy, and then back at Mommy, who was staring at Rorschach, feeling so proud she might burst. “But it’s okay! I let Rorschach in so he could keep us safe!”

The poker clattered to the floor, and Rorschach carefully untangled his hand from Mary Ellen’s. More of the same red fluid from the fireplace covered the base of the rod, trickling from a wet clump of what looked like pink cauliflower impaled on the sharp end.

Rorschach cracked his knuckles.




(BONUS/KINDA EPILOGUE???)



Rorschach’s Journal: December 1980

December 21st

Woke to thunderous barrage of noise: landlady hammering on door and a guttural pounding from depths of building. Told that collection on December’s rent will not be postponed due to holidays and not to expect any running water for the rest of the morning. Decided to use bathroom at convenience store across street before beginning morning rounds.

Began reconnaissance at Gunga Diner, usual spot. Supposed representative of Salvation Army still panhandling at entrance in Santa-themed garb with bucket and bell to throngs of commuters. Saw one, a Top Knot, put cigarette out against side of bucket while friend spat inside it. Recognized them as regulars at Happy Harry’s, and decided to pay my usual holiday visit sooner rather than later.

--

Bar is decorated for holiday season. Tinsel chains and colored lights do little to mask the debauched surface and hollowed-out stares of drug addled patrons, but I told Harry I appreciated the effort nonetheless. He did not seem thankful.

Did not find the two Top-Knots, but saw another person of interest: a woman approaching middle-age, blonde. Wore a black fur coat, undoubtedly expensive, clean, new. Was talking with a man ten years her junior when I entered, making eye contact with me and leaving moments later.

Harry said she has been coming in for the last week, not to hook but to talk. Assumes she’s lonely. So does the man she was speaking to. Empathy only seemed to extend as far as the drinks she had been plying him with.

Little else of interest.

--

Salvation Army volunteer still outside diner well into evening. Passed by him in uniform. He smiled and waved.

Found it difficult to return or match good mood while nursing knife wound above ribs, but made attempt anyway.

--

December 22nd

Returned to Happy Harry’s out of uniform. The woman was back, this time with another man: one of the Top-Knots from outside the diner yesterday. Listened in on their conversation for an hour. Banal small talk filled with cheap attempts at seduction. A hooker would be more direct. Just when I was about to lose interest, the woman began to talk about money. Realized she wasn’t talking about her own financial situation but the Top-Knot’s and that this entire exchange was her way of trying, unsubtly, to offer him a job. Top-Knot seemed interested. Saw him offer her his phone number. She left first.

Noticed a gold band on third finger of woman’s left hand. Beginning to have suspicions.

--

Heard emergency radio alert from nearby parked taxi on my way back to apartment after evening patrol. Escaped patient from uptown mental hospital at large, armed and dangerous. Has already murdered two staff members, both women. Memorized his description.

--

December 23rd

Found stray dollar bill in gutter by newsstand. Intended to pay for paper with it, but passed by the Salvation Army volunteer again and had change of heart. Soon after, recalled incident from several years ago: Daniel’s investigation into homeless shelter that turned out to be front for human trafficking ring led by King of Skin. Should have chosen the paper, in retrospect.

--

Happy Harry’s, 1pm. The Top-Knot and the woman have been drinking and talking for over an hour. Despite ordering three glasses of wine, the woman’s eyes are startlingly clear and cold. She lets the degenerate beside her do most of the talking. Without my face, everyone passes around me, and the two continue their conversation unimpeded.

They seem to have spoken over the phone last night. The woman is careful to choose her words knowing that there are potential witnesses around, though not as cautious or smart as she thinks she is. “Contract” is used up to ten times. “Payout” is used once. Slowly but surely, the picture is beginning to come together.

The woman gives the Top-Knot an address and time at which they will finalize their transaction tomorrow. Immediately recognized it as the Gunga’s address. Will adopt similar surveillance tactics when I pay it a visit in the morning.

--

December 24th

The Salvation Army volunteer is not at his post. He wasn’t last night either. Thought it inconsequential before, wonder now.

--

While waiting for suspects to arrive, heard another report on the radio in the diner regarding escaped maniac. Claimed another victim last night, an older man from Queens. Found naked in alley, stabbed multiple times in face, neck and stomach. Victim was known for his charity work, last seen by multiple witnesses wearing Santa Claus rental costume. Cruel, pointless, chaotic whims of the universe may have more of a pattern than I thought.

--

Suspects arrived at 8:40. Observed their meeting from back corner of the diner. Top-Knot was anxious, arguing in hushed tones with woman who kept cool disposition throughout confrontation. Did not believe he was being paid enough to complete work woman hired him for and gave ultimatum: additional five thousand dollars or refusal. Colorful exchange ensued, ending with Top-Knot leaving in agitated mood. Left the woman to her own devices, gathered face and partial uniform from back alley drop-off, and followed Top-Knot for several blocks until crowds thinned enough for us to talk.

Owe our enlightening conversation partially to entrance via fire-escape, partially to shattered collarbone delivered in lieu of traditional greeting. Regardless, did obtain answers to questions, confirming suspicions. Top-Knot was hired by the woman to murder her husband. Life insurance policy had been taken out, payout likely immense considering husband’s occupation as acclaimed surgeon. Apprehension and greed prevented the Top-Knot from formally accepting job. Doubt that will deter the woman’s plans.

Top-Knot gave a name and address. Thanked him by allowing him to keep the fingers on his left hand before leaving.

Disheartened to discover Daniel shares neighborhood with would-be murderous whore.

--

Address led to townhouse. Quiet street, children playing inside out of cold, husbands at work while their wives are given run of house. Ended preparatory surveillance early when suspect returned home.

Discovered she has a child, a girl. First or second grade, if that. Grew very upset for personal reasons.

Will keep watch all afternoon and night.

--

Heard a scream from up the street. Distinctly female.

Going to investigate.

--

December 25th

Favorable outcome to a busy evening. Tempted to drop by Daniel’s. Doubt he would appreciate the gesture. Feel compelled to regardless.

Going to take additional plate of cookies for peace offering. Murderer in no position to mind, but hopefully daughter won't. Made sure she was safely in bed before tying up loose ends. About to send tip to authorities. Hopeful they will arrive to take out trash before child wakes up.

All in all, a fruitful night.

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