To Be at Peace with Yourself

Chapter 6: Ill Omen

Wow... first, my escape chapter is posted on the Fourth of July, now my Ill Omen chapter's being posted on Friday the Thirteenth... I love how the days I decided to post are lining up like that XD

Featured song is 'Ominous Background Music' from Oni

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Ever since Goth's name change, their interactions became much more amicable. He was still a skeleton of few words but was noticeably more comfortable with Palette's presence now, only flinching on very rare occasions.

He even took to looking over the artist's shoulder when the skeleton would paint at his workstation. It would have been mildly amusing to see Goth try to taste the paint if it weren't for the lead... that exploration was quickly snuffed. 

It's weird to think that Goth's only been here for a week.

It was during one of his art sessions that an innocent question revealed the skeleton's startling lack of knowledge of the world around them. More questions revealed he knew basic terms like 'bed', 'table', and 'food', but words such as 'pencil', 'house', and 'tree' were only met with confusion. 

A quick test confirmed Goth couldn't read, which meant he probably couldn't write either. Palette would have to remedy that in the near future.

Goth looks to be around my age... did no one ever teach him? 

The questions just kept piling up and began to paint a dark picture of these 'bad people'.

At the moment, the pair were in the process of washing and drying the dishes that had been used for dinner that evening. Palette washed, Goth dried and placed them on a rack to be stored away later. 

The process lulled them into a soothing silence... until a knock rattled the door.

Before Palette could even turn around, a plate smashed against the floor as Goth took off, diving behind the nearby bed. He glared at the door in fear and animosity.

Palette grimaced at the anxious monster. While he'd grown used to the artist, it seemed he was still wary of anything and everything else.

"It's okay, Goth," the tall skeleton murmured, walking to the door, "I'll handle it."

Opening the door, Palette was immediately disconcerted by the presence of three men decked out in grey and black body armor. He could see a pistol nestled in a clipped holster attached to one's belt. He tried to ignore it, attempting a pleasant smile instead.

"Can I help you?" Palette asked cautiously, gripping the wooden frame with his left hand.

"Yes," one of the men replied, his helmet and visor blocking his face, "we're on the lookout for a highly dangerous experiment that escaped recently. We have reason to believe it's still somewhere in the area around here. Its appearance is a skeleton monster like you, a bit shorter, possibly in the possession of a red scarf. Have you seen anything fitting that description lately?"

The skeleton fought a flinch, purposefully not looking toward the bed. 

These people are looking for Goth. The 'bad people'...

"N...no. I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual trees and mountain," he lied, hoping his slight stutter didn't give him away.

He actually hadn't been out of the house since Goth arrived, too focused on watching over him. Palette had a surplus of sketches he could transfer to canvases at home, so there was no need to leave for new drawing ideas.

The man with the gun stepped forward, clearing his throat, "I'd like to reiterate that the creature we're looking for is very dangerous and has the potential to cause massive damage. Failure to report information would lead to disastrous consequences."

The skeleton narrowed his eye lights. 

Did they figure it out? No, they're armed and I'm not. If they thought I was lying, they'd be forcing their way into the house. Goth's still safe.

"You've made that very clear," he replied, keeping his face neutral. After a tense minute, the third man pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Palette, "If you see or hear anything suspicious, give this number a call... I trust you have a phone?"

"Yes," he answered curtly, taking the paper slip, "Is that all?"

The men stood in silence. For a second, Palette worried they were going to force their way in anyway. Instead, they turned and began to walk away, one of them muttering, "We'll be in touch."

Before Palette could shut the door, the man with the firearm turned around, "By the way, we heard a crash earlier... is everything alright?"

The artist clenched the paper in his fist. 

Keep calm... it's just an innocent question...

"Your knock startled me and I dropped the plate I was cleaning. I don't get many visitors out here," he replied, using a partial truth to cover himself.

"I see... I apologize for taking up your time. Have a good evening," the man grunted, turning to follow the others. Palette kept a straight face as he shut the door. 

Once it was closed, however, his knees gave out as he slid to the floor, dread flooding him while Goth's words drifted through his thoughts.

'They hurt... they p... pain... I... I no like them!'

Goth! I nearly forgot!

Pushing himself off the door, he tossed the crumpled slip of paper in the trash and made his way over to the bed. 

Both sides were empty.

"Goth?" he called with a muted tone, in case the men were still nearby. A small whine was heard from under the bed. Getting down on his hands and knees, he looked to see two faint pinpricks staring back at him, wavering in the darkness of the bed's shadows.

"I sorry...," the small monster whimpered, "I sorry break."

The plate?

"Oh Goth," he sighed, gingerly reaching a hand out to the trembling monster, "It's okay, you didn't mean it. I'm not mad."

Slowly, the skeleton made his way out from under the bed. Palette waited patiently as he emerged, tear tracks lining his cheeks. Deciding to take a risk, the taller skeleton wrapped an arm around the smaller, bringing him into a gentle hug.

Goth tensed but didn't pull away. Instead, he hesitantly reciprocated the embrace. When nothing happened, he buried his face in Palette's sternum, shivering as new tears soaked into the taller's shirt.

The next hour was spent on the floor hugging, shushing, and whispering assurances to the smaller. The broken dish laid forgotten in the kitchen.