The Demon Boy

Day Five - Morning

     Casper wakes with the sun. A few of yesterday's pains linger on, but, otherwise, he feels like a new person. He'll need his strength. There's a long day ahead of him and a longer to-do list. There's no time to waste. The sun's up only for so long. He gets out of bed and puts on his shoes. He's prepared for what today brings.

    The first item on Casper's list is breakfast. To that end, he pops into the kitchen. The pheasant leg is untouched on the table. He devours it, then tosses the bones and scraps out the side door and the plate into the wash basin on the counter. He revels in the sense of accomplishment. One item down, god knows how many to go. And that's not counting whatever burdens Balor has in mind for him.

     Speaking of Balor, where is he? Casper expected him to have materialized by now. In spite of the long minutes spent mulling about the kitchen, the man still fails to show himself. Casper is bored of loitering. He gives up on waiting for Balor and his commands, opting instead to get a head start on his own tasks.

     Casper returns to his bedroom. He pulls the quilts off the beds he isn't using and shakes them out before fleeing from the ensuing dust storm. He escapes to the hall and coughs the silt out of his lungs. He forgot about the colonies of murderous dust bunnies in the blankets.

     He contemplates the gritty miasma from a safe distance. Until it airs out, being in the room and breathing are mutually exclusive. He could pillage the other bedrooms for their covers while the dust settles, but, from what he saw yesterday, they're as unclean as his own was during his first day here. Whatever he does, it's guaranteed to trigger another dust storm thicker than this one. This means he'll have to grapple with his cruddy window again, plus the ones in the other bedrooms since he plans on pillaging them too.

     That's three generous servings of splinters, coming right up. Oh joy.

     Casper groans at the thought. He watches the dust swirl and stares at the window beyond. There's got to be a better way to do this...

     Inspiration strikes. Casper's eyes spark. He returns to the kitchen and rummages around the wash basin, then inside it. He shoves mouldering, dirty plates aside to sift to the bottom and finds what he's looking for sandwiched between two saucers. It's stiff and smells bad, but what else do you expect from a wash rag?

     Casper pries the cloth loose and tries to bend it. It doesn't give. It's as fossilized as the potted plants in the house. Any suppleness it once had disappeared with its moisture. He bangs the it against the side of the basin, seeing if he can knock some flexibility into it. That doesn't work either. It's like swinging around a piece of wood. Casper squints at the rag. How long has this thing been sitting here? He looks back at the wash basin full of neglected dishes.

     On second thought, he'd rather not know.

     One trip out his trusty side door, plus a puddle dip for the rag, and Casper easily wraps the cloth around his hand. Thus armoured, he soldiers back into his room to do battle against his nemesis: that stupid window.

     The dust has settled. The arena is prepared. Casper clambers onto his bed, braces his rag gauntlet upon the frame and lifts. The frame screeches. It squeals. It gives ground in stops and starts. It surrenders entirely. Casper is victorious! And not a splinter suffered for it.

     He grins at his improvised glove and the slivers of wood embedded in it. His plan worked like a charm. He shakes the cloth out, dislodging most of the debris. One window down, two to go.

     The second window puts up less of a fight than the first. The third, on the other hand, refuses to admit defeat, digging in its heels at half-way open and not budging an iota farther. Casper gives the it a look of exasperation. Ehh... Half open is still open. He'll take it. Two and a half out of three is a pass.