The Boy in the Photograph ↪ Brallon

Chapter 13; Acajou

Incredibly pleased with his work Dallon left the shop with a copy of the key and some light spending money, mostly from tips he received. Even Dallon surpassed his own first-day expectations. Really however, he had tried to decline the tips and split half with the unusually absent chef and Bloom but she said to keep them, as in her words, "Earned them fair and square." But to be totally honest Dallon was not complaining.

The day had faded to night and the tall worker was about 10 minutes away from turning back into a pumpkin.

Trees waved their arms in the gentle breeze, one to make Dallon's back shiver and his knees week.

As the tired lanky tree height man made his way home to his less than normal apartment a single lit shop in the midnight sky caught his eye. The windows were barred and the glass painted black, besides one corner of the landscape window. The spot caught his attention because it had a single sign that buzzed "OPEN"

Curiosity traveled down his backbone quicker than the winter cold. He had an uneasy feeling about this place. Not to say a good feeling, not exactly a bad one. Something right in between that, he had going on inside his gut about this place and he had another feeling he was going to find out soon what this instinct was.

Why would such a shop be open so late at night?

Is it a bar maybe?

Dallon pondered, he covered his eyes with his large hand to peer into the window, to no avail. The nameless shop seemed to be as dead as the cemetery it was directly in front of. He thought this to be even stranger but decided it best to leave the place alone and head home.

The estranged wanderer turned tail and started back to his path home. But not before a gentle "ting" of a customer bell was heard behind him. Dallon dare not glance back to see the source of the noise, fixed forward he sped up his pace. Behind him gentle splashes of feet hitting melted snow puddles could be heard but in Dallon's cog-wheel and gasket mind they were nothing but normal street babel.

With a swift movement of his long musician fingers he typed in the complex's key code and walked the stairs to his abode. Merely minutes after he entered the structure a familiar stranger followed in suit to their respected den. Dallon none the wiser of the strangely precise times they both arrived at the same building.

Untroubled Dallon now home he sighed into his bed. Managing to last an entire work day; He was beyond ready for sleep by the time he slammed his front door closed. Staying even later to assist Bloom, from 12-12 A.M.

Dallon though of the notebook in the room next to him.

Dallon thought of the ghost boy who could be watching him right now.

Dallon thought of the dirty sweat sodden clothes on his back meeting his clean duvet right now.

And lastly he thought of how much sleep would he really be getting tonight.

As Dallon thought and wondered Brendon was humming to himself in the boys now shared study room.

Dallon sat up with his legs to the edge of his bed, eyes still closed he began unbuttoning his shirt. The dark house heeding possibly no further adventure for the night. Until something pirked his ears. A certain tamber for his liking. With his shirt discarted on the floor and his head lolled to the side, Dallon wondered if these hums are a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination.

Once more against his better judgment Dallon got out of bed to discover the source of this unwarented noise.

First he checked the kitchen/entry room, just in case he forgot to lock his front door and some stranger desided to come in and start siging, which even to a very sleepy Dallon did not seem very likely.

But in the back of his mind he knew were it could be coming from. A certain mystery ghost boy that he so shared living quarters with.

Dallon began wlaking down his short hallway to his office, a familair creepy feeling fluttered on his back like that of a butterfly. Goosebumps traveled down his arms as he reached for the door, and as soon as he creaked the door open it flew open with tromendious force, gusting billows of wind into his face and swirling down to a point at the end of his hall.

Brendon was sat on the floor like the usual, a scene invisible to the homes living resident.

"The men all played along to marching drums.

And boy did they have fun behind the sea.

They sang, hey!

So our matching legs are marching clocks.

And we're all too small to talk to God.

Yes, we're all too smart to talk to God."

Dallon listened to this enchanting voice the seemed to dance around the room with a mind of its own. Brendon sang with his eyes closed and small tears leaking down his beautiful worn red cheeks. A song precious to him, written by someone else but they long dead and forgotten by all but this lonely ghost boy. He opened his eyes after he finished the slow rendurance of the song and was shocked still to see Dallon standing there, a silhouette from the moon's eye in the doorway. His stature tall and demanding now was drained and calm an aura Brendon was unfamiliar with but not apposed to. And he began to wonder many things sitting on the floor;

Why is Dallon awake so late?

Is he here to do some work?

Maybe to talk to me?

But Brendon felt he was not so lucky to deserve the attention of his crush. Dallon walked over and sat on a foot bench next to the cemented notebook. Pinky, his bass, sat in the nearest corner to him and called his name, but it was his turn first to call to someone.

"I heard you singing Brendon." He choked out through hiccuped breaths. Still not entirely sure he could believe what he was saying himself.

I heard the ghost sing? How is that even possible?

"It was lovely. I've never heard that song before, is it something you wrote?"

"No, its...an old friend of mines song." Brendon said aloud, but received no response from Dallon. Brendon mentally slapped himself;

He can't hear me speak? But he can hear me sing.

Brendon smiled to himself. This new knowledge made him very happy, but someone else listening in was anything but pleased with these two boys. And this persons energy radiated with Brendon in a completely negative way.

Feeling his writing hand come on Brendon flipped open his journal. However this time his head began to ache and the peak of sharp horns poked through the skin on his forehead, he cried in agony and rolled to his side on the floor, desperate for something to hold onto. His nails grew and he scratched the floor, wishing for this pain to stop and wondering too why its happening to him.

Why me?

He asked no one in particular. Dallon knew nothing of Brendon's pain for he said nothing to him about it at all. So Dallon leaned over onto his knees and flipped the book open, expecting a message already waiting for him from Brendon but the pages after he wrote of his dream were empty. As blank as a heated desert in the middle of summer, Dallon waited five more minutes. In turn Brendon wallowed in pure pain and agony on the floor, but Dallon none the wiser left the study. Left his friend and Brendon cried out to him asking for relief of this pain. Brendon stayed there for the night, eventually his cries cooing himself to sleep and an ache in his head he could no longer shake off.

The vortex this time in the hallway disappeared even before Dallon could notice it. And he went to bed. The end to his day that dragged on for way too long. A head filled with the angelic notes of a sorrow filled boy, but Brendon was nothing close to angelic.

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