The boy stirs. The movement is sluggish, uncoordinated. Eyes blink open briefly, seeing but not registering anything. He isn't awake. He merely looks that way. His body is running entirely on autopilot. He sits up. His head dips. Eyes close again, then open before he relapses into true slumber. He sits a little straighter as he looks around.
He's back in his room, the one with three beds. Even with the window, there's not much light to see by, not with the storm still raging outside. Sheet lightning splits the darkness and vanishes the next instant. The flash serves as the boy's candle. A minute later, the silence is similarly pierced by growling thunder.
The boy belatedly reacts. He shifts to face the window and the tempest expressionlessly. He doesn't twitch at any spark or roar the weather makes. Later on, the storm settles and is content with spitting at the earth in torrents. Fifteen minutes more and the boy slumps where he sits. His eyes are half-open. He's asleep. It takes another minute for gravity to topple him forwards onto his pillow. The impact rouses him. He yawns and stretches. His eyes close. He curls into the faded quilt, into himself, and drifts into proper dreams.
YOU ARE READING
The Demon Boy
Historical FictionTHIS IS NOT A ROMANCE. Casper (formerly known as "John Doe" or simply "the boy") didn't ask to come to Glenholm. Nobody asked him if he wanted to be here either. For better or for worse, he's stuck living under the same roof as Glenholm's own notori...
