Author's Note: Originally published in Compadres #31, from Neon RainBow Press. Based on characters and situations from the Disney cartoon series, only a smidgen of which has been released on DVD, dog-gone it. Standard fanfic disclaimer that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters (except for the obvious Mary Sue and the filkers). I'm just borrowing them for, um, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. All Disney-owned characters will be returned, suitably bandaged. Bits and pieces of assorted filk songs quoted here are small enough quotations to sneak in under the fair usage rules. This is the third story in the Dr. Juliet Heyes series; you might want to read "Urban Folklore" and "House Call" first.

Second Saturday of the Month

By Susan M. M.

a Gargoyles story for Compadres #31 -- a sequel to "Urban Folklore"

"Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station 3,

Not that we're complaining, since the fresh fruit all comes free.

But now and then we wonder, what it means to the human race,

That ghosts from generations past are taking off to space!"

"Your turn, Michelle," Julie Heyes, a slender blonde in her mid-twenties, announced.

"No pizza songs," Zachary begged. Michelle Nesbitt was notorious in local filk circles for her love of pizza songs: songs so long that you could send out for pizza, have it delivered, and finish eating before the end of the song.

"It's my turn and I'll pick what I want to," retorted the redhead. "Just a second." She thumbed through her filkbooks, looking for a good song.

"Um, Julie, there's a gargoyle outside your window."

Julie had heard something – or someone – land on her fire escape two songs ago, but hadn't said anything. Her relationship with the gargoyles was still very tenuous, and she didn't want to frighten them by pushing too hard. "Don't be silly," she scoffed. "Gargoyles are nothing but urban folklore."

"That's not what you said on TV two months ago."

"You can't believe anything you see or hear on 'Mad' Madison's show." Julie ignored the fact she'd claimed on Madison Fleming's public access show that gargoyles were real, sentient, and friendly. That was before she met gargoyles and learned the truth: that they were real, sentient, and friendly in a human world that could be very unfriendly to 'monsters' and 'beasts'.

"If there's a gargoyle outside, it's my turn. And if there's not a gargoyle, it's still my turn," Michelle said. " 'Barrett's Privateers'. Page 16 of Fogarty's Cove."

"What page is that in Rise Up Singing?"

Karen Jensen checked the index. "One ninety-nine."

Filkers thumbed through songbooks, trying to find the correct page.

Chrissy Black scooted over to Julie. "There really is a gargoyle on the fire escape," she whispered.

Julie whispered back, "It's an open filk. Anyone who wants to attend, can. Even urban myths."

Outside, Brooklyn listened in amazement as Julie, who'd never said anything strong than 'dog-gone' in his presence, sang along enthusiastically with the blasphemous chorus of Stan Rogers' 'Barrett's Privateers.'


"Ladyhawke, Ladyhawke, fly bravely on,

Wings spread at each morning's light,

Ladyhawke, Ladyhawke, from dusk to dawn,

Teach me the magic of flight."

"Um, Julie, you remember that urban myth that was on your fire escape last month?" Zack Sinclair asked quietly.

Julie nodded.

"Well, he's back this month."

"Small and green, medium and red, or large and blue?" Julie asked nonchalantly as she tuned her dulcimer.

"Uh, red, man-sized," Zack replied.

"Can't be," Julie shook her head. "The small green one sings off-key. The medium red one sings on-key. Why would anyone who sings on-key come to a filk?"

From outside the window came the sound of laughter, followed by the whoosh of wings.

"Darn," she murmured. "Maybe next month."

"Trying to attractive new blood?" Michelle asked.

Julie nodded. "New blood who would prefer to avoid being in the National Inquirer. Speaking of new blood, how about 'Baby Vampire Boogie'?

"Oh, I was born a vampire, when my mother she was bitten,

And she seemed so relieved when I blood-drained my first kitten.

When she tried to nurse me, well, it got a little nippy,

So she used a formula of cow's blood mixed with Skippy."

"With a flap of leather wings," she made the hand gestures,

"I am a fly by night, I am a fly by night, and you can be one, too."