The Demon Boy

Day Twenty-Four - Morning

     The sun is shining. The birds are singing. Casper and Balor go through their morning ritual of tending to their gardens behind the house and Casper tries not to think of anything at all. There's no need to water anything outside today, so they finish off quickly. Casper wouldn't have minded having a little more to do if it meant keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind occupied.

     Balor rinses his hands off in last of the water in the well pail, the remainder of what's leftover from watering the glasshouse plants. The espinac is coming out in full force, beta too, lagging a mere step behind. The old man has quite the green thumb. The glasshouse alone has been sufficient to provide Casper with regular breakfasts. When the stuff they've planted outside is fully grown, there'll be enough to give him three square meals a day, pub fare or no. Except Casper won't be there.

     If he has his way, he'll be leaving today.

     He still hasn't told Balor.

     Balor wrings his hands dry and gives everything one last look over. "I do believe that shall suffice for today. You have my thanks for your hard work Casper."

     Casper nods dumbly, not trusting himself to look at the old man without doing something terribly stupid. Balor isn't making it any easier, trying to fill the silence Casper's left since he came back yesterday.

     "I assume you shall be leaving now for the village below, as is custom?"

     Casper doesn't answer, jaw clenched and chest tight.

     Balor approaches him, Casper sees his shadow fall over him (the shape is wrong wrong wrong, can't you see what's plain as the-), "Are you with us Casper?"

     Casper turns, eyes wide, caught unawares. Balor's fine. Looks the way he always does, which is to say completely and utterly normal. Well, normal for Balor anyways. (He looks nothing like his shadow.)

     Balor frowns at him. "Casper?" He asks softly.

     Casper blinks hard, takes in a shuddering breath, runs a hand through his hair and pulls, if only to anchor himself to reality as he knows it. "'M fine," he croaks. Not confidence inspiring. Not what he was going for. He averts his eyes from Balor's worried face and clears his throat; it's easier to talk when he doesn't have to look too closely at him. "I'm alright," Casper insists, "I'm not... you know," he waves his hand in a vague motion to elsewhere, hoping to get his point across.

    Balor seems to understand. "Is that so? ...I trust there haven't been any, ah, occurrences since...?"

     Casper's gaze flashes at him, then drifts off straight away, not able to look the old man in the face for any great length of time. "Uh... No, I don't think so."

     "That is... good to hear." But Balor doesn't seem so confident in what he's saying himself.

     They stand around awkwardly, neither willing to leave and neither knowing what to say next. But that's a lie, one among many others Casper likes to tell himself; he knows exactly what he has to say and, somehow, he can't bring himself to walk away until he says it. May as well say it to Balor's face instead of at his feet. He owes the old man that much, at the very least.

     "Balor..."

     The old man's attention drifts from whatever he was thinking and back to him. Casper feels his words shrivel up and die in him before Balor even says anything. "What is it Casper?"

     "I..." Deep breaths. Count to five. "If I don't come back tonight, just... know I'm alright and... don't go lookin' for me in town. You won't find me." With that, he's spent. Eyes go back to training along the ground, and very pointedly away from anyone's shadow.

     Balor steps closer and Casper can't help the shudder that goes through him (this was a mistake). Then the old man bends down until he's eye level with him and Casper can't avoid him any longer. "Casper," he says and gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Good luck."

     It's more than he could've hoped for. Casper can't say anything to that, so he bites his lip and nods.

     Balor straightens and gets back to his daily routine. There's Casper's cue to leave, exit stage right. He hesitates at the door. He doesn't have it in him to say 'thank you' and mean it, he's not that brave. But what he can say is, "Balor... goodbye."

     The old man pauses, taken aback, staring at Casper straying by the door. He smiles sadly. "Goodbye Casper."

     If that isn't final, Casper doesn't know what is. He has to leave before he starts crying. That'd just be messy and unnecessary and the complete opposite of almost every goodbye he's had so far. Glenholm isn't good for his sanity. It's for the best that he's leaving. He's feeling things he shouldn't.

     He's seeing things too. Things like the shadow of a man with horns.

     He stops by the kitchen silverware on his way out. He stuffs several teaspoons through the holes of the belt he wears under his shirt. He'll pawn them off the first chance he gets, in a new town, a new place, somewhere people don't know his face. He'll be needing the coin to buy a train ticket back to where he came from. He can't remember the name of the station per se, but he's confident he'll recognise it when he hears it.

     His shirt's well in place and there's no indication of the stolen goods on his person if you were to look at him. Casper checks, double checks, triple checks even because he's nervous. His fiddling pays off when Myr catches him in the main hall.

     "Oi, you-"

     Casper makes to dodge him and slip by, but Myr's surprisingly coordinated today. Or maybe it's Casper that's so badly out of sorts. Either way, Myr's got him by the arm; he grips like a vice.

     "Oh-ho, no you don't, you lil' rat, you ain't gettin' nothin' past me." Myr twists his arm behind his back and pushes him onto the floor, pinning him there. He's sober alright, unfortunately for Casper. Myr wouldn't be nearly so competent, or ornery, if he wasn't. "Now listen up an' listen good runt: see, as I recalls, you be ownin' me a great deal of monies for yer bein' 'ere."

     There's a load of bull if Casper ever heard it, not only because Myr forgot about the whole thing until Balor reminded him. He tries not to squirm so his shirt doesn't ride up, because if Myr catches on Casper's stealing from him, what the drunk will do to him will make this interrogation look like a play fight.

     "So where the fook is my money?" Myr howls.

     Little does Myr know, Casper has no idea. As far as he knows, the toff's oh so conveniently forgot about him and has left him here to rot, stipend or no. But he can't tell Myr that; he'd kill him.

     "T-tomorrow! It'll be here tomorrow!" Casper cries for dear life.

     "Aha! It can speak!" Myr lets go of him, but the relief is short lived. "Knew you were tryna trick me," Myr growls and kicks him in the ribs before Casper can pick himself up.

     Casper rolls with the blow, hands around his sides, pretending to be hurting more than he is when, in reality, he's making sure the belt stays secure and hidden around his waist.

     "Get th' 'ell out of my way," Myr spits down at him.

     You better believe Casper does just that, scrambling on knees and elbows if it means staying far from Myr.

     Myr stalks past him, heading to the back door, likely en route to complain to Balor about something or other. Casper warily watches him until he disappears out the back. Not once does the drunk give him a second thought.

     Casper bolts out the front not a second later, leaving the door to bang as it swings open with the force of his escape. He intends on being in the next county over at least when Myr figures out Casper's tricked him (again).

     It really is for the best that he leaves.