Elliot Ticks shuffled through the shadows. The can in his hand bit into his fingers; he swung it to his other. He was careful not to let any of the liquid inside slosh out--he'd need as much as he could get. Not even his feet made a sound as he drifted through the night. The crickets sang, and for a while, that was the only sound Elliot's ears received. Footsteps smacked the pavement; he bristled and then turned. He kept his left side out of the intruder's line of sight.
It was a boy, all untamed curls and cherubic cheeks. He couldn't be more than twelve, surely! His eyes narrowed...the boy was human, from the looks of him, so Elliot let himself speak. "Hello."
The boy's eyes flicked over him. "Hello," he replied.
Elliot shifted his weight from foot to foot. Leaving would look suspicious.
"It's a nice night."
The boy glanced about his surroundings with tired eyes. "Nice as it can ever be in this place."
This place. Waves of contempt swept over him; his grip tightened. Seeing it matched in the boy's own eyes, he made a decision.
"What is your name, boy?"
"Jude. A-and yours, sir?"
"Elliot. Tell me, Jude, are you going into the city tonight?"
His curls bobbed.
"Ah. Then I suggest you avoid the ballroom."
Jude's eyebrows knitted together. "Why?" he pouted.
"Because I'm planning to burn it to the ground."
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Hour
Short StoryElliot got his things in order; straightening a picture frame and flicking off the lights, lifting his occasionally to look at the clock as its hand approached one o'clock. His fingers arched against the side of his thigh. While he'd been making th...
