Day Twelve

     Imagine Casper’s surprise when, as he’s hitting up the glass house for his usual breakfast fare and meet and greet with the old man, he finds the little patch of earth they’ve been clearing two days prior completely free of the brush they’d been hauling.  ‘Continued assistance’ his ass, Balor didn’t need any of it. He’s been tricked! He gives Balor an accordingly frosty reception that morning for the perceived slight. Balor isn’t regretful in the slightest, the traitor. Something about not wishing to waste the day while Casper was away. Casper grudgingly forgives him after the old man points out that this project of theirs is ultimately to his benefit. Forgives him for tricking him into helping sow the seeds this morning too.

     He asks a few questions pertaining to which seeds are these, what are those, do they taste any better than the rest of the stuff he’s had so far. Most of it goes in through one ear and out the other, but Balor is happy to tell him more about anything that catches his eye. They’ve rows of peas and beans, more of that espinac stuff and beta too. Balor’s finally figured out what their English names are, as he proudly tells Casper, who really couldn’t care less (they’re ‘spinach’ and ‘beets’). Beta tastes better than espinac, in his voiced opinion, so they plant more beta. With Balor shouldering the hard work of breaking up the earth, they finish for the day shortly after noon. There won’t be much to do until the sprouts start pushing up through the earth, so says Balor. The rest is watching, watering, and waiting.

     “That mean I can go now?” Casper asks.

     “Yes, Casper, you may go play now.” Casper need not be told twice, he’s already off. “Do mind that it would seem as if to rain today,” Balor calls after him. Casper spares a moment to shout back confirmation that he heard, then disappears into the trees.

     He’s become increasingly confident in his ability to navigate the woodland that surrounds the manor and the hill it rests upon, due in no small part to his recent expeditions. Casper’s willing to bet he can find his way to town through the trees alone. He wagers correctly. A shortcut through the forest is indeed much quicker than the meandering manor road, but only if you don’t get lost along the way.

     Here’s another surprise the day has in store for him: a small squadron of the older Glenholm boys are trying to discretely sneak their way up the manor path. The key word is ‘trying’. With all their half-whispered conversations, bumbling, and giggling, Casper hears them a mile off. They’d make terrible thieves, not like him at all, oh no. He’ll show them how to do it right, how to sneak up on someone right and proper. Like Balor. He shadows them in the underbrush. Creeps ever closer. Grins like a wolf because they don’t suspect a thing. Near enough to catch the scraps of the things they’re saying: “Think they know we’re coming?”, “Think we’ll get farther this time?”, “Shush!”. Lots of shushing and back and forth elbowing.

     Casper shakes his head. They’re not sneaking. Not really. This is all a game to them, nothing serious about it. He’ll show them, yes, he’ll show them alright. Just need to get a little closer. And closer… Mind the twigs that’ll give him away should they crack. Mind the branches and their rustling. He’s right next to them. Perfect.

     Just one little thing, a dry, little twig from the ground. It snaps and it echoes. Everyone freezes dead.

     “Did you hear that?” Some genius asks.

     Casper springs on them then, roaring like a maniac. They scream. They scatter like frightened hens. Casper laughs and laughs. “You shoulda seen the looks on your faces! Priceless!” He gets cut short under a sudden dogpile.

     Someone shushes him right in his ear. “Shaddap! You’re gonna get us all caught!”

     Casper grunts, frees up an arm to push the other guy’s face out of his hair. “Geddoff me, will ya? Yer fuckin’ heavy.” He struggles from the bottom of the heap. “Who’s gonna catch us anyhow?” And catch them doing what?

     More shushing from all sides. “You don’t know that! Anything could be out there.”

     “Oh really? Like what?” Casper grins. “Whatever could possibly be here?” He shouts just for the hell of it.

     The first guy, the one who was spitting in his ear while he was down, claps a hand over his mouth. Shushes him again for good measure. He’ll be the one in charge then. “You don’t know it, but there’s an honest to god demon who lives in these woods and if you don’t shut up right now, you’re gonna get us all roasted!” Ah. That old story again. Inaccurate they may be, but at least the locals are consistent.

     Casper holds his hands up in surrender and Captain Lard-ass lets him go. “What demon?” He scoffs. “There ain’t nuthin’ here.” He would know. He's been living here all the while and he hasn't heard so much as a boo from anything that wasn't Myr.

     “Oh yeah? How’d you figure? You only got here a few weeks ago.” Lard-ass says and, predictably, the rest of the troupe takes up the chant.

     Well, damn if Casper hasn’t dug a hole for himself this time. “Well… I mighta come up the trail a coupla times.” And boy, does that get them riled.

     “By yerself?” Pipes up an incredulous pipsqueak from the back.

     No, with the queen’s army.

     “Are you mad?” Lard-ass hisses.

     Casper shoves him off. “Big deal. You lot are here, ain’t you? How’s it you can come an’ go as your royal heinie-ness pleases, but I can’t set a toe outta line without makin’ the headlines?”

     A low roar of disbelief is his answer and it all boils down to three words: no man’s land.

     The troop decides to make themselves scarce after that. Something about staying too long as is. Casper joins them down because he is going to get answers if it’s the last thing he does. They settle by a fenced off meadow dotted by trees that Casper recognises as Farin's orchard. Some sit on the weathered fence’s planks and pillars, some lean against it instead. Lard-ass stands front and center, facing Casper down. “Over there,” he points to the woods beyond the fence and the meadow, “is no man’s land. This fence here,” he pats the post, “is what separates that from everything else.”

     “Okay, I got that,” Casper jerks a thumb at the hill, “but why’s it you were there?”

     “That's top-secret information,” Lard-ass huffs, “real confidential stuff.” Sure it is. “And, none of us are too stupid to be going up the hill by our lonesome.”

     That hit a nerve. “I’m smart ‘nuff not to go believin’ in the boogie-man,” Casper snaps, “which is a hell lot more than you morons.”

     Casper sees the punch coming long before it reaches him. Lard-ass telegraphs more than the local post. Casper ducks under, tackling the larger boy around the midriff, knocking him backwards into the fence. The old planks break beneath them and Lard-ass is driven into the ground. While he’s futilely thumping back, Casper goes for his guts, kidneys, lungs until the larger boy is curled up on his side, whimpering. Defeated. The others stay where they are, stupefied by the sudden turn.

     Casper picks himself up, rolls his shoulders to stretch out the aches where he’d been hit. Kicks Lard-ass, who groans and rolls over to get away. The others stare, some on still on their asses from when the fence gave way. Casper turns on them. “What the hell’re you lookin’ at?” It’s fascinating how quick they are to look away, to feign innocence after the fight’s lost and won. “Good.” Casper situates himself on the lower rung of one of the intact sections of the fence. The mob parts before him like the Red Sea. He stands above them. “Now which one of you lily-livered fuckers is gonna tell me what I wanna know?”

     No volunteers, unsurprisingly. A regular bunch of bootlickers, mulling amongst themselves for direction now that their leader’s down. At least they’re not immediately against him. The only way to know for sure is start asking.

     “Question one!” Casper calls. “What the hell were you doin’ on the hill?”

     Indistinct muttering. Everyone looks at their shoes, at the ground, to the side. To each other.

     “Let’s try that again shall we? I said, what were you doin’?”

     “It-it were a test…” Someone mutters.

     “A test?” Don’t like the sound of that. If this was a ploy to smoke him out, to see whether he’s living at the manor after all… “What kinda test?” And who’s being tested?

     “It were a test for courage,” the same boy perks up, more confident this time. “You know. To see how far we got to the big house on the top…”

     His blood turns to ice. If they ever got that far, if anyone finds out… “A house, you say? Well now, that’s somefin’…” He leans back, feigns disinterest while he puts together his next step. “Anyone seen it?”

     The crowd exchanges looks. Lots of sheepish frowns, some shake their heads. Good. That gives him some breathing room.

     “How’d you know there’s a house up there anyhow?”

     “Same way ev’ryone knows ‘bout the demon and the witch man on the hill,” another one pipes, “we heard the stories.”

     “Is that right? You heard stories, so you go an’ figure it has to be real.” How underwhelming.

     “It’s not just stories,” the youngest denies, “those of us who live in town have seen ‘em, both of ‘em.”

     Casper stills at that. “What do you mean you’ve seen them?” People aren’t supposed to see the boogie-man. That’s why he doesn’t exist.

     The youngest fidgets under the pressure. “Not me personally, but Mick has.”

     “A few times, yeah,” the first boy, presumably Mick, affirms, “and Gerry got a load more stories.”

     The crowd nods and chatters amiably about their beloved beanpole. Casper’s head spins, refuses to acknowledge they’re talking about the same Gerry here because that’d be ridiculous. He waves the thought off. “Okay, fine, but what do you mean you seen him?” Something about it is screaming all kinds of wrong and Casper can’t see for the life of him why.

     “He comes to town sometimes,” Mike claims, “he comes down the road and I see him out the windows. Mum give me a talkin’ to for it all the time.”

     Casper’s mouth goes dry. “An’ the monster?”

     Mike’s got a guilty look about him. “Uhh, not supposed to look at him ‘cause of the evil eye.”

     “But you’ve seen him, haven’t you?” Mike doesn’t answer, so Casper comes to him, gets off his high ground and marches straight for him. “You’ve seen him.” It’s not a question.

     “It were just a peek!” Mike squeaks.

     Casper grabs him. “What. Did. He. Look like?” Because for better or for worse, he has to know.

     “I-Ionno! Uh, big? Black?” Well that could be anything. “H-horns?”

     Casper goes very still, very quiet. His heart skips a beat, then several more. As plain as the nose on his face. You sure you ain’t charmed? “What do you mean ‘horns’?” He breathes.

     “W-what?”

     “What do you mean horns?” Casper screams. Does he take him for a fool? Does he think himself so clever that he can lie to him?

     “H-horns!” Mike squeals, “l-like the devil’s!”

     Oh. Right. Demon. Duh. Course it’d have horns. Doesn’t mean a thing. Casper lets up on his grip, but doesn’t let go. Not quite yet. “An’ what ‘bout this witch?” He sounds almost calm.

     “Ugly fellow. Not hard to miss,” Mike continues. “He weren’t a guy folks like.”

     Casper wrinkles his nose, feeling offended on Balor’s behalf. Has to admit the third point though; the old man can be frustratingly evasive. He lets Mike go, who flees to his friends. They’ve given him a wide berth, hanging around him in a large circle, apt to flee. They don’t want to be anywhere near him. Fine.

     “Not a word ‘bout this to no one, you lot hearin’ me?” He can’t have this winding up in the rumor mill too. Someone with a brain might start to piece things together.

     Lard-ass gets his second wind as Casper’s walking away. Starts bawling about him not fighting fair. Now there’s a funny notion. He must still be playing games because there’s never been a fight Casper’s been to that had rules.

     Just like Balor said, it starts to rain. Casper checks into the pub for a late lunch and waits out the worst of the weather. Alicia’s giving him the cold shoulder this time, which is fine. Pa leaves him be too. The world seems to clue in that he’s had his share of nonsense for today and leaves him the hell alone. Nobody bothers him. Nobody so much as speaks to him until he gets home to Balor.

     “Ah, Casper. You have arrived earlier than I had anticipated. It gladdens me to see you are faring better than the last time we had poor weather.”

     At least someone’s happy to see him.

END OF DAY TWELVE.

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