Day Seven - Midday

     Balor quietly tends to his glasshouse garden, checking on Casper from time to time as he steps around him. Casper, for his part, is dozing fast with the blanket pulled over his head to keep the light of day at bay. Every now and again, he’ll twitch and stir, seeking a more comfortable position before nodding off again. The sun climbs to its zenith, the glasshouse is nice and warm, and Casper shows no signs of getting up anytime soon. Balor has finished for the day and is hovering over him.

     “Casper.”

     Casper mumbles and rolls over.

     “Casper.”

     “‘M up, ‘m up. Quit your hollerin’…”

     “Are you quite sure you are awake at this time, Casper?” Balor asks loudly.

Day Seven - Midnight

     “‘Eeeeere kiddie, kiddie, kiddie.”

     Casper startles out of his slumber. Myr’s back from wherever he’s been all night. Surprisingly, the monster (if there is one) didn’t eat him; although, given the way Myr smells, maybe it’s not so surprising after all. Guess there’s things even the boogie man won’t touch.

     “Come out, come out wherever you are…” Myr lumbers down the main hall with all the subtlety of an elephant. The racket is unignorable in the dead silence that reigns the house at this time of night.

     Casper stays very quiet, very still. Myr can't possibly know where he is. He's safe as long as he remains hidden. Myr dithers on the spot before stumbling into the wall that separates the hall from the dining room, that separates him from Casper. Never have the walls felt so paper thin. Casper prays his blanket fortress is sufficient to protect him.

Day Six - Evening

     Casper forgoes the direct route to the manor he’s used in the past. It’s better, less conspicuous this way. It’s a small miracle that he hasn’t been exposed as is. He retraces his steps through the fresh tilled fields until he finds the river, then follows the waters upstream until he finds the spring. From there, he wanders the woods until he stumbles upon the glass house hidden among the trees. The rest is easy.

     Meanwhile, Myr’s yelling up a stink in the house. Casper can hear him, even from all the way out here. He slips into the glass house to hide while he waits out the storm. He might be here awhile. He hunkers down among the planters and snacks disinterestedly on some of the plants to pass time. Sadly, the taste hasn’t improved.

     Myr’s tantrum ends with one last shout and the slam of a door. Casper perks up. He doesn’t hear anyone coming his way. He waits a minute more. Neither hide nor hair of the drunk bearing down on him. Reassured, he leaves the glass house, gently closing the door behind him.

     Does Myr know about the glass house? About the plants? What are they for, the plants? Are they magic too? Will he turn into a frog if he eats the wrong ones? Would Balor tell him if he asks? If he asks, would Balor lie? (That’s what he’d do, but Balor isn’t him, isn’t like him. But if he is…) He doesn’t know.

Day Six - Afternoon

     The fact that Casper comes into the pub damp in spite of today’s clear skies causes more than a few puzzled expressions among the earlybirds. Let them stare. They’ll lose interest, as onlookers often do. And if they don’t, then they’re too invested to be mere passersby. Watchmen on the streets, sentries behind every door, why won’t they let him be?

     Casper checks the crowd for familiar faces. He doesn’t recognize any, but he wasn’t in any state of mind to catalogue his stalkers while he was running ragged through the streets. Could be staring them right in the face and he wouldn’t know it. Troubling.

Day Six - Midday

     Once upon a time, the manor's garden was a grown and groomed haven, an escape from the world beyond, a place to relax and partake in afternoon tea. Once upon a time was a long time ago. Neglected as the rest of the house, it has grown into a jungle. Few reminders of what once was remain. There’s the ruins of a bird bath lost in the middle of a grass snare, the bones of chairs, and a table in the course of rotting into oblivion.

     Casper steps along the edges of the weed strewn flagstones that make up the back porch. It’s still early in the spring season, but already the shoots come halfway up his shins. He parts the sea of green and treads carefully. Who can say what’s hiding in the grass? Snakes?

     His toes bump against something. Oh god, please don’t be a snake. But no, upon closer inspection, it’s a chunk of wood. Casper kicks it with prejudice. It hisses as it skims through the grass. “Balor! Where the hell are you?”