Creatures in the Walls

by Damini Kane

One morning before breakfast, Roe’s mother is shrieking. She is bejewelled, always moderating her tone and smiling in placid, dull-eyed ways. She is a duchess; it’s part of her job. She only ever shouts at the servants. Today she shouts at Father.

“I refuse — what kind of creature — how DARE you —”

Roe stares at his parents, fascinated. Both are dressed in silks. The housekeeper behind them holds rolls of grey fabric in her arms. This seems to be the bone of contention. Perhaps Mother is furious because it is not as nice as the gold-embroidered dress she wears; perhaps it is a gift that didn’t meet the standard.

Roe approaches it, tugging on the housekeeper’s skirt. “Can I see?”

Madeline rushes up after him and takes his hand. “Come,” she urges. “Today you can take breakfast in the garden.”

“But —”

He is dragged out of the dining room, yet cranes his neck to see his mother ranting at Father’s stiff, silent form. The fabric in the housekeeper’s arms moves. A single pudgy hand sticks out, reaching for a shaft of sunlight.

They lower the baby into Roe’s old bassinet and keep it in a spare bedroom. Roe has to stand on tiptoe to get a good look. He used to be the same, five years ago: a wormy little infant who could not raise his head. This baby shares his brown complexion, Father’s complexion. They have the same inky      hair, though Roe’s is more copper than black.

“So cute,” Roe whispers, staring at its little nose and lips. His voice disturbs the baby. It opens its eyes. Roe gasps. He has never in his life seen eyes like this. They are dark, like his own, but there’s something in them. It’s like he’s staring through black water at submerged diamonds. The eyes are bright, too bright.

The baby blinks. Roe reaches out. He wants to touch its cheek. Pat its head. He wants to hold it. Just before his fingers brush against it, though, Roe stops. The baby is staring at him. Is it scared? It must be. Where is its mother? Roe has had nightmares; he hates being touched when he’s scared.

So he retracts his palm. “Hey,” he says, “you’ll be okay, I promise.”

His mother’s heels clop into the room. “Roe!” she cries, yanking him away from the bassinet. “Don’t get too close!”

“Am I a big brother now?”

Her nostrils flare. “That thing is not a baby. And it’s certainly not your brother.”

“So he’s a boy?” Roe twists free of her grip and darts back to the bassinet. “What’s his name?”

“We don’t name dirty things that come in from the street. And keep your distance.” She pulls him back a second time. “You’ll get hurt.”

Roe giggles. “He’s a baby! What’s he going to do?”

She glowers at him. “Your Father is a man of poor self-control. That thing is a monster.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and marches him out of the room.

They call the baby Caprien. Mother refuses a naming ceremony, but Father just starts to call him Caprien and it takes everyone a few days to figure out who he’s talking about. Father tells Roe that he is a big brother now, and Madeline tells him that big brothers have to set an example.

“So you must go to bed on time, and eat all your vegetables, and put your toys away, because Caprien will do what you will do. And don’t you want him to be a good boy?”

Roe doesn’t have an opinion on this because he’s not allowed to see Caprien alone. Madeline accompanies him into the baby’s room. He’s not allowed to touch him, either. The wet nurse won’t hear of it.

Everyone keeps saying that Caprien is quiet. That he never cries. That he sleeps deeply and feels cold to the touch. One night, when the rain is coming down in sheets, he becomes too cold. Madeline comes screaming into the dining room as they’re about to eat.

“The baby! The baby! I think he’s dying!”

“Good,” Roe hears Mother mutter. Father launches to his feet and yells at one of the servants to call Senior Greenwood. He is a magic healer. He can fix anything. One time Roe broke his ankle falling off a tree and he fixed it in a minute.

Roe weaves past the adults’ knees. Madeline is holding Caprien close to her chest, standing by the fire. He is wrapped tightly in blankets as she rubs his back, almost near tears.

“Come on, baby, open your eyes, please open your eyes.”

Caprien’s brown skin is grey. For the first time in his life, Roe understands the meaning of the word dread. 

Senior Greenwood marches in eventually, carrying a big leather case, raindrops shining on his dark skin and greying locs. He takes the baby from Madeline, frowns severely, and places a hand on Caprien’s forehead.

“He’s cold,” he observes. Perhaps he has used magic to diagnose the problem, because he adds, “The baby is malnourished. He is dying of starvation.”

“What?” Mother shrieks. “After the fortune we’re spending on wet nurses!”

“There’s something else.” Senior Greenwood unwraps Caprien from his blankets and places a palm on his chest. His frown deepens. “This . . . child,” he says slowly, “is not entirely human.”

Nobody says anything to that, but Mother scoffs.

“What is he?” Senior Greenwood demands of Father. “If you do not tell me, I cannot save his life.”

“I’ll tell you,” Mother says, with vicious glee. “Its mother was a volcano — yes, you heard me! A volcanic demon with — what was it, you said, darling? With skin of glistening gold and eyes of sparkling sapphire? What woman can compete with that?”

“A spirit child,” Senior Greenwood mutters. “If his mother was the spirit of a volcano, then he will not be satisfied with breastmilk.” He glances around the room and gestures for one of the lamps. Madeline brings it over.

“What are you doing?” Father demands.

Senior Greenwood takes oil from the lamp onto a spoon and gently pours it into Caprien’s mouth. Roe’s nails dig into his palms. Thrice Caprien is fed this way, until the colour in his skin becomes brown again, and he opens his eyes and wails.

Madeline lets out a happy cry. She takes Caprien into her arms and bounces him on her hip. Senior Greenwood pours the rest of the oil into a bowl and tells her to give Caprien as much as he will eat.

The others leave the room. The servants go one way, but Mother and Father and Senior Greenwood stop at the end of the corridor. Roe scurries after them, because no one will answer his questions directly.

“He was dropped at the palace gates the other day,” Father explains to Senior Greenwood. “It is true. I had a tryst with a volcanic spirit.”

“You will find that Caprien has gifts,” Senior Greenwood responds.

“Yes, his eyes frighten the servants. His mother’s eyes glowed even brighter.”

Mother storms off. They wait for her footsteps to fade before they resume talking.

“Does he drink milk?”

“I don’t know,” Father says. “But I hadn’t heard otherwise.”

“Perhaps he can eat human food. But he’ll need kindling to survive. There is a fire in him, Your Grace, and that fire cannot be allowed to go out. You have lost babies before. You know the pain of it.”

Father nods stiffly. He turns, then, and spots Roe. He sends Roe to bed without supper for eavesdropping.

The years pass and the fights get worse. Mother screams at Father about how she didn’t have five miscarriages for her son to not be the heir apparent. Father shouts back that Roe’s inheritance was never at stake; he was the older brother anyway. She calls Caprien ‘It’ and ‘Thing’, and Caprien, who is only three years old, is still perceptive enough to know that Mother wants him dead. When she enters the room he stops laughing. He keeps his head down and follows behind Madeline instead. He tries very hard to do nothing wrong.

One winter, while Roe and Caprien are playing toy soldiers together, Caprien stands and toddles over to the fireplace. Fire doesn’t burn Caprien; it’s one of his gifts, so Roe doesn’t stop him. Caprien sticks his hands into the hearth and grabs fistfuls of coal. He eats them. The burning embers fall from his mouth and onto the carpet, which begins smouldering.

“Caprien, stop.” Roe runs up to him. “Stop, you’ll burn the palace down.”

“I hun’gy,” he complains, taking another piece of coal. Black smears cover his mouth. He tries to pat the flames out of the carpet with his hands, but where his fingers touch the fabric, it ignites. Roe screams, jumping back, flames ballooning between them. Caprien shrieks because Roe’s screaming scares him — because he has set the playroom on fire, because he is a horrible, terrible thing.

Roe yanks down the curtain with a powerful tug. The rod crashes to the floorboards, nearly on Caprien’s head. Roe tries to smother the fire with the drapes, and in the shouting and the chaos, footsteps clatter into the room. Madeline swoops in, lifting Caprien up in one arm and taking Roe’s hand in the other.

“Out, out, both of you!” she orders.

The housekeeper and the butler come next. A pail of water is fetched, then another, and mercifully, the flames go out. No one is hurt, but the carpet is nothing but a cinder and there are scorch marks up the walls.

Caprien is sobbing, saying, “So’eey-so’eey-so’eey,” like it’s a song his tutor taught him to belt. Mother marches towards them, sees the destruction, and snatches Caprien out of Madeline’s arms.

“You,” she hisses, setting him on the floor. Roe’s never noticed how tall his mother can be until right then, when she’s towering over his baby brother, who is covered in coal streaks and tears. “If you ever put Roe in danger again . . . You — you monster!” And she slaps him so hard he falls off his feet.

Later, when Madeline is helping Roe into his bedclothes, he says, “Caprien was just hungry. He’s little. He didn’t know what would happen. It wasn’t fair what Mother did.”

“Let me tell you a secret, Master Roe,” she replies, buttoning his shirt. “The world is seldom fair. People wish it to be, but they rarely do anything to make it fair.”

Roe chews his lower lip. “He’s not a monster.”

“You should tell him that.”

Caprien’s room is dark but Roe can hear him crying in his pillows.

“Move,” Roe tells him, crawling into his bed. Caprien clings to his torso and buries his head in his stomach.

“I so’eey I so’eey I so’eey,” he weeps.

Roe pats his head. “You’re not a monster. You’re going to be okay.”

He stays with Caprien until they both fall asleep.

From that day on, Roe becomes Caprien’s protector. He shouts at his mother when she calls him a monster, even if that means getting punished and going without supper. He argues with Father when Father says that Caprien ought to learn to be a soldier — that his fire powers are no use if he’s not at war. He chases after the boys and girls who call Caprien names, and worst of all, the ones who get too friendly.

There are those. Among the children and the adults. They look into Caprien’s strange eyes and covet him in a way Roe does not understand, in a way Roe never wants to understand. They want him, or they want something from him, or both, but they don’t like to let him out of their sight. Caprien is four the first time he’s kidnapped.

He’s found by sunset, terrified but unhurt. The perpetrator, a rich moneylender, is sentenced to hang, but before he is imprisoned, Father asks him his motives. Roe is listening through a crack in the door. Anger surges through him, and if he had Caprien’s powers he might burn the villain himself.

“I have a great many beautiful things, Your Grace,” he replies proudly. “But your younger son is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

After that, Caprien is not allowed to go anywhere alone. Madeline is with him all day, and guards are posted at his bedroom door at night. Roe, who is nine and has started training for the politics of his future, rarely gets to see his brother. Between his studies, horseback riding, wrestling, and fencing lessons, and Caprien’s increasing isolation, they only get to talk at dinner. Even then, Mother ensures that Caprien is excluded.

He is given a block of firewood every night, which kindles him for many hours. Since the coal incident, he’s not allowed to eat it at the table, or in the palace at all. He is sent to the stone-tiled courtyard, where he sits on a step, alone except for the guards, and finishes his meal. Sometimes, Roe excuses himself to sit with him. He’s fascinated by how Caprien can bite through wood like it’s the softest roast chicken. Surely if he did the same, he’d break all his teeth.

“You should go back to the table,” Caprien says one night. “Your stew will get cold.”

“It can be reheated. Maybe you can reheat it for me,” he adds, nudging his brother.

“I don’t like my fire.” He opens his palm and ignites a single orange flame on his finger. It dances in the breeze. Caprien sighs heavily, a sigh much too severe for a boy so little, and extinguishes the light with a flick.

The second time Caprien is kidnapped, it is his fifth birthday — the day he was sent to the palace. Roe always gets parties and gifts. Caprien only gets what Roe gives him. This year it’s a family of wooden elephants Roe has carved and painted himself. His brother spends his birthdays in the gardens with his sketchbook, but this time, he is not there. He is nowhere. Alarms are raised, the guards are alerted, and a second, desperate search finds Caprien drugged in the back of a cart bound for the chalet of a local countess. She’d seen Caprien when she’d visited Mother, and like all the others, she wanted to possess him.

Roe sits with his brother all night as the effects of the drug wear off. Caprien is nauseated and dizzy. Roe wipes his chin each time he vomits.

“You’ll be okay,” he assures, holding Caprien up by his shoulders. “Hey, you’ll be okay.”

A few months later Roe learns exactly what’s happening, when Father throws a state dinner and invites all the wealthy, important people in and around their city. It’s a terribly boring affair for the most part, especially for Caprien, who isn’t allowed to leave his room, lest he be taken again.

Roe smuggles him out anyway. “Let’s play a game.”

“What should we play?” Caprien’s eyes shine happily. He’s always happiest when it’s just them.

“I’ll run and you can chase me.”

“But I’m not as fast as you,” Caprien pouts.

He wants to play a game he can win, so Roe suggests hide-and-seek. Caprien is exceptional at hide-and-seek. Not because he has magic or anything, but because he’s good at keeping out of the way. In the past when they’ve played hide-and-seek, Roe has spent hours checking under beds and tables, only to find Caprien crouched behind sacks of rice or under dirty clothes in the laundry room.

Roe counts to a hundred and starts his search. He searches their bedrooms first, then the corners of hallways and in Father’s study. He avoids Mother’s room, because Caprien will never enter it, but scans the laundry room and every dumbwaiter he finds. He expects to keep looking for at least another hour when he suddenly spots a stray knee behind a large flowerpot.

“Found you!” Roe approaches, his curiosity building as Caprien doesn’t come out. He just watches Roe, absently rolling a piece of gravel in his thumb and forefinger. He’s probably being a sore loser. “Come on. It’s your turn to seek.”

“Oh . . .” says Caprien, clearly distracted. He stands. The pearl of gravel falls from his hand, where it hits the crevice between two stone tiles. “Count of hundred, right?” Though he covers his eyes, he is peeking through his fingers.

“That’s cheating.”

“I’m not looking! One, two, three, four —”

“Count properly or I’m staying put.”

“Then you’ll be easy to find.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me.” Roe pokes Caprien’s head, hard, ignoring the way Caprien whines. “Count properly. Close your eyes.”

“No! I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“There was a man. Before,” admits Caprien slowly. “He might come back.”

“What man?”

Caprien has been taken twice already. Roe cannot let it happen a third time. Maybe he won’t survive the third time.

“. . . One of the guests,” says Caprien. “He said his name was Wilhelm. You look angry,” he adds. That’s when Roe realises his fists are balled tight, shaking at his sides.

“What happened?” Roe tries to keep his voice level, but Caprien’s right. He’s angry. His brother recoils, misreading his tone.

“Nothing! I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Roe swallows. Loosens his hands. “What did he do?”

Caprien has a stare like buried treasure coveted by hungry hands. He knows not to look people in the eye. Mother. Father. Anyone he fears. Now, he averts his gaze from Roe.

“I’m not supposed to say . . . I mean, he told me . . . not to say.”

“You have to tell me.” When he’s silent, Roe takes a breath, thinks, future duke, heir apparent, and declares, “I’m ordering you to tell me.” It is the first command he has ever given. He sounds like Father. At least, he thinks he does. But Caprien smiles.

“That was funny,” he says. “Do it again.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me! Maybe he’s a bad man. I don’t want him to hurt you. So tell me what happened.”

“He made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“Brothers are always exempt from promises like that.” He puts his hands on Caprien’s shoulders, and Caprien shrugs him off. Once more, his gaze falls, and this time, Roe can see his lower lip tremble.

“You know the stories Madeline tells about princes kissing princesses?”

“He kissed you? On the mouth?” Roe’s stomach is hollow. What is it about his brother that makes people act this way? No, that’s not the question. What is it about people that makes them want to hurt Caprien? Because it’s not all of them. Father is cold but he is not evil like this. Mother is vicious but even she wouldn’t think of hurting him this way. Madeline adores him. The guards and the other servants don’t like to look him in the eyes but they handle him like he’s an ill-tempered foal, with gritted teeth and reluctant care.

Nausea is rising in the back of Roe’s throat. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“It didn’t hurt,” says Caprien in a soft voice.

“We need to tell Father.”

“No! Wilhelm said they were friends. Father will yell at me.”

“Then I’ll yell at him right back.”

“No,” Caprien insists, even as Roe takes him by the hand, dragging him in the direction of the ballroom. “Stop it!” But he’s not strong enough to twist free. “Stop it! Please!” His voice becomes damp, like he’s choking down tears. “Please, I don’t want to tell him! Stop!”

His other hand claps over Roe’s fingers, and a sudden, prickling sting has Roe let go with a hiss. His skin is pink and inflamed where Caprien touched it.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Roe presses his digits to his lips and sucks the burn to soothe it.

“I said I don’t want to tell Father.” Tears thicken on Caprien’s lashes.

“You have to tell somebody.”

“I told you! Isn’t that enough?”

“No. You have to tell a grown-up. What Wilhelm did was wrong. It was wrong,” he says with more emphasis, so Caprien understands. “Either you tell somebody, or I will.”

“Does it have to be Father?” Caprien whispers. He wipes his tears hurriedly.

“Then who else?”

“. . . Madeline?”

It’s a compromise Roe doesn’t like but is willing to make.

The next day, as Roe supervises, Caprien tells her. And she tells Father.

It is not Caprien who is summoned into his study, it’s Roe. Father glares down at Roe, his lips a thin line, and asks him to repeat the story, sparing no detail. Then he’s silent for several minutes.

Finally, he      says, “We’ll get some glasses made for him. That way he can hide his eyes. That’s what attracts people. The eyes.”

Roe drops his jaw. “Why don’t you do something about Wilhelm? It’s not Caprien’s fault! Why are you making him wear the glasses?”

“Duke Wilhelm is too powerful to touch. Besides, he isn’t even that old,” Father adds, approaching the window. From his study he can see the sea. “He’s only twenty-one. Twenty-one is nothing.”

“Caprien is five.”

“Yes. Young enough to get used to wearing glasses.”

After that, it’s impossible to get Caprien to leave his room. He sits by the window and finishes his studies. Then he sketches obsessively, drawing the objects around him and the birds he can see in the sky. When he draws the birds he draws them with veins showing through their feathers. He erases ribbony white lines in their bodies.

When Roe asks him about this, Caprien says, “It’s the life in them.”

He doesn’t like his new glasses. The lenses are clear, but Caprien keeps saying they obstruct his vision. Nobody listens to him, though, and if Father catches him without them, he gets a scolding. So he wears them. He sits by the window. He sketches.

And he doesn’t eat.

He eats human food. Rice and meat and eggs and veggies. But he nibbles at the firewood he’s given. Sometimes he just throws it into the hearth and says he’s not hungry. Two weeks go like this. His hands are always cold, his pallor is sickly, and his teeth chatter at night. Even wrapped in blankets, he cannot get warm.

“You’ll die if you don’t eat,” Roe tells him at last, exasperated and afraid.

“Maybe I should.”

“Just shut up.”

The next day, Roe grabs a log and an axe from the woodshop. He is only ten but he is strong and muscular and he is desperate, so he whacks and saws the log until it’s just blocks. He collects them in a basket and runs to the kitchen, where he asks the cook for honey. Caprien loves honey. Roe puts the wood in a large bowl, empties a whole jar of honey, mixes it well, and runs back to Caprien’s room.

Caprien stares into the fireplace, wistful, miserable, and doesn’t even notice Roe until he drags Caprien up by the hand. His skin is like ice. They sit at the desk by the window, Caprien in his chair, Roe perched on the edge of the table, a bowl of wood blocks between them.

“I’ll go first,” Roe suggests, taking a piece.

“What are you doing? You can’t —”

Roe bites down and a jolt of pain shoots up his teeth.

“Stop!”

“If you don’t eat this, I will.” He bites down again, and this time he feels a sharp tug in his front molar. He howls as it comes off, buried deep in the honeyed wood.

There’s blood leaking down Roe’s mouth. It doesn’t bother Roe. He has been meaning to get rid of that last baby tooth.

But Caprien is near tears. “No! Please, don’t!”

“It’s so sweet,” Roe croons, and smiles, though his smile must be a frightening thing, one tooth gone and the others covered in blood. His mouth tastes of metal. He goes in for a third bite and that’s when Caprien jumps off the chair and snatches the wood from his hands.

“No!” Caprien shouts, and throws it towards the hearth. “Okay, okay, I’ll eat!” He grabs the rest of the bowl and scurries to the far side of the room, taking fistfuls of firewood in his mouth without even flinching. Honey and splinters coat his lips and chin. The boy has obviously been starving. Once he starts he doesn’t even look up. There’s almost something animal about the way he eats, with both hands and feral speed. His skin is turning brown again.

Roe finds a rag to stem the blood in his mouth. He hears Caprien say, “You shouldn’t be so nice to me.”

“One day, you’re going to be nice to me right back.”

That day comes on a summer afternoon when Roe is thirteen and Caprien is eight. Though it is hot today, Roe feels chilly and tired. He is teaching Caprien how to wrestle, which is easy because he’s bigger and stronger and Caprien gives up every time.

“No, no, you should fight back.” Roe sighs again, his temples throbbing. “You should fight me!”

“I’m trying!”

Then Caprien tackles him and Roe goes down.

“Finally,” Caprien laughs, offering a hand.

Roe sits up. Then he pitches sideways and blacks out.

He can dimly hear Caprien yelling about how the light inside Roe’s body is flickering and how he’s leaking life. It doesn’t make much sense, but he is aware of being carried in the arms of one of the guards, and then he’s aware of Mother feeling his forehead, saying he has a terrible fever.

When he wakes next, his chest is thick with cough and it’s dark outside. Mother, eyes wet, is sitting at his bedside. Father is not around, but that isn’t surprising.

“Where —” Roe tries, but his voice breaks into deep, wracked coughing. He’s shivering.

Mother piles more blankets on him but it doesn’t help. “Shh, just rest. Senior Greenwood will be here soon.”

“Capri —”

“Caprien is not allowed in here,” Mother sniffs. “Where do you think this fever came from? A fire demon, no doubt. It wants your inheritance. It will get you killed some day.”

It really irritates Roe when she does that. It. Eight years! If nothing else, surely Caprien deserves a he and a him. But he’s too tired to protest, so he falls back into the pillows and waits. Senior Greenwood shows up eventually, with his bag of tricks. He feels Roe’s neck and forehead and sighs.

“The Southern Flu. It’s in the air. My third case this week.”

“Can you fix him?”

“Of course, my Lady,” says Senior Greenwood. “You should step outside and wash your hands. No point in you falling ill too.”

It takes some urging, but Mother eventually leaves the room, and Senior Greenwood begins brewing a potion from the things in his pack. Roe curls up under his blankets, trembling. He has never been so cold before.

“C-can I ask you a question?” he rasps through his chills.

“Yes?”

“Caprien . . .”

“Your brother is outside the door. He wants to come in.”

That makes him feel a hundred times better already. Roe sits up against the pillows and asks, “Why do they want him?”

“Who wants him?” The lamp lights shine off Senior Greenwood’s hands.

“People. Want him. In bad ways.”

“Ah.” He grinds some herbs in a mortar and pestle. “He’s half volcano. Beautiful things are found inside volcanoes.”

“Gems.”

“Perhaps. But more than that. Power. It attracts the truly entitled. Spiritfolk like his mother would eat these people.”

“F-Father?” Why did he survive, then?

“I’m not sure.” Senior Greenwood shrugs. “Maybe she only wanted to mate. All I know is that it is those who are powerful and hungry for more, who will seek Caprien out. The ones who believe the world is theirs to own and take from. It’s a terrible curse to live with.”

The door opens a crack. They both turn, and of course, Caprien is there. Perhaps he heard them talk about him. He approaches the bed, glancing once to Senior Greenwood before clambering up on the covers.

“Roe leaks life,” he murmurs.

“Can you see it? The flow of life?”

“When I’m not wearing my glasses.”

“I shall heal him, don’t you fret.”

“You’re cold?” Caprien asks. He puts his hands on Roe’s sweaty chest, and it’s the strangest feeling. Like somewhere inside Roe’s blood, there’s a softly burning fire, heating him from the inside. It’s so warm and cosy that Roe’s eyes flutter shut in relief. He’s not even aware of being given a poultice. He just feels Caprien burn the fever out of him.

The second time Roe ends up in bed it is, actually, Caprien’s fault. They’re sixteen and eleven, and it is the day of the Marigelds Fair. The whole city is covered in banners as musicians march up Main Street right to the palace gates. Stalls sell fried fish and beer and beaded jewellery. People dance in the square and throw flowers and flirt. Roe and Caprien are each given an allowance to enjoy the festivities, and because Caprien goes nowhere alone, Roe accompanies him.

Caprien spots a man selling chargrilled shrimp and says to Roe, “I want that. Smells so good.”

“I could go for some shrimp, too.”

“No, the . . .” he pauses. “The coal?”

He isn’t allowed to have coal. Not since the playroom incident. He knows that. But it’s such a good day and Roe doesn’t want to ruin it for the both of them, so he says, “Let’s ask.”

They approach the vendor and explain what they need. He initially protests, but Roe buys a plate of shrimp and drops a sack of silver — half his allowance — for the coal, which quietens complaints. Caprien walks off with a bag full of coal chunks, and they sit on a parapet above the road, watching the dances as they eat.

“I love this,” Caprien chirps. His hands are black, but he’s doing his best to be tidy. The light in his eyes is dazzling. “It tastes smoky.”

“I imagine it does.”

Caprien laughs.

“Don’t tell Mother or Father. They’ll have our heads.”

His little brother wrinkles his nose. Roe is the wanted one, the beloved heir, but somehow he still feels like it’s just him and Caprien against the world. They’re on their own side.

After they eat, Roe takes Caprien to a fountain so he can wash up. The stains coat the grooves in his palms. Eventually Caprien just wipes his hands on his dark trousers. If he sticks them in his pockets, maybe nobody’ll notice.

But Caprien’s luck is rotten. When they return to the palace Mother wrinkles her nose and says, “Caprien, walk properly. What are you hiding in your pockets?”

And she notices the stains.

The resulting argument is calamitous. Mother screams at Father about how Caprien intends to burn them in their sleep. Father shouts at Roe for letting Caprien have coal. And they both rip into Caprien for daring to enjoy himself at the fair. Roe, of course, shouts back. He’s used to defending his brother by now, and it has damaged his relationship with his parents irreparably. He doesn’t care. He just cares about Caprien.

“Roe,” Mother snarls, “this doesn’t concern you, GET OUT.”

“Like hell it doesn’t concern me —”

“Roe.” Caprien looks up at him, wide-eyed like he did when he was an infant. “It’s okay. Go.”

“Caprien —”

“It’s okay,” his brother says again.

Roe turns to leave the room, gritting his teeth so hard he’s sure his jaw will break.

Mother says, “Of course it’s your fault, you awful little monster.”

It takes all his strength not to whirl around and keep fighting. But he’ll pick his moment. Caprien will need to be cheered up after this. So he hangs around the corridor, wishing he could duel the diatribe.

When Caprien emerges his fists are balled at his sides and he stalks past Roe without a word.

“Hey. You okay?” Roe scampers after him. “Slow down and talk to me.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Caprien, let me help.”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!” Caprien bellows. It’s such a shock to both of them that they just stop. Caprien is breathing hard and his eyes shine with tears. “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP. I KNOW WHAT I AM! I’M A MONSTER!”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Roe’s voice is as low as Caprien’s is loud.

“Why?” he sneers. “It’s true. I’m a monster. It’s what I am.”

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“You can deny it if you want, but it’s true. Everyone hates me because I’m a monster.”

“Stop it!” Roe orders. It leaves his mouth as an imperious snarl. He reaches out to hold Caprien as Caprien turns to run. And when his hand makes contact with his brother’s wrist, Caprien attacks.

It is a boy’s charge, pure force and no finesse. He throws himself into Roe’s torso and knocks him down. And where his palm touches Roe’s shirt, the fabric ignites.

“No!” Caprien shrieks, thrusting both hands into the fire, slapping it out the way it came. In the smouldering aftermath, Roe is dizzy, his vision fades. He’s not in pain.

Senior Greenwood says it’s a third-degree burn. It covers Roe’s stomach from his hip to his navel, and Greenwood has prescribed alchemical salves to prevent infection. Caprien, Father tells Roe, has been desperate to see him and practically inconsolable. He has gone back to not eating kindling, and Madeline is at her wits’ end trying to force-feed him. Mother hisses about how Caprien should be at least exiled for attacking the heir. It’s a lot to take in. Roe just wants to see his brother alone.

They finally let him. Caprien traipses in, eyes red and downcast, skin shivering grey and littered in goosebumps.

“Caprien, you have to eat. Don’t keep doing this.”

“I hurt you because I ate that coal. It burns too brightly in me. I’m a mon —”

“No.” Roe beckons him closer. Caprien hesitates, knees trembling, but then he approaches the bed. “There are many monsters within these walls. They wear human skin.”

He thinks of his mother, then, whose jealousy and heartbreak have made her cruel. He thinks of his father, who looked the other way when his own child was attacked. He thinks of all the men and women who have crossed these halls, and have seen only a thing to steal and own.

Roe places his hand on Caprien’s cold cheek. “You are what you are. There’s no shame in it. I will protect you from anyone who tells you otherwise. If I have to, I will even protect you from yourself.”

Caprien wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I hurt you. I was angry. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“I’m not upset,” Roe promises. “But I will be if you use that word again.”

“What am I, then?” Caprien goads. His voice is so tired. “What am I if not a monster? What am I if not something to own and use and hate?”

“Take one.” Roe nods to the rack by the fireplace, where fresh wood is stacked. Caprien mercifully obeys, picking a log and returning to the bed. “Now eat,” Roe orders calmly.

Caprien bites down.

“You’re my brother, all right?” Roe lifts the covers and pats the space on the bed, so Caprien can clamber in. “And we have to look after each other.”

Caprien nods silently. “And then we’ll be okay.”

“Yes,” Roe smiles. “And then we’ll be okay.”

Host Commentary

Good morning, good day, good afternoon and good evening, and welcome to PodCastle, the flying castle of fantasy fiction. I’m your host, Matt Dovey, and it’s my pleasure to present for your enjoyment, CREATURES IN THE WALLS by DAMINI KANE, narrated by PETER ADRIAN BEHRAVESH. And it’s a privilege to say that this story is a PodCastle Original!

Before we get into it, a reminder that this, right now, is the first ever ESCAPE ARTISTS END OF YEAR CAMPAIGN, wherein we stand on our cold Victorian street corner rattling our tin to ask for donations, because all this—and you will have to imagine me gesticulating wildly at the entire edifice right now—all this only flies because our audience funds it. This is our 15th year! 15th! And we’ve done all that funded by donations, without selling out to Spotify, without trying to sell you mattresses every week, but just by trying to be the very best we can be at what we do in the hopes you’ll feel inclined to support us directly. We are as astonished as anyone that it’s worked so long, and we want to keep it working, so here’s some ways you might like to support us:

· Our Patreon is the very best way, because you get access to the rewards and goodies from backing at different tiers, and we get regular, predictable, reliable income upon which we can build this castle ever higher

· Our PayPal is now more cost effective than ever, thanks to our new 501(c)3 non-profit status meaning we pay lower fees than ever before

· And speaking of non-profit status, if your tax affairs reside in the United States of America, donations to us may now be tax-deductible! And you might be able to donate through a workplace giving program! We can now accept stock donations and gifts from Donor Advised Funds, which might be words that mean more to you than they do to me!

And honestly, a whole bunch of stuff that Sam Ferree, our non-profit fundraising expert, has detailed in a blog post at

—go to that address, or click EA Prime at the top of our website, and the top post has more details about all this stuff. We sincerely appreciate any and all support you can give us, because we try our best to lead the way in speculative fiction and be the change we want to see in the field: we pay everyone who contributes to the production of these casts, which makes the voluntary work more viable for those of marginalised backgrounds and helps redress historical imbalances in publishing opportunities; we publish sample contracts publicly to encourage transparency and better terms across the field; we work to pay it forward and work with new markets to share any lessons we’ve learned the hard way. And, above all, we try to give you one story, told well, each week, because stories are how we shape the world.

And now pay attention, for our tale is about to begin, and it is important you hear words of kindness spoken to you, too…

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…aaaaand welcome back. That was CREATURES IN THE WALLS by DAMINI KANE, and if you enjoyed that, her debut story was here 3 years ago, episode 655 MARISKA AND MAJOR. You can find out more about Damini at her website,

Damini Kane

Damini sent us these thoughts on CREATURES IN THE WALLS: “Society has an interesting relationship with monsters. A lot has been written about the topic, by people more intelligent and talented than me. We call them monsters and revile them, because they represent the things we fear or dream about. Vampires and illicit desire, werewolves and hidden identities, ghosts and the fear of being left behind. Monsters are projections of ourselves, distorted shapes that reveal truths we’d rather hide. Yet every time we look away, our hunger draws our gaze back.”

Thank you, Damini, for the thoughts and the story. The first thought that came to my mind was Granny Weatherwax, in Terry Pratchett’s Carpe Jugulum, telling us that “sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.” And how much more on the nose can you get than calling a child “it”? Everyone here, except for Roe, only sees Caprien as a means to an end, or as something to possess: for what he can do or what he can be, rather than who he is. Even Caprien himself, who constantly neglects his own needs, who begins to believe everything that others believe about him—all except Roe, who continues to see the humanity in him, who doesn’t see a volcano spirit but simply a brother, a person, someone else with aches and wants and needs and desires.

And, as that Granny Weatherwax quote points out… we can be guilty of this with ourselves, too. Of neglecting our own needs and wants, and seeing ourselves as nothing more than objects of productivity—either in the capitalist sense you’ve heard me go on about so much, or in the sense I’m currently discussing in therapy, of only perceiving yourself in the value you feel you have for others: in the favours you can do, the support you can give, the role you can play. That, I am slowly learning, is what self-care actually is: not a little treat from the supermarket and an app playing forest sounds, but of acknowledging, accepting and acting on your own needs; of understanding that you inherently and naturally deserve to be valued and looked after, by others and by yourself; that you should treat yourself with as much compassion and empathy as you treat others. We’re getting near the end of the year, so please—and I’m talking to myself here as much as to any one of you—try to take some of the holiday downtime and use it for what you yourself want and need, not what you think others want and need from you.

As part of our 15th anniversary celebrations, we’re asking you to send in your favourite stories from our archive. This week, we have a recommendation from Damini, as it happens: episode 578, “THE BONE POET AND GOD” by, well, by me, saying that she likes “everything—the originality, the language, the soft, delicate way it is written. I heard this story once, years ago, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” Thank you, Damini!

And while we’re awkwardly discussing praise for my stories—I guess this counts as self-care and I can’t try and wriggle out of this after that outro, can I?—two anonymous commenters also recommended episode 667, CLOUDS IN A CLEAR BLUE SKY, with one saying “the buildup is so gentle and still powerful”, and the other saying “To me this story encapsulates what’s so special about the fantasy genre and about short fiction. It’s got this great, whimsical idea at its core, yet it uses that to tell a story about grief and moving on, creating something unexpected and bittersweet. It’s one of those beautiful pieces that two years after listening my mind still wanders back to it.” Thank you both!