Wishmaker Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Read chapter 8 of Wishmaker by Larch on NovelPedia.

Creak! The bed's frame shook slightly at the sudden movement, followed by a deep yawn. On the bed, Valentine turned his head and noticed a shadow falling down his face. Well, that's new... Val exhaled a heavy breath after waking up, noticing a thick box filled with various items on the nightstand next to him, exuding a strange smell that made his nose scrunch up. The box, the size of his torso, was packed to the brim with all sorts of tools, ranging from simple pencils that stuck out at the top to books or even notepads filled with notes. Drowsy, he rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the light of his lamp. I mean... I did expect something. But not to such an extent that it would take an entire wooden crate for it to barely fit. Even the lamp and the cup of water that occupied the nightstand before were now placed on the floor, with the pill being neatly presented on an empty plate. Lifting his head slightly, he tried to look at it from the side, but because his torso was still tightly wrapped in bandages and could move just barely and with some strain, he slumped back on the cozy pillow with a sigh. How do I lift that thing? It didn't look light at all since it was made out of wood, and the contents themself seemed pretty solid. He didn't have some crazy strength that he would be able to lift it with one hand, and at an awkward angle at that, only being able to reach from underneath. Maybe if I just... He reached for the crate, grabbing its bottom corner with his fingers and pulling it towards him as carefully as he could. Scrape! His ears twitched. Clenching his teeth, he pulled on it even harder, trying to ignore the irritating sound as much as he could. The crate moved from the nightstand towards him very slowly, sliding off its surface halfway and balancing on the edge, almost above his head. Pulling his arm back, he looked at the bottom of the crate, which was filled with countless openings in the shape of straight lines, and inserted his hand inside it, rummaging through its contents. Surprisingly, the hole was just the right size for him to slide his hand inside and for nothing to fall out through its openings. I'll just take some lighter things out and put the crate back. Sunday can help me with the rest later. After a few minutes of looting and straining... Grind! Ugh, I hate this. Valentine furrowed his brows at the sound; his hearing became sharper thanks to Sunday, but adjusting to it was a hard task considering all he could hear every day was the white noise in his head and occasional visits from his saviour. Even before ending up here, he was known for his exceptionally sharp senses by anyone he came across. His sight was so sharp that he could read a sign from a couple of hundred meters away, prompting his peers to see him as a freak with eagle-like sight. Hearing, vision, taste, smell, and touch. All of it was as good as it could get, making him spend most of his life on edge. Even the slightest sound made his head turn towards the direction, while eating itself became a problem whenever the taste was too strong. It was also one of the reasons he was so wary of Sunday, since he, for some reason, could not be heard whenever he was out of his room. It's always too quiet; I'm not sure if it's just me here or the two of us. Murmuring under his nose, he twisted his arm. The crate was pushed back into its place, not as perfectly balanced as before, but good enough not to fall from the nightstand on its own. Good enough. With a somewhat indifferent expression, he looked down at his chest, on which were placed a couple of items he managed to pull out through the tight opening. Lying on his rock-hard bandages were a square metal lighter, a black pen with leaky ink, some pocket change, a strangely shaped metal object that weighed less than half a kilo, and a book with a ruined cover that was held together by a simple white string, though stained in mud around the corners. He frowned. What the hell is this trash? He lif