“Stop it, Zaul!” Meryk shouted as another piece of horse dung bounced off his pant leg. He was answered only with a snicker resembling the sound of someone gargling water.
“Want to play, want to play,” the imp squeaked as he darted with small legs and fluttering wings from the pile of steaming feces.
“Will you please help out instead of being a pest?”
“Pest, pest, pest,” Zaul chattered.
“I promised Miriam I’d have this place clean, and you’re not helping,” the eight year-old boy grumbled.
“Clean, clean, clean,” the imp replied before attaching itself to Meryk’s right leg; its tiny claws and small barbs on the tips of his wings pinching the boy’s skin.
“That Stings Zaul. Get off me!”
The imp complied. He leapt from Meryk, landing on all fours before standing upright to sniff the air. For a moment it babbled incoherently before peering at the northeast corner of the stable.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” it said before diving into a pile of hay.
There were brief impish and feline squeals before an unsettling silence.
The imp’s head popped from the hay; its mouth mired in gore as a forked-tongue lashed at reddened lips.
“By the Gods…what have you done?”
The imp chuckled. “Cleaning”