-Casper had been hard at work in the basement, taking the smallest amount of his decrepit remains and attempting to grind up the bone. With a pestle and mortar, he’d put everything his being had left into breaking down the calcium bonds, the carbon foundations which had once supported a healthy, strong lad. Now a useless, vacant framework, the specter saw it as his final hope of being free from the prison he had once called home.
Adding ancient herbs and floral buds used by wiccans his father had once homed for a while, he recited incantations that had been engraved in his memory since he’d learned of them in his undead state. He hadn’t quite thought up an option as to how his remains would be distributed, but that would come later once the hard part of grinding them up had been done.
His process has ceased however, when he heard the familiar voice he expected to be busy at work in the shed for at least another hour or so. Biting his lip, he placed down the tools and headed toward the healthy staircase that lead up to the house. Standing on the top step in feigned awkwardness, he carefully pushed the door open and stepped upward hurriedly as if the entire framework was due to collapse should he not spring from it in that moment. Blocking the entranceway casually by leaning on the door frame, he wipes the back of his hand across his brow, nodding exaggeratedly.-
I apologize for sending you out there… just I’ve encountered no-one else without an allergy like myself. How goes the pest control?
-In that moment he realizes how his plan must unfurl for him to successfully leave the plantation once and for all, even if it means remaining by the boy’s side for all eternity. It seems like a catch, but after such a long period of time ensnaring people into the house just to remain alone once more, he decides it’s a small price to pay for freedom.-
Is there anything I can assist you with? My only issue is of course, I cannot go anywhere near the back garden at this point now the wasps have been disturbed but I can point you in the right direction?
[Casper seemed hassled, as though he hadn't been expecting Aidan back, as though Aidan had interrupted something important -- which, of course, Aidan had. The work needing to be done on the stairs was no doubt important, and Aidan felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at stopping Casper before he had finished, but his arm was hurting like hell and if he was to truly go out and buy groceries he needed to actually have use of the limb.]
Yeah. Do you have something for the sting? I think the stinger's still in my arm and it hurts like hell.
[He paused for a moment, still vaguely out of breath. Not vaguely. Just out of breath. How had he gotten so far out of shape? He made a quick resolution to himself to start jogging again, jog far away from this place that -- although nice -- was still too close to home to provide him warmth.]
If you have a phone book lying about, I can find the number for an exterminator to take care of the bees. It looks like the shed hasn't been touched in decades. Were you a boy when it was stopped being used?
[That feeling of unease, of malaise, he had been feeling earlier returned to him, stronger than before. But again he crushed it: it had no foundation, no relevance, and probably was subconsciously related to the guilt he ought to be feeling about ditching his whole life behind. As soon as he left this town, no, this state, no, this country... as soon as he escaped, maybe that feeling would go away. For now he'd have to hunker down and power through it, as his father might have said in one of the sermons he had long ago learned how to tune out.]
Either way -- [He added, if perhaps only for his own benefit] -- if you want to use it in the future we'll need to call an exterminator.
[Quietly, he chided himself for his choice of words. There was no "we". There was Casper and there was Aidan, there was Aidan who was already gearing up to leave, and any similitudes of peaceful domesticity he felt here were projections of his own desperation. He knew that, dammit. He knew better. He ought to have known better.
Quietly now, stupidly self-conscious and embarrassed:]
Get the stinger out for me and I'll find the number.










