From the shadows behind the inn, a shout broke the peace of the afternoon.

“I’ve told you before, get out of here,” Hillman shouted at the scurrying being as it hurriedly skulked off down the street at the rear of the inn. Wes stood looking from further down the street and saw the being flee. Its hunched and filthy form disappeared over the fence into the pasture where horses from the town stable were kept. The being scurried across before jumping the fence on the far side, disappearing into the woods.

Wes stood, shaking his head in dismay, sighing. He walked towards where Hillman stood with his hands on his hips, glaring after the skulking form.

“Did he take anything?” Wes asked.

“The usual. He stole some food and a bottle of spirits. Caris found him in the cellar. He almost scared her half to death. Something needs to be done about him. We all know what he went through, and no one would wish that on anyone, but his behaviour is horrendous. All he does is steal food and drink when he is able.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t do an excellent job with him,” Wes said, feeling shame.

“It’s not your fault. You tried your damndest with him between you and Tanya. There is only so much you can do for a man who has given up hope.”

“He hasn’t given up on living, though. Otherwise, he wouldn’t still steal food and drink, and there may still be hope for him. I will speak to Sister Carol and see if she is free to accompany me to see him again. I have to try and do something.”

Hillman scoffed. “It’s not your responsibility. Why involve yourself so much?”

“I was there. Do you remember when it happened? I saw the man who loved his family more than anything else lose everything. I know I shouldn’t, but I will always feel a level of guilt. I am just glad that the illness never spread.”

“Aye. We were lucky. If that illness had got into the town well and not just the milk that Harm had delivered, we could have lost the whole town. Thanks to your quick dealings, all the milk was poured away.”

Wes nodded in understanding as he removed several copper coins. “Here, you shouldn’t be out of pocket,” he said, handing it to Hillman.

Hillman pushed his hand away. “No. I will not allow you to pay for his stolen goods again. You have paid more for his actions than anyone would ever ask,” he said as he moved back into the inn.

The being that had just scurried away was Harmonious. It had been six months since he had lost his family, and in that time, he had turned almost feral in his behaviour. He still lived at the farm, or more correctly, what was left of the farm where he had lived with his family before their deaths. The fields were unkempt and overgrown, and the barn doors were broken. One of the large doors lay on the floor where it had fallen from its hinges and had never been repaired. The farmhouse resembled a derelict building rather than what was once a family home. The glass in the windows shattered, and tattered cloth now hung across the openings. The roof had lost its thatch, and Wes, from a visit several weeks ago, knew it leaked inside.

Harm had smashed up most of the furniture in one of his drunken rages, leaving the bedding and linen all dirty and unwashed. The front door wasn’t even secure anymore, and at night, Harm would place a truss against it.

The inn would no longer serve him, but he had still been getting alcohol, most of which Wes believed was stolen from the townsfolk. Satil had been wanting to take the farm from Harmonious, but he had no right to do so. It was situated outside the border of the town, and Harm owned the deeds to the land outright, so he could do what he wished on it. 

Wes watched Hillman go. The guilt did rack him. He had eventually had to ask Harm to leave their home after he lashed out at Tanya in a drunken stupor one evening. That had been nearly five months ago now, and since then, Harm had moved back to the farm. He just wished he knew what he could do to snap Harm out of his behaviour. He had been an adventurer and one of the strongest villagers. Sitting at the territory pinnacle in his levels, many in the township were well aware of his skill with a sword.

Wes had even suggested to Harm to consider adventuring again, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Harm wasn’t interested; he no longer owned Florence. Larky eventually had to sell his sword when Harm was unable to pay back his loan. He wasn’t interested in anything anymore. Just drinking when he was able to get hold of liquor.

Tanya was standing in the garden when Wes reached home. She looked up from the flowerbed, weeding, and saw his face.

“He was in town again, wasn’t he?” Tanya asked, although it was more of a statement.

“Yeah. Stole from the inn again. Hillman said he scared Caris to death as he had snuck into the cellar.”

Tanya shook her head. “I wish you would let it go. We tried what we could with him.”

“You know I can’t,” Wes replied, feeling deflated. 

“Something has to give. You can’t keep covering up his actions as you have been. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you have been paying for his thefts.”

Wes had never spoken to Tanya about it before, but he had on several occasions paid townsfolk for the goods that Harm had been stealing. He knew that she had known, but it had never been a point of conversation. They weren’t short of coin and lived comfortably.

“I know, dear. I hate to see a man broken like he is.”

“He is not one of your animals that you care for.”

Wes’s shoulders dropped as he spoke. “He may as well be.”

Tanya smiled at Wes sympathetically. “Your heart is too soft.”

“One of us has to have a soft heart,” he smirked, trying to break his mood.

The trowel that Tanya had been using came flying across the garden towards him, Wes only just moving out of its way. The scowl on Tanya’s face let him know his humour hadn’t been taken well.

“Sorry, Tan,” he said, going to pick her trowel up and carry it back to her. She stood with her hands on her hips, and Wes placed his arms around her, hugging her. Her anger softened, and she returned the action.

“Please, Wes. Stop looking out for him. It is starting to break you,” Tanya said with care.

“I will, but before I do, I am going to get Sister Carol to come with me and visit him once more. One last try, and if it doesn’t work, I promise I will let it go.”

Tanya pulled back so she could look into Wes’s eyes. “And this time you mean it?”

“Yes. I promise.”

It was early afternoon the following day when Wes and Sister Carol arrived at the farmstead. Wes hoped that they could at least try to get through to Harm. They had previously failed, but this time, they had a different plan. Wes was aware that when Harm wasn’t in Sallew stealing food or drink, he had also travelled to Hillnot at the other end of the valley. They climbed down from the cart, and Wes collected the sack of food that he had got for him. It would be enough for a week at least but didn’t contain any alcohol. The plan was to try to get Harm to go ‘dry. ‘ 

Sister Carol had, after receiving a hefty donation to the chapel, confirmed that she would Sleep Harm if necessary. Wes hoped that Harm would be compliant, but that would depend upon his state of mind from drinking.

“Harm. Harm, are you there?” Wes called from the entrance; he was not on the porch area, standing back on the track. Harm had not taken well to visitors before, and on one occasion, Wes had to leave in his cart rather than deal with his temper.

There was no reply.

“Harm,” Wes called again, turning to look at Sister Carol before he stepped onto the porch and moved to the entrance. He pushed the door gently, and it swung open. The stench inside the property made his nose curl. If you could imagine a mix of some of the worst smells combined, that was the smell in the house. Mould and damp were at the pinnacle. The walls were black, and mould had grown on some. The timbers looked damp and at points as though they might fracture.

Wes cautiously moved inside, making his way across the kitchen area to where the kids’ room had been. He knew that Harm had not managed to enter their bedroom again since losing Dahlia. It had been too painful for him. Wes had been the one to collect his clothes and items from within for him.

“Harm,” he said as he neared the bedroom door. There was still no reply.

Slowly pushing the door open, he looked inside. The kids’ beds were not slept on, and instead, Harm had made himself an area on the floor between them. Filthy blankets and sheets littered the floor, along with food scraps and empty liquor bottles. Scrunching his nose, Wes tried to breathe through his mouth to lessen the impact of the smell. He thought his clothes would probably need washing after this visit; the stench was so pungent.

Wes was about to leave when he saw movement. Underneath the pile of dirty linen, a foot poked out. 

“Harm,” Wes said again as he approached.

The blankets shifted, and a face appeared. A thick, scraggly beard, unkempt hair, dark rings under his half-closed, bloodshot eyes and a grime-covered face.

“Harm. I am here with Sister Carol. We have brought you some food.”

Harm let out an inaudible grunt and opened his mouth to speak. His lips looked parched, and his face had become gaunt, almost skeletal in appearance. 

“What d’ya want?”

“I have food, Harm,” Wes said softly, as though speaking to a child.

“Leave it ‘n go... now,” Harm said, his voice scratchy, its previous strength lost.

“No, Harm. We won’t go. We are here to help you. I want you to come with us back to town. Sister Carol has said you can stay at the chapel.” That was the main reason for the large donation Wes had made. He needed to get Harm away from the farmstead. Every day he spent there just reinforced his misery and despair.

“Why? I have a home.”

“You call this a home? Do you see how you are living?” Wes said, indicating the filth he was living in. “You need to be away from here. They aren’t ever coming back. No matter how long you stay here.” Wes felt guilt hit him as he finished speaking. Had he been too harsh with his words?

Harm looked at Wes, his eyes groggy and unfocused. The bottle of liquor he had stolen the previous day from the inn rested on its side next to where he lay. Only dregs remained. His eyes shifted with uncertainty as he followed Wes’s gestures.

Grunting, he slowly sat upright, one hand going to his head, and the other reaching for the remnants in the bottle.

“No,” Wes said as he stepped forward and grabbed the bottle before Harm could.

“Give it ‘ere,” Harm growled, lunging after the bottle.

Wes backed away, seeing the look of anger flash onto Harm’s face. Harm growled as he went to stand. Wes backed out of the room and across the kitchen to the porch. Harm staggered after him, crashing into the doorframe.

“Fuck,” he cursed, punching it violently, before bouncing through the door, his eyes now fixated on the bottle.

Wes looked behind and nodded towards Sister Carol, who was still standing near the cart.

“Calm down, Harm,” Wes said, backing away towards the cart.

“I said, fuckin’ give it ‘ere,” Harm slurred.

As Harm stepped off the porch towards the cart, a wash of light struck him. Sister Carol held out her hand as he took one more step before crashing to the floor asleep.

“Thanks,” Wes said, turning to look at her. “We just need to get him in the cart now.” 

Wes moved forward and roughly lifted Harm. Over the past six months, the man had become a shell of his former self. His muscular frame was wasting away, and he was now much lighter than Wes had expected. Eventually, Wes managed to get him into the rear of the cart with the help of Sister Carol. Harm hadn’t responded once to the movement, and Wes knew he would be out for a few hours from the spell.

“Right. Let’s get him to the chapel,” Wes said.

As the cart bounced along the uneven track back to town, all they could both hear was the heavy snoring of Harm’s magically induced sleep, and smell was the fetid stench of his unwashed body. 

The chapel had an annexe where Harm would be placed. It was more of a storeroom than anything else, and it had a mattress placed in it. The contents of the storeroom had been removed, and the door was lockable and made of sturdy, reinforced oak. Wes knew the chances were that Harm would try to break out when he came to, and Jeffer had secured some bars across the only window the room had in preparation for Harm’s arrival.

Once they reached the chapel, Jeffer helped Wes carry Harm to his new room and placed him on the mattress.

“We can worry about cleaning him tomorrow,” Wes said, leaving the room and closing the door. Sister Carol removed a key from her pocket and locked it, securing Harm inside.