He had stood there like a fool, truly expecting divine retribution that never came.

The corpse is in bad shape. Timo picks up parts of the mush, but it’s too slippery to hold in his small hands. Shoveling the mass into the fireplace would be time consuming.

Timo runs his hands over his clothes, sucking the organic matter onto them like a magnet, and flicks it off. If anything, he has to look immaculately clean. He has to act normal.

Cursed thoughts race in his mind. What if people find out he did this? How would they react if he tells them? The prospect of becoming infamous is infecting him.

No! That's stupid! No one gets famous on this shitty farm. Nobody would believe he is actually a murderer, and if they do, they would dump his lifeless body off the side of the road.

When his tweed shirt and slacks are spotless, and his sandals relatively tidied, Timo picks up an apple that had rolled to the doorframe. He wipes it on a window curtain, and as he steps outside, he bites into it with a juicy snap.

The broad daylight crashes into him as he leaves the smokey interior. If he gets caught, would he be shot at with crossbolts? He keeps chewing his apple that makes crunchy sounds. If anyone spots him, he'll come up with a sob story and lead them to the body. They would be too shocked to shoot him.

The world has a foggy clarity to it; such is the nature of paranoia. Timo clenches his teeth whenever movement flashes in the slightest breeze, as if ambushers encroach at every step.

His legs take him to the fields, where the rest of the kids are. They ask him, "Where's the supervisor?"

Timo answers, "He had some errands to wrap up."

Was it supposed to be this easy to kill someone? Timo had assumed that people used weapons because they had special magic imbued into them. Well, he did throw the fruit bowl, but there was nothing magical about it.

The Lazy-Weed girl is bending over, picking up rocks and pebbles. Does she know her father's murderer is standing next to her? Would she faint if she finds out?

Throughout the day, Timo scrutinizes faces down to each and every dimple. When a woman comes running towards the children with a particular tenseness, he knows that the corpse had been discovered, but she wouldn't say it to them directly. At that point, she takes over as the de-facto supervisor. Her frame is all skin and bones, but at least she has volume where it matters: her bosom and her hair. However, her hawkish eyes grate on his nerves.

A maid had discovered the supervisor's body in the longhouse. Her scream alerted people as far as the livery, and made the crows migrate.

Those who had seen the mutilated silhouette were utterly shocked. Who, or what, could have done this? The workers call the butchers to examine the scene, as anyone else who catches a glimpse is too busy vomiting.

"It was like a wild animal had invaded and thrashed the corpse, but the blow to the head and the bloodstains on the ceramic fragments cinches that it was a murder," Kazerus says.

Before long, the rumors reach every corner of the farm, and the children sense something amiss because of the chain reaction. For Timo, the next few days become the most lively he had seen the inhabitants act.

It took three days to clean up the body. On the first day, the butchers argued about what to do. Wiry-Monkey, the most artistic of them, suggested an illustration. They quieted and nodded at the logical solution, and he spent all the sunlight hours completing the drawing on parchment.

The farmers buzzed like bees, adopting new movement patterns, repairing windmills and towers and fences like never before.

Fifty percent of the men attended night patrol. The suppliers imported more pitchforks and torches than usual. The children were curfewed.

The next day, the butchers hauled out the human remains, while the farmers hastily prepared a funeral pyre. Everyone became temporarily vegan, so the butchers had a change of pace from their usual job.

When the smoke blew to the east, the tears and the wails from the mourners at the funeral--whether those tears were fake or not--were loud and annoying.

Timo overheard conversations all over the emotional spectrum. Some of them expressed dismay: "Harcus deserved better," some of them sympathy: "I hope his daughter is faring," some of them bloodlust: "We'll lynch the mutherfucker who done it," and some of them denial: "This can't be happening, can it?"

Timo felt pleased. He had lit a spark to this dull existence. People instantly became cooperative and friendly. What better outcome could there be?

As stress accumulated in the adults, it was piss easy to escape from the new supervisor. Timo wandered over to Kazerus's cabin, pausing outside the door with a light conscience. He went around the corner to the back, climbed a tree that had two trunks, and concealed himself in the dense leaves. He spent the night there, yet didn't sleep much, as the branch was bumpy and uncomfortable.

On the third morning, Kazerus headed out for his duties, and in his haste he forgot to lock the door. Timo had enough of the tree and climbed down.

The maids and the butchers united on this day, cleaning the interior of the longhouse with three years' worth of soap.

As Kazerus returns to his cabin, covered in sweat instead of blood for once, he hopes to finally catch a break from the frenzy.

He takes out his keys and they refuse to turn in the lock. He pushes the door and it instantly opens. Already unlocked? A coldness drips down his neck. He grabs the candleholder and lights a flame, sneaking into his own home.

Behind the short table, Timo cowers in between the beams. Kazerus yells and takes a step back, clutching his chesthairs. "How'd you get here?"

"H--help me!" Timo squeaks. His arms wrap around his head and knees, and he rocks back and forth. His eyes are wide as a doe's.

"What's wrong?" Kazerus steps down to the kid's eye level and gazes firmly, trying to exude strength and security in times of worry.

"It--it's gonna eat me," Timo stutters.

"It? What's gonna eat you?"

"Monsters, monsters!"

Kazerus says, "Nothing's getting past our watch. It's gonna be okay." Hopefully, saying that out loud will make it come true. Kazerus strokes the boy's hair. "You need to go back with the supervisor-in-charge. She’ll keep you safe."

"No! I'll die if I go back!" Timo squeezes his face and starts crying. "The other kids said they'll throw me out to be werewolf bait!"

"C'mon, they wouldn't do that--"

"Noo!" He screams at a fever pitch and then muffles his mouth as if he made a mistake, holding back his spasms. "They really would," he says through his fingers. "Once, they've tried to set me on fire."

Kazerus widens his eyes and leans closer. "Shit, I didn't think they were that cruel." He looks around his barren living room, then at Timo. "Do you want to stay here instead?"

He had finally passed the tipping point. He would never have to go back to those kids. Timo nods as his fake tears pour out.

About a month passes, and business on the farm returns to its lethargic pulse. Timo had begun working with the butchers, doing errands and cleaning the corners of the slaughterhouse that adults couldn't reach.

He thoroughly enjoys spending time with adults rather than children. Ever since he ruined the goose, Timo keeps his temper in check and engrosses himself in pleasing the butchers.

Kazerus notes to Cloud-Brow, "He's quiet most of the time, and a bit simpleminded."

Whenever Timo delivers meat parcels to the other units on the farm, he would see some of his peers. Most of the time, they ignore him, and he ignores them. Once, Yosef The Loser made a face at him while they passed each other on a road, and he made the meanest face back, and the wimp scurried away!

The adult butchers act childish in some ways. They crack jokes and snide comments, but their tone is comedic and doesn't contain the malevolence that one would expect from their vocabulary. Since they work with knives, there's no tolerance for violence or anger, but plenty of toilet humor.

The ritual slaughter is interesting and only performed with important animals. When Timo grows older, he'll join the butchers directly, and currently he's allowed to gut fish. But 'growing up' seems to take forever. When will he be 'grown up?'

To appease his impatient heart, he would make excursions into the forest and find small animals to play with. Garden snakes, toads, beetles, and salamanders would suffer dismemberment and beheadings.

Timo likes to gather leftover parts from these excursions and take them behind the barns, where stray cats gather. For bringing little bits of meat, and sitting still patiently, a cat would soon lick out of his palms. Then, he would lash out and strangle the unfortunate feline. Even if it yowls, tomcats quarrel with each other all the time, and nobody bats an eye at them. A couple weeks later, a new cat would move into the vacant territory, and the process repeats.

One night, before blowing out the candle, Kazerus notices that Timo isn't laying on hardwood anymore, but on a couple of small pelts, striped and spotted. He had even fashioned a pair of fur slippers. "Where did you get those, boy?"

"I didn't steal them, if that's what you're wondering." Timo rolls his head on the soft fur. "I got them myself."

"If you get caught hunting, no one'll be able to save you." Kazerus wags his finger, but truth be told, nobody likes the rule about how hunting is reserved for nobility. He glances at the slippers frequently. They look more like socks, and have a crude sewing job.

Timo asks, "Do you want a pair?"

Kazerus pauses, wondering what gave away his desire. "They look really comfy."

The boy flashes a cheerful smile. "Then, I'll make you some."