âI assure you that it is, but that is neither here nor there,â he said simply. Magic was really not the issue at the moment, and they could get into a lengthy discussion about it when Ben wasnât feeling so overwhelmed. Jack wasnât very good at reading people, but he could tell that the conversation was starting to frustrate him, and that wasnât what heâd intended at all. âA history of terror and abuse,â he said gently. He wasnât sure what other way to describe the Camdensâ relationship with Oogie Boogie. âThere is something strange about all of us, and it begins with the fact that we are not from here. We can talk about it another time, if you decide you would like to know more.â
âIâm afraid it isnât that simple. People have arrived at all different times, and Barrel was separated from the rest of us.â There was regret in his voice, although he doubted a stranger would be able to identify it. He had failed to get them all through the portal safely, and while he wasnât one to dwell on past mistakes, that one weighed on him. He merely nodded when he said he didnât want to be Barrel. âThat is entirely up to you.â He accepted the journal, riffling briefly through it. The corner of his mouth pulled upward when he came across a drawing of a pumpkin head. It certainly looked a lot like Halloweentown. âI will hold onto this for you. Should you decide you want it back, of course it is yours. You are welcome here at any time, and should you need anythingâa job, a place to stay, or help of some other sortâyou only have to ask.â
He nodded at that. Ben wasnât sure whether he wanted to dive into a topic that he knew nothing about. A past life was different, but magic was something he didnât want to mess around with. He saw television, movies even. Usually within restaurants with the tvs running in the background, but he didnât enjoy what he saw with it. Nodding was probably the simplest solution. âCool, awesome. So, now thereâs also a kid thatâs also probably a punching bag. With all this shit, donât you all consider the fact that Barrel could be dead?â Abuse and terror did not sound fun and most of the time, he was afraid of raising his own fists. He wasnât a pacifist, but the idea of being ganged up on were always grander. âI kinda grasped that when it was dark and I was suddenly here.â Ben stated, wishing that there was some type of rock that he could kick. But there wasnât and he hated the constriction of being indoors. âItâs about Halloweentown, isnât it? Shock brought it up once. And maybe another time.â If there was another time.
Ben did note the regret. Something in it, stuck out. But he didnât want to tear into it. It wasnât his life, or if it was, something had happened. âIâm starting to get the idea that you guys all need a leash or something to keep track of people,â That was his only remark. He didnât know what to say, but felt a heavy burden of giving his prized journal away. He wanted it, enjoyed the familiarity of the idea--which was gone. Yet, he was glad. Glad that he wasnât pushed into being someone else. It was more relieving than having to tell Shock, basically who wouldnât take no for an answer. He eyed the door, seeking to leave the funeral home. What he came for, wasnât there. He felt empty-handed and released a sigh. âWhatever you say, Jack.â The words were Barrelâs, not Benâs. They werenât familiar to him, but just inched out of his mind and he didnât think much of them. He didnât need anything---well he might take the offer on a job another time, he needed the money. But he didnât want them to pity him, he could lie about where he lived and claim he didnât need help. He was fine as it was on his own. âIf you hold onto it, keep it away from coffee and tea. The spills donât give the journals character.â
