Akayuki (Red Snow)--Michael's Past Part 4

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction. It is intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.

~o~

The boy stood beside him, sulking, as he closed up the tea house for the day. 

“Stop sulking,” Michael told him.

The boy continued to sulk. 

He had sulked through the lunch hour. He had sulked when Michael made him sit down in the kitchen and eat a bowl of rice and some fish. 

“Your growling stomach is disturbing the customers,” Michael said and handed the sulking boy a pair of chopsticks. “I assume your mother taught you how to use chopsticks.”

The boy scowled and demonstrated he did in fact know how to use chopsticks. Michael was impressed.

Between customers, he made sure the boy ate lunch and washed his dirty dishes before allowing him to leave the kitchen.

The work day was over now so Michael could finally send the boy home.

“Where do you live?” Michael asked him.

The boy averted his head.

“Where do you live?” Michael repeated.

The boy still refused to answer.

“Good-night.” Michael turned his back on the boy and walked off. He’s not my responsibility.

Michael was halfway home when he heard running feet behind him.

When he turned around, the boy collided with him or would have if Michael had not caught him beforehand.

“Why are you following me?” Again, Michael thought but didn’t add to the question.

The boy glared up at him, gasping from the run.

Michael glared back.

“You are not coming home with me.”

Not that Annie would mind, but he would. 

Michael turned the boy around and slapped his bottom to get him moving.

The boy whirled around and threw himself against Michael, fists flying. 

Michael grabbed the boy’s wrists and lifted him off his feet.

“You dirty, rotten…” the boy cursed.

Michael frowned and dropped the boy. 

The boy landed on his rear, a cloud of dust rising from the impact. Michael suppressed a snicker.

“Go home,” he ordered the boy. “The Boogeyman will get you after dark, remember?”

“You’re the Boogeyman, remember?” the boy retorted. “Besides, you’ve already got me.”

“Mm. Do you want me to stuff you in a bag and deliver you to the ogre of the mountain?”

“I outgrew that story a long time ago.” The boy picked himself up and dusted off the seat of his pants. Michael had noticed the threadbare condition of the clothes the boy wore earlier but had not commented on it. “Besides, you retired from being the Boogeyman, right? Laurie said…”

Michael scowled at the mention of his younger sister.

“Laurie should mind her business, as should you.” The boy received his second forehead flick of the day from Michael.

“Go home,” Michael repeated for what he hoped would be the final time today. “Your parents are probably worried.”

The boy rubbed his forehead.

“My parents are too busy to worry about me.”

“I’m busy, too. My wife is waiting for me. Good-night.” Michael turned his back on the boy and resumed his journey home.

Of course the boy followed and kept pace with him.

Michael stopped as they approached his home. He smiled as he caught sight of the blue paper lantern hanging from the overhang of the porch. The lantern had been lit, a secret sign from his wife letting him know she was okay.

The boy stood beside him also studying the simple home of the legendary Boogeyman. A two-story white house, no broken windows or loose shutters, nothing spooky about it at all.

“This is where you live?” he asked.

“Disappointed?” Michael asked.

“Sure. I expected a haunted house.” 

“Go home then.”

“My house isn’t haunted!” the boy argued.

“Mm. The ghost has followed me home instead.”

“Laurie said you were a ghost,” the boy said.

“Once.”

“How can you be a ghost and the Boogeyman?”

“I’m the Boogeyman.” Michael left the boy to ponder that. 

He stepped into his front yard and looked back. The boy was standing where Michael had left him, his arms folded across his chest, one foot tapping the road, thinking over the mystery of the Boogeyman before emitting a cry of frustration. 

“Go home!” Michael called.

“Okay, but only because I need to ask Richie how to defeat you!”

Michael snorted as he stood watching the boy’s sandals kick up dust as he ran home.