The Miscreants of Xiphoid Camp

» 2131 « Chapter 20 - Rumors, legends, and mysteries

"Do you know what Rob found in his backyard just last week? A filthy SCANT! Now, that realtor ASSURED him that nobody had been MURDERED there, but now he's already got one foot out the DOOR! Doesn't want to spend another moment in that WRETCHED place!"

This was what the less-tolerable grandmother had said about Scants.

It was also the only thing Avior knew about Scants. What did they have to do with someone being murdered? What made them filthy? What was so bad about them that made Rob, whoever that was, move out of his house? Perhaps they smelled terrible.

There was only one source of information Avior trusted enough to tell him the truth about Scants. The internet. He put in his earbuds, glanced around the cabin to make sure nobody was paying attention, and turned on the 'voice search' feature.

"Scant," he whispered into the phone.

"Barely sufficient or adequate," the automated text-to-speech program droned in his ear. "'Companies with scant regard for the safety of future generations'. Provide grudgingly or in insufficient amounts. 'He does not scant his attention to..." Avior muted the dull voice. Of course he knew what the word itself meant. He knew what just about every word under the sun meant. He was a paradox—an illiterate wordsmith.

He wanted to know why his grandmother had used 'Scant' in that way. Contextually, it made no sense whatsoever. Well, she had been talking about demons beforehand. It still doesn't make sense! a tiny voice in the back of his mind nagged. Yes it did. It made lots of sense. Everything made sense. No, you're wrong. You're wrong! it bleated.

"I'm never wrong," Avior insisted.

This whole demon thing is stupid. Just let it be! You don't have to care about the demons! it said scornfully.

"Shut your stupid face," Avior said, far louder than he had intended to. Nicolas looked at him in a very offended way. "Not you," Avior said, waving a hand dismissively. "Someone else." Nicolas gave a thumbs-up and returned to whatever it was he was doing. Avior liked that he didn't pry.

The little voice had gone away, at least. Avior hoped it would never come back.

It probably would. The little voice was new. It hadn't existed until very recently. He hated it. It was the most miserable thing imaginable. He supposed it probably would look a lot like his stepmother, if it took a physical form. Maybe she had put a curse on him. Maybe she was the little voice. What a horrifying thought.

Oh, he had gotten off-topic again. Right. Scants. Who did he know that might know anything about Scants? Or demons, assuming that Scants had anything to do with that at all. Who did he know that knew about the demons?

Oh no.

Upon Avior's approach, Marcus scowled fiercely and put down his book. "What do you want?"

"Hello, Marcus," Avior said pleasantly.

"I said, what do you want?" Marcus grumbled.

"What do YOU want?" Avior retorted.

"I asked you first!" Marcus snapped.

"Well, I asked you SECOND!"

"First is better than second!"

Marcus was wrong, as usual. "The second born child lives longer!"

"The firstborn inherits the royal title!"

"Pish-posh! This isn't the nineteen seventies!"

"Wha—will you for once just LEARN SOMETHING about history!" Marcus said, exasperation apparent in the way his brow creased.