The Demon In The West - An Original Work In Progress

Chapter Three: The Sheep Entering The Wolves Den

The hue of cornflower and rose pink hangs low in the morning, and wisps of white clouds streak through the sky. A frail young boy takes soft steps through the crooked alleys of Redwater. The morning sun silhouettes the town as he makes his way through the streets, a small coin purse in hand, his weekly allowances due from his toiling in the mines. He brushes coal dust onto his soiled sleeve, a cold sweat forming on his brow as he eyes every nook and cranny for danger. He imagines every possible scenario in which the hungry coin snatchers appear, the drunken flirty creeps that just would adore the vulnerability of a child without an adult escort, "in this side of town". Chills prickle down his spine, fears ignited by his own thoughts. The boy walks further, steering clear of strangers.

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The young boy stops in front of an old, brick building, smoke from a hearth branch from the stalk of a fireplace on the roof of the establishment. The fireplace's embers bleed light onto the street, a warm, soothing kind of light. A bell dings as he pushes through the creaky wooden doors into the building. He's seen the building before, as he passes it every day on his way to work with his pa.

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The shop's windows glimmered with things the townspeople could no longer afford and had to give up. Watches, precious jewels, paintings, and heirlooms. The rich would sometimes come to town, only to auction off things from shops like these. It was a rich man himself that controlled this shop. The boy understood enough about the world that biding his time here would only be fueling that man's fury of power and greed for money. But... did he truly have another choice?

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The shopkeep grinned cheekily, noticing the dust and dirt on the tired child's face; another poor customer.

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"Take your time, young lad." He spoke, his voice a posh dialect. Most of the rich were European, he noted.

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'They'll be the death of us,' he thought, almost thinking in his pa's voice, and had to bite his cheek to hold back a childish giggle. His eyes looked around the room patently; a small chandelier could be seen in the center of the room, shiny jewels dancing around, sparkling against the chandelier's golden light. He has never seen something so pretty and so odd. To him, he could understand jewelry- a gift of marvelous minerals and crystals from all around the earth. But letting those diamonds stand, sparkle, and be all pretty simple to get dusty as decor? It just seems thoughtless.

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There were mannequins posted on some tables, displaying jewelry. He watched them shine too, before walking off to the shelves where all the antique toys were. Over there were dominos, marbles, yo-yos, music boxes, you name it. He couldn't deny they were all very fascinating, despite many being far over his budget. The thing that seized his interest, in particular, was a small wooden rocking horse in the furthest corner, one side of a handlebar snapped off of its peg, jagged and rough at the end. With a tiny smile appearing on his lips, his brain's gears begin to slowly shift and maneuver.

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He walked up to the big desk, the chandelier glimmered down as if to frown upon it, and placed the rocking horse down on the floor and plopped down his coin purse.

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The clerk gave the boy a perplexed look. "That old thing? You sure you want that? It could cut ya! Really not much of a fun toy at all." He spoke, scratching his head.

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The boy nodded, however. "She won't be any trouble, I want her." The shopkeeper just shrugged and took the purse, placing the money into his register. With that, the little kid picked up their rocking horse by the saddle and lifted it off the ground.