Red Rider Rooftop
by Randall Allen Dunn
‘Twas the night before ChristmasAnd all through the hovel
There was safety and peace
An idea that seemed novel.
Scraping up scraps
From the last of his meal,
Alone at the table
Sat Father Vestille.
Poring through scriptures
And pausing to pray
He readied his spirit
To greet Christmas day.
Then he thought of Helena,His brave teenage guest,
In the underground lair,
Where he hoped she would rest.
He had taken her in
To stay hidden from view
For the sake of her parents,
‘Twas the least he could do.
She had vanquished the wolves
That once terrorized France
Now they all fled in fright
When they saw her advance.
Using silver-tipped bolts,
She had forced out the hordes
With a crossbow she wielded
Like King Arthur’s sword.
Now she slept, and she dreamed
With no nightmares of wolves.
Her greatest fear now
Was no gift for this Yule.
What could she give him,
As poor as she was?
All he truly wanted
Was more of her trust.
Then out on the lawn
He heard something cackle
Like the sound of a gloating
And villainous jackal.
He ran to the window
And threw up the sash
Meeting eyes of a wolf
That caused him to gasp.
It leapt at his throat,Breaking straight through the glass
As Father Vestille
Planned to now breathe his last.
“It was you all along,”
Growled the wolf that could speak.
“How else could Helena
Have not been so weak?
You’ve given her food,
Rest, and shelter, no doubt.
Building her strength
To help drive us all out.
To weaken the Rider,
I can simply kill you.
Don’t try to deny it.
I’ve thought it all through.”
“Not all,” said Helena,
Rising up from below
As she scowled and aimed
Her repeating crossbow.
She wore trousers and bootsAnd her eyes were in shroud
By a red hooded cloak
That rolled like a cloud.
Her face bore three scars
From the claws of a monster
Whose bright wolfish eyes
Would continue to haunt her.
A shocking young sight,
One would say, at the least,
As she aimed and commanded,
“Unhand my priest.”
The wolf, quick as lightning,
Seized Father Vestille
And held him in place
As a reluctant shield.
Then he shoved Vestille forth
At his young surprised foe
Who let go her weapon
At the swift, sudden blow.
The wolf pounced upon her
And the battle seemed lost.
But her heel found the crossbow
And kicked it across.
Vestille hated weapons
And all forms of war,
Which made him feel awkward
As he bent to the floor.
He pulled back the lever
To fire a bolt
Which pierced the wolf’s neck
As it died with a jolt.
She shoved it aside
With a grunt of disgust.
Then she stood and exhaled,
Her eyes full of trust.
She turned toward the ceiling
Looking slightly aloof,
Grabbed her crossbow and said,
“There are more on the roof.”
They rushed out togetherIn the chill and the snow
And she whispered instructions
For staying below.
From the side wall, she hurled
Her grappling hook
And climbed up its rope
As Vestille stood and shook.
From her high snowy perch
She confronted the beasts
Who determined to make her
Their holiday feast.
When they noticed she stood
Without crossbow in hand
One wolf sneered and scoffed,
“Why, you poor helpless lamb!
Without your silver bolts,
This should be a short fight!”
She said, “He needs time
To set you in his sights.”
Then the silver bolts flew.
The wolves fell, one by one.
The priest lowered the crossbow.
His unsavory work done.
He suggested she now get
Some rest, for her sake.
She denied his request.
“I feel fully awake.”
So they drew back inside
And sat down to a meal
Some cabbage and stew
Cooked by Father Vestille.
He set out some bread,
Handing her a clean knife
Thanking God that she now
Trusted him with her life.
