Çetžak spends the rest of the evening together with Laž’ar. He sits with them on the couch, helping them with their history homework. He may not be too knowledgeable about current events, nor any events in the past several decades, but some history is easier. He can also wake the child up whenever they are beginning to nod off.
Once Laž’ar is finished with their schoolwork, they look at Çetžak with much expectation. Çetžak looks back in confusion until Laž’ar pokes him with his pen.
“Won’t you try the clothes? Just for a little?”
“Oh.” He nods cordially. “Of course.”
Çetžak picks out some garments that feel familiar in some ways, although they are also very foreign to him. While he changes, Laž’ar moves the table and places himself in one of the armchairs to watch.
When Çetžak returns, he’s met with applause.
“You make that look like it’s worth millions! I bet you can pull off anything!”
Çetžak smiles sheepishly at the clearly exaggerated and rather misplaced praise and goes through several more garments as requested by Laž’ar, getting the same positive response.
Eventually, though, Laž’ar’s visible fatigue is too much for the child. Çetžak expected this would happen, but the child held on longer than he thought they would despite bringing him out with them.
Somewhat regretfully, he tells Laž’ar, “I think it’s time for me to leave.”
Barely opening his eyes to look, Laž’ar hums sleepily.
Çetžak can’t simply leave them unconscious while seated when there is a proper bed for them, so he makes sure Laž’ar prepares for bed. Laž’ar follows him to the door, dressed in his nightwear, lids heavy. He leans against the doorframe, seemingly to keep himself standing up.
“Take care, hmm? I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“I will let nothing hurt me,” he responded with a slight smile.
Laž’ar unexpectedly embraces him. He freezes, not knowing how to react.
He returns it, then steps out. The door closes behind him. He waits for a long time before hearing the click of the lock. Satisfied, Çetžak steps away from the door and in the flickering lights of the hallway, he steps toward the elevator before the lights shut down.
The next day may arrive.
Early in the morning, a woman stumbles into the elevator. She’s in a dress with heels in one hand and a handbag in the other. Once out again, she tiredly approaches her apartment.
The light in the hall is dim and flickers like the bulbs might need changing soon, and she nearly misses a young man in his late teens or early twenties standing there, near her own home.
“Good morning,” he greets her.
“Good morning. You’re up early.”
The youth smiles. “You are awake quite late.”
She smiles a little, mostly self-mockingly, and turns to the door.
The lock clicks as she’s about to put the key in. She expects for a moment that someone is opening the door for her, but nothing happens. She tries it. It’s open.
“How strange…”
“Did your child forget to lock?”
“I… wouldn’t think so. You don’t think it opened by itself, do you?”
The youth thinks before he smiles. “I think that sometimes strange things happen, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She stares at him, sensing something’s off with him. He looks like any other youth dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, even if it’s difficult to see him properly as he’s standing in the shadows and the lights flicker.
She forces a smile, nods goodbye, and enters the apartment. She hurriedly locks the door.
As Laž’ar opens his eyes, the lights in his room flicker to life. He gets out of bed, thinking he’ll have to ask his mother to call an electrician about the broken lights.
He notices there’s a mess outside of his room. He looks around and finds his mother on the couch. She’s fallen asleep sitting up, but at least a blanket is covering her shoulders.
He sighs and picks up all the things she’s left around, including the half-eaten food on the coffee table.
He puts the dishes in the dishwasher, a little curious why his mother would stay up. He is clearly at home, so who was she waiting for?
Making as little sound as possible, he prepares for school and throws his bag over his shoulder. He steps out of the building to find Çetžak waiting outside in the rising sun.
“Good morning! What are you doing here?”
“Happy birthday, Laž’ar.”
With some early rays of sunlight warming up Çetžak’s features, he looks very soft as he takes something out of his pocket. It’s not wrapped, so Laž’ar can instantly see it’s a small box. He takes it and is amazed by how it has an intricate design. It’s quite heavy and definitely not paper.
“Can I open it?”
“Yes, you may open it now.”
He opens the small box. Within, he finds a bracelet. He picks it up and looks at it. It’s rather simple, and the marbled beads in blue are smooth to touch.
Despite clearly seeing it and just as well understanding why he received it, he still asks, “What’s this?”
“A gift. Take it. Wear it.”
Laž’ar happily obliges and puts the bracelet on his wrist. “Thanks, it’s very pretty.”
Çetžak doesn’t say anything for a good while, but Laž’ar senses he wants to say something. Perhaps he’s gathering courage, perhaps it’s difficult to express. Doesn’t matter; Laž’ar had time and patience to wait.
“Would you like me to remain with you?” he finally asks.
Laž’ar chuckles. “Sure! Why not?”
Çetžak raises his hand and strokes Laž’ar’s hair. “Then I will always stay by your side.” He pauses. “Should I walk you to school? As long as the sun doesn’t rise too high, I have time.”
“Okay! Let’s go!”
Back then, his family had been afraid of evil spirits. Most of the various treasures meant to keep them away were useless. Çetžak knew this well.
But there was one item he knew was not a scam from some questionable exorcist. No. There was a beaded necklace his mother used to carry around, even if she seldom wore it properly.
At the time, it had seemed like an eccentric habit to Çetžak, but now he was thankful.
The beads weren’t discoloured but needed some care, so on the night before All Hallow’s Eve, Çetžak took the bracelet apart to clean each individual bead.
The string was too old and rotting away, so, with much care, Çetžak searched the mansion for a suitable string that would last for many decades more. The string he found was far too short for the purpose. He could only carefully choose which beads to add, weigh the beads and string in hand, and consider wrist size so as not to make it too long, short or uncomfortable.
Once done, he had repurposed the treasure his mother had carried into a protective charm for Laž’ar. That Laž’ar’s birthday happened to be close made things easy for him.
He didn’t know when that was, so he decided he’d give it on All Soul’s Day.
And Çetžak didn’t go back on his silent promise. Even if he hesitated a little, perhaps seeing Laž’ar’s mother before giving it away convinced him that this was right.
Now, as Laž’ar walks to school, Çetžak is next to them. From time to time, he glances at Laž’ar’s wrists. It does make him slightly uncomfortable, as if there was an instinctual aversion to the item, yet his wish to stay by Laž’ar’s side is too overpowering.
After all, he wants it so much that it has become his reason to exist. To protect Laž’ar is his sole purpose. He’ll never rest before he knows Laž’ar lives a good life, safe and sound, with no one ever harming them.
But he has claimed his little imp as his. No one will be able to make him leave.
The sun is slowly rising, and Çetžak feels the rays. He wouldn’t call it painful, but rather a discomfort that urges him to remove his presence. He changes sides, walking in the shadow, while Laž’ar can walk in the light.
Laž’ar is very good to him. There is no question why he does this, just acceptance.
As they are about to reach the school grounds, Çetžak stops.
Laž’ar notices and turns to him. “What’s wrong?”
“It is time to go. The sun will rise too much.”
“Oh.”
“But as we have arranged prior, I shall accompany you during your birthday celebration.”
“Please do!”
When Laž’ar gets out of his last class, he’s surprised to see Çetžak standing a short distance away from his classroom. The light’s no good, though, because he looks a little hazy.
Bright lights really are bad for the eyes. Maybe he ought to take after Çetžak and avoid them more. He should also complain to the school someday. But not on his birthday, and definitely not right after he finished his last class for the day.
He wants to go home so he can celebrate with Retnüir, Khanuk, and — of course — Çetžak.
Çetžak has clearly seen him and waves to him, then points in the direction of the door further down the hall. Laž’ar nods. Seeing this, Çetžak turns away from Laž’ar. Laž’ar approaches his locker.
The door down the hall slams shut and a classmate next to Laž’ar jumps in fright.
“Someone just left through the door; what did you get so scared for?”
The classmate looks around. “But who?”
“The guy who was over there?” Laž’ar points where Çetžak had been standing.
Several classmates look in the same direction. Apparently, they all must have been focused on leaving, because no one but Laž’ar had seen him.
Rude.
Annoyed by his classmates’ lack of basic observation skills, he hurries out, ignoring the few calling after him, asking where he’s going and saying they wanted to celebrate with him.
Çetžak stands in the shadows outside, smiling softly at him as he approaches. They need to say nothing, and Çetžak walks him home in silence.
He doesn’t expect Çetžak to say: “I will need to go now, but I will return later.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that the sun has yet to set. I should not be out wandering so much.”
“Oh, right! You should have gone home already, right?”
“Something in that fashion.”
“Then I won’t hold you up any longer. Come when it’s convenient, okay?”
The hand Çetžak places on his head is ice-cold, but he only strokes Laž’ar’s hair twice before he puts his hand in the coat pocket.
“I shall return before your eyes swiftly,” Çetžak tells him.
Retnüir is already there when Laž’ar gets home. He got out of class earlier than Laž’ar today, so he went straight to Laž’ar’s. Laž’ar’s mother let him in when he arrived, and they made a cake together while waiting for the birthday child.
Retnüir hurries to drag Laž’ar away from the kitchen when he tries to enter. Meanwhile, Laž’ar’s mother puts the gifts and cake away.
Right as Retnüir is about to let go, certain that Laž’ar wouldn’t try to enter the kitchen again, he feels something freezing touch his hand. His eyes instantly turn to Laž’ar’s wrist.
A beaded bracelet.
Not just that, but something that looks positively cursed. He lets go faster than he has time to think.
“Where did you get that?!” he exclaims.
Laž’ar’s eyes widen slightly, his smile frozen. He raises his hand and looks at his wrist.
“It was a gift.”
“From who? Take it off!”
Laž’ar pauses. The clock in the sitting room ticks. Half a minute. A minute. Two.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to say anything and wouldn’t listen to reason. Despite feeling that the beads are too cold to touch, Retnüir tries to take the bracelet off. However, the remote on the coffee table crashes into the wall.
Retnüir retracts his hand. It’s definitely a cursed bracelet.
Laž’ar looks at the remote that has fallen onto the floor. Retnüir is very certain the expression on his face holds absolutely no fear and just curiosity.
“Take…” Retnüir swallows. “Laž’ar, take it off.”
“It was a gift,” Laž’ar repeats as he reaches for the remote as if it hadn’t just flown off the table by itself and slammed into the wall. He seems to have the same attitude towards it as he would have if a cat had pushed it off the table. As he places the remote on the table again, he says, “I’ll wear it.”
“I think you should take—”
A vase topples over.
Laž’ar just about catches it. “Damn. Is there a mini earthquake or something?” He puts it back in place. “I want to wear it. Çetžak gave it to me.”
“That guy’s no good. That bracelet’s clearly curs—”
Retnüir clams up when he sees the window handle move upward slowly, almost as if threatening him. When he stays silent, the handle returns to its position.
“It’s probably not an earthquake,” he squeezes out, then tests the waters by adding, “but maybe the building’s haunted?”
Laž’ar laughs. “What the hell, Ret? You really think ghosts are real? You should grow up.”
Before Retnüir has time to scold this reckless kid, the apartment door opens, and Khanuk shouts a greeting. Laž’ar hurries over there, while Retnüir doesn’t know where to go. He’s too frightened to go anywhere.
Thankfully, Khanuk joins him in the living room and he moves closer to him. He refuses to leave his side for the rest of the evening while also pointedly avoiding looking at Laž’ar’s wrist.
He jumps when the lights flicker after Laž’ar makes a joke.
“Khanuk,” he whispers when they’re alone for a moment, “would you believe me if I say this place is haunted?”
Unfortunately, Khanuk has no time to answer, because Laž’ar returns with two glasses of soda.
“Mum said she’ll have to go soon, so we’ll have to eat the cake ourselves.”
“Why can’t we do it now?” Khanuk asks.
“Çetžak hasn’t arrived yet.”
Retnüir takes his glass, feeling annoyed. “Let’s not wait for—”
Çetžak steps into the room as if he just materialised at the mention of his name. “Laž’ar.”
Laž’ar turns around. “Çetžak!” He beams a smile. “When did you arrive?”
“Just now, naturally. Can your mother eat cake with you now?”
“Your timing is perfect, actually!”
Retnüir and Khanuk look at each other. Retnüir sees in Khanuk’s expression they think the same thing: Khanuk had a habit of locking the front door when entering, so they would have known if someone arrived.
They turn to see Çetžak look at them both while Laž’ar’s going to share the good news with his mother. A dark smile plays at his lips as he places a pale finger in front of his blue-tinted lips.
Shhhh.
The End.
Author’s Notes
When I wrote this a year ago, I had this wish to make it increasingly creepier and darker as it progressed. Whether I managed, I can’t say. At least it ends darker than it began.
I hope it does, anyway.
I also hope there were enough hints to give away Çetžak’s nature as a ghost. And that he’s a ghost (and not a vampire or something like that).
I also, originally, thought of having something like an epilogue, which would give some insight into what happens next but also some insights into why Çetžak stayed at the mansion. I decided against it. Of course, that leaves this on a very open-ended note, but I hope that doesn’t ruin the end but rather allows people to make up their own ideas about Çetžak never leaving Laž’ar’s side.
I never tire of Laž’ar. You’ll definitely see him again, in a different setting, many times more. Because who said an author can’t write about the same character a thousand times in a thousand different settings?
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