The Demon Boy

Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine

     With the glasshouse harvest having reached its culmination, there's been progressively less and less to do every day except wait and eat. Consequently, Balor's spending less time in their garden. He seems occupied with something, but god knows what, least of all because he outright refuses to tell Casper what's going on. Whatever it is, Casper doesn't like it. It can't possibly be Casper's impending departure (ten days, nine, eight...); both Balor and Smith have both amply assured him everything is well in hand in that regard, so what's going on? When people start moving around Casper without telling him what they're doing, it generally means bad new for him. It's only fair he's getting a little bit (extremely) nervous.

     Myr's up and about during the day now, though that may be because the daylight hours are getting longer, the evening stretching onwards and outwards through what was once the night. Casper's making good use of the strange shadows that line the manor halls, cast by the interminable afternoons that blur into a summer long haze. But he needs to keep his head clear, needs to stay on his toes.

     Smith was right. Myr's insufferable enough when he's boozed, but he's ten times worse when he's sober. A sober Myr actually notices things where a drunk one would be content enough to let them pass and be forgotten. The little signs that imply Casper's presence are starting to catch his attention: piles of debris shoved in the corners of the hall, left over from where Casper's been cleaning house; a dusty blanket draped over his chair in the kitchen; new plates thrown into the sink on top of the ones that've been waiting years to be washed.

     If Casper tucks himself into the darkest corners of the house, holds his breath, and closes his eyes tight, sometimes he can trick himself into thinking he's invisible. Still largely ignored, still vaguely safe. But then he hears the floors creaking where Myr's standing, loitering around the places Casper haunts. Myr never calls for him, and certainly never by name, but he has to know he's listening. It's become a dance. Never acknowledged, but the distance between them is carefully measured and maintained. Never in the same room, never in each other's sight. Their existences are mutually exclusive. As far as Myr's concerned, Casper's a ghost. He isn't real.

     It's as close as they've come to a ceasefire, this no man's land that stretches on between them. Casper hopes he'll be gone before hostilities resume. Beyond this silent truce, the only thing they have in common is Balor, who's become progressively absent from Casper's side.

     If it isn't Myr who's stealing Casper's old man away from him, demanding Balor do this or that, then it's the increasingly frequent appointments with Smith. Sometimes Myr will follow the old man down the road to town some hours later, so it's not like Casper can loiter on the path until Balor comes back. Who knows who'll bump into him on their way up, be it the drunk, Balor, or the Brigade on another one of their mock infiltrations. Then Casper remembers the Brigade disbanded for the season and he won't be likely to see them again, much less on friendly terms after the druggie stripped him bare of his dirty little secret for all the world to see. It's enough to make his heart drop down into his stomach like a sullen lead weight during times like these.

     Balor's nasty flower tea can't fix everything, though it's certainly taken the edge off his sleeping problems. It can't do a damn for his living nightmares though.

     It's bad when Casper's all alone with Myr on his own. It's worse when there's nobody else at all. Not a living soul to anchor him in the here and now; sometimes Casper finds himself drifting somewhere else in spite of himself. Not sure if he's haunted or if he's the one doing the haunting, this rickety old house in the middle of nowhere.

     As far as Myr's concerned he's a ghost.

     Casper's got ghosts of his own and it's times like these where he needs to get out of the house for sanity's sake.

     Doesn't matter where he's going. He'll be back by sundown, like always. Can't leave his old devil waiting and worrying for him, not like Casper does until they reconvene and catch up with each other at the end of yet another very long day. Doesn't matter where he'll be. Everyday the same, left adrift in no man's land, never here, never there.

     He's not going anywhere. He never has. He never will be.

     Then Balor tells him Smith want to see him tomorrow and, for the first time in several days, Casper is shed of his stupor.

     He blinks. "'M sorry, say that again for me?"

     "I said, Smith requests to see you on the morrow." Balor frowns. "I had thought you would be glad to hear it, given how eager you have been previously to discuss the matter with him."

     "I am. Really. I've-" He stops. Chews on his words. "Haven't been feelin' like myself lately." An understatement. Feels like he's been asleep this whole time, and not the good kind of nap either.

     "More nightmares?"

     "No!" Goodness no. No more of that foul tea. Casper's had enough, thank you Balor. "I mean, not really," he repeats calmly now. Balor's not buying a word of it though; the old devil knows him too well. "I'm losin' track of things again," Casper explains. "Used to happen back in the workhouse, 'specially when it got bad." What 'it' is, he doesn't elaborate. There's some things he doesn't like to remember, even after all these years. "'M fine now though," he reassures, "now that you've gone an' woke me up. I'll be alright," he says to convince himself. "I'll be alright."

     Balor doesn't believe him. Not surprising. Casper doesn't believe himself either.

     And so the days pass on...

END OF DAY TWENTY-NINE.