If there is one thing Casper has come to realize in this last handful of days, it’s that he needs to keep himself busy. Because, try as he might, his long sojourn in Glenholm is steadily eating moth holes in the very fiber of his being. Or maybe just his head. In any case, it remains quite clear that, unless Casper wants to lose himself again, he needs something, anything, to stay engaged with reality. This close to leaving, he can’t afford to go into another fugue and sleepwalk through the week, never you mind the day he’s supposed to leave.
The funny thing about time is that, unless you’re doing something to give it meaning, it’s all to easy to let it slip by. Let it pass in a fuzzy, grey haze, not a thing to delineate one day from the next and the next. Meaningless. Boundless. Monotonous. And he’ll freewheel like that, out of mind, out of control, until something gives him reason to wake up again. The frightening thing is that he doesn’t know how long that’ll take. He drifted like that through the better part of the year, once upon a time. It’s only natural he’s anxious about falling back into the habit when he can least afford it.
And so, he’s come up with a cunning plan: he’s made himself a to-do list.
Some items are preparations for his departure in six days, little somethings to ensure he’ll be somewhat equipped for whatever his Post-Glenholm life will throw at him. Most, however, are simply busy work to keep him from spiraling. One thing every day. One list to hold him together while he’s still here, in the thick of it.
Today, he’s going to help Balor.
It’s not actually on his list. He might’ve made it up on the spot, but Casper’ll gladly pick being with his old man over menial chores like taking bath or doing laundry (because Curly was right, Casper’s getting worse for wear these days). It was just his luck he woke up to find Balor bringing various jars and barrels of… things (Casper doesn’t look too closely; he has enough nightmare fuel, thank you) into the house with a grim look about him. Further inspection of the situation quickly reveals why: there’s a wagon full of stuff outside. Balor’s got his work cut out for him if he has to bring it all inside himself, which seems to be the case. Good thing Casper’s here.
The old man starts for once, seeing Casper suddenly appear next to the wagon - next to him – while he was inside with an armful. Balor looks nervous at the sight of him, almost as much as Casper feels, which is ridiculous given Casper’s been vibrating since he woke up this morning.
“Mornin’ Balor,” he says a little too fast, a little too loud, and terribly intent.
“Good morning, Casper,” Balor repeats at length. “Are you faring well?”
“Peachy! Can’t complain.” That’s not true. He could, and he’d do so ad nauseam, except he really craves the company and he’d rather not drive Balor off with his doom and gloom. “Watcha doin’?” He hazards to break the ice.
“Performing preparations for the coming solstice,” he scowls.
“When’s that supposed to be?”
“In a fortnight.”
Casper squints. “Am I gonna be gone by then?”
“If all goes well, you will find yourself in better places long before it.” The old man shakes his head and gives Casper a tired smile. “This unpleasant, old matter need not concern yourself, Casper. Indeed, I would prefer that you remain as far removed as may be possible.”
“Oh.” Casper’s shoulders slump. “Does that mean you don’t wanna a hand?” He jabs a thumb at the cart. “Looks like a lotta work,” he adds, trying to come off as nonchalant. Can’t look too interested. Don’t want to be brushed off. (He’s staring too much, too eager.)
“I. That is…” The gears in the old man’s head are visibly turning. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on with Casper this time. Good luck with that. Casper has no idea what’s wrong with him either. “…Would you like to help Casper?” He’s caught on quick. Excellent.
Casper rambles off several half-hearted protests, “well, I s’pose I might as well- I mean, if you insist”, but he’s already ambling towards the cart to pick up a load of…
He freezes midsentence.
He recognises now that he didn’t think through the whole ‘Spend time with his Old Man’ plan as far as he should’ve. With how loath he is to look at, much less touch, whatever those jars have in them, it’s going to pose an awful big problem when it comes to carrying them. He fixes his gaze on the wagon’s cover rather than its contents, searching for a possible work around.
Balor lingers at his elbow. “Do not feel as if you must force yourself to take part if you do not wish to do so, Casper. I shall manage.”
“Uh. Sure.” He fidgets on the spot. Most the jars seem to be ceramic, therefore thankfully opaque about their assumed contents, but Casper isn’t keen on double checking. Ignorance is bliss. “You wouldn’t happen to have any… normal ones, would you?” Casper asks Balor’s feet, not quite looking at him either. No, wait, that’s where his shadow is, abort! Casper spins on the spot, not sure what to do with himself, but needing to so something.
Balor watches him blank faced. “’Normal’, you say.”
“Yeah. You know. Like, normal.”
They end up staring at each other for a full minute while they separately try to parse out what’s a normal.
“Like, notgrossshit,” Casper hurriedly adds, still shifting like he’s got ants under his skin.
“…I beg your pardon?”
God damnit, the old devil going to make him come out and say it, isn’t he? Casper wrings his hands and lets out a nervous whine. “There better not be eyes n’ shit in those things, ‘cause if I have to get anywhere close to somefin’ like that again, I swear to god, I’m gonna scream.”
Balor’s instantly on the alert. “You have been what?”
Ops.
That’s right, this is another one of those things Casper isn’t supposed to know about.
He swears he used to be a better liar than this.
Balor kneels to his height, grave as a cemetery. “Casper. What, exactly have you found?”
“I didn’t touch nuthin’, I promise!” Except that’s not quite right either. “I mean-“ he backpedals, Balor looking more and more cross with him by the second. “It’s not like I took nuthin’. I got outta there real quick once I figured out what I was lookin’ at.” And what was looking back at him.
“And when was this?”
“I dunno.” Except Balor’s not liking that either.
“Casper. When was this?”
Oh hell, this isn’t the way he wanted things to go at all. He hesitates, but the old devil isn’t about to let him go. A very heavy, very firm hand on Casper’s shoulder serves as a warning.
“Casper.”
“It- a few days after I got here,” he says in a rush. “Didn’t know what it was or I woulda never gone near it. Honest.” Hands held up in a gesture of innocence, possibly surrender.
Balor studies him a beat. He lets out a breath, relaxes. The hand comes off Casper’s shoulder, much to his relief. “If what you tell me is true, then it would seem that you have come to no harm because of it.” The old devil straightens. “I assume your actions went undiscovered.”
“There weren’t no body in the post,” Casper affirms. “Wouldn’t’ve been able to sneak into the back if there were.” He wills the blood to flow back into his face. He feels as pale as a ghost.
“The post…? Ah, you are referring to Smith’s establishment.” And all of a sudden, he’s much less stormy than he was a second ago.
Casper blinks. “That good?”
“It is not what I had anticipated,” he says, failing to answer any of Casper’s concerns.
“What’s the big deal, anyhow?” He huffs. “You tryin’ to give me a scare here?”
“My apologizes, Casper.” At least he has the decency to look chagrined about it. “Not all that arrives here is safe to touch.”
Casper gives a sidelong glance at the wagon. “…Like what?”
Balor hesitates, tuts in annoyance. “There are…” He pauses, reconsidering. “A number of the imported reagents can be… unstable. Unpredictable. They have the potential to be dangerous.”
Casper scrunches his nose. “They gonna blow my hand off if I drop one?” He gently prods the cart with his foot. Balor flinches slightly. Understandable. Kicking a load of maybe explosives isn’t the wisest thing he’s done.
“By themselves, no.” Balor puts himself between Casper and the wagon. “However, a number of these items would prove difficult should their vessels become compromised and unseal.” He levels Casper a look. “Please do not kick the vehicle, Casper.”
“Right,” Casper nods, still chewing over the exchange.
Balor indicates something he can be trusted to carry, an earthenware urn as big as Casper’s head and at least three times as heavy as the rest of them. The old man’s figured out Casper’s less likely to get up to mischief when his hands are full. Or maybe it’s vengeance for the way he was jostling the cart. Could be either.
“The hell is in here anyways?” Casper grunts before he can consider how much effort he was putting into not knowing what’s inside a few minutes ago.
“Natrium,” is the succinct reply.
“Is it supposed to be this heavy?” This thing’s going to throw his back out, just watch. Meanwhile Balor has one tucked under each arm like he’s hefting a sack of potatoes, the cheater. Casper gets as far as the stairs before he throws in the towel. Apparently, most of this stuff is going all the way into the attic, of all places. Makes sense if Balor’s the one who’s going to be using it, but damn if that isn’t a tough climb. Casper isn’t built for uphill battles you know!
The old man takes it in good grace, letting Casper leave his load at the bottom of the stairs, saying he’ll deal with it later. He’s humoring him, Casper knows it, but Balor isn’t calling him out for the real reason he’s inserted himself most unnecessarily into the mix. Casper is… oddly grateful. Even if the old man has a stupid grin on his face, watching him huff and puff this way and that. The nerve of him.
“I still don’t get what’s the big deal,” Casper says when Balor comes back down, arms empty.
“What is it you do not understand, Casper?”
“Well, I mean, even if somma this stuff would blow me to the moon if I broke it, I don’t get what’s so bad about touching it.” He scrunches his face. “N’ why’s the stuff here worse than what’s at the post? It’s all the same weird shit, innit?”
That gives the old man pause. “I can see you have been thinking.”
Gee, thanks. “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. I might not be the cery-bellar type, but even I have a good idea e’ry once in a while,” he mutters.
Balor protests. “That is not what I was referring to!”
“Sure it weren’t.” He thinks the devil doth protest too much.
“What I had meant to express was my admiration for your well thought questions,” Balor replies diplomatically. Not that Casper buying it, but details.
“Don’t hear you answerin’ ‘em though.” He never does really, but Casper likes to think he’s getting better at demanding answers.
The old man mulls it over the whole way back to the cart, which is to say not long at all. Casper didn’t think he’d say anything at all on the subject.
“There are some items stored in the building that have the potential to hex oneself, should one be foolish or unwary,” so he says as he unloads a small barrel.
Casper looks from him, to the barrel, to the wagon, to the house. “You mean I’ve gone and cursed myself?” It would explain the bad run he’s had of late, ever since he got here.
Balor gives him an arch look. “I do doubt it. The less malignant and least used substances are those that have since been housed in Smith’s care.”
“Wait, wait, wait a minute. ‘M pretty sure pickled fleshy-bits sure as hell ain’t kosher, but now you’re tellin’ me there’s worse shit inside the house?” Maybe he had the right idea, sleeping outside.
“I assure you, I have taken the appropriate precautions to ensure they lie dormant and inactive where they are. Undisturbed, they are most harmless.”
“I’m still hearin’ a ‘but’ somewhere in there.” Because if there’s something like that in the same place he’s sleeping, then Casper has a problem.
“Very astute Casper,” so saying, Balor sets the barrel down. This is going to take awhile then. Casper huffs and leans against the cart before thinking better of it. Let’s get it over with. “The caveat is that the components must be handled carefully or otherwise remain untouched, lest the seals I have placed become undone.”
“Which is why you were close to bitin’ my head off,” Casper finishes. Good to know his misfortune isn’t magically induced. No, it’s all on him. “Where the hell do you even keep somfin’ like that anyways? Hell, why have it around in the first place?”
The more questions Casper asks, the less everything makes sense. He should stop asking.
Balor sighs. “In response to the former: do you recall the room on the second floor I had advised you to avoid?”
“Yeah.” It takes a second before the penny drops. “Oh.”
“Indeed. The most volatile are found in the cellar, which I equally counsel you to refrain from entering.”
Casper pretends to be satisfied with that alone, despite the lack of response for his other question. Balor makes to answer him anyways, but it’s Casper who shuts him down. He’s afraid of what he’ll hear, far be it from him to force the old dev- the old man to say anything damning.
Because he knows Balor isn’t innocent, he knows enough to read between the lines, and he knows and he doesn’t like it at all. But the old man’s good to him. And Casper isn’t innocent either. He’d like to be innocent, him and Balor both, except things didn’t turn out that way. Shit happened.
Casper stays a taciturn shadow, always at Balor’s heels, useful or not. He stays at the stairs though; no matter how much he needs the old man, there’s some places he can’t follow. He just-
He doesn’t want to be alone right now. Not today. Balor seems to understand, filling in the dead silences and uneasy spaces in Casper’s head with small talk, conversation, little stories. Little nothings that make Casper’s day and help him unwind for the first time in… he doesn’t know how long.
It been nice. Not how he’d originally thought the day would go, but it’s been nice all the same.
What’s he going to do with himself tomorrow?
END OF DAY THIRTY-ONE.
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