Fated to End Sometime

Wil sat in the back of the classroom at his desk, trying to pretend that he was anywhere else but in school that day.  Mrs. Spontane was up at the front of the class, droning on and on about the daily Phonics lesson yet again.  Wil dreaded the Phonics lessons, they were so terribly boring.

Why would he want to sit and do stupid Phonics workbook lessons when he had already read massive books such as The Lord of The Rings trilogy the previous summer?  He peaked at his Phonics workbook, dreading what he would find.  Today's assignment was to work on pages 164 to 172.  Every other day they had been assigned a similar number of pages.

Each day Wil had doodled in his notepad, or started writing down little stories, or anything else he could think of except to work on these pages.  Each day he told himself he would just work on the pages he had not done the next time around.  Of course, the next time around he didn't want to work on the pages, and the problem kept growing bigger and bigger.

Wil waited in fear for the day when Mrs. Spontane would ask everyone to turn in their Phonics workbooks so that they could be graded.  He could already imagine what would happen when his parents found out that he had only completed four of the assigned pages in the workbook.  His mother would look at him with cold, slit eyes, and demand an explanation.  She would lecture her son, whom she had named Wilhelm Patrick Gatly after her great grandfather - a ships captain and world explorer - and explain yet again how he could never expect to be anything in the world without achieving good grades in school.  His stepfather would confirm everything, and then assign additional practice work for Wil to do each night instead of going outside to play with his friends.

Wil did not really care about getting good grades.  He made sure to do his homework and study for his tests to keep his parents happy so that he would not get in trouble, or have to sit through yet another series of lectures.  It had not been so bad when he was in first and second grade, because it was easier to get good scores on his tests, and there was not very much homework.  Third grade had been a trifle harder.  But now he was in fourth grade, and not only did he have more work to do, but the tests were starting to become challenging.  Not only that, but he was now responsible for going to violin lessons once a week, and he had to walk there from school, and then walk all the way home, which was a good two miles away from the apartment where his violin instructor, Mr. Green, lived on Spring Street.

Every day arriving from school meant it was time to practice the piano for at least thirty minutes, followed by an hour of violin practice.  Homework needed to be worked on, followed by outdoor play if there was any time for it before dinner was served.  After dinner it was Wil's job to do the dishes - and unlike his friend Dave he did not get to load the dishes into a dishwasher - Wil had to scrub the greasy pans in hot soapy dish water every night.  If he was lucky he might get to watch a program on TV before it was time for bed.  Most nights, he was not so lucky.

The pressure was starting to build.  On a certain day of the week Wil had Cub Scout meetings to attend, and it seemed like he was given more homework to do after each meeting.  He had already been in Little League baseball for a few years, and hated it.  Now he was getting prepped to play basketball, which to him seemed to be yet another situation where he would be forced to participate in a sport he could barely manage.  These extra activities were the idea of his parents, who wanted him to be well adjusted and learn to socialize with his peers.  What they didn't understand was that he was too strange for his peers to want to accept him into their own special groups that they were already forming, with Junior High just a few years away.

With a start, Wil realized that Mrs. Spontane's phonics lesson had finally ended, and it was almost time to leave.  He realized it was Wednesday, and he would have to walk to his violin teacher's apartment once again.  One of the boys he had played baseball with, Bruce Davies, had in a strange fit of kindness been nice enough to show him the way to his instructor's home on Spring Street, but since that Wil had walked the entire way by himself each week.

The bell rang, and Wil gathered his textbooks and homework assignments and trudged toward his locker.  He put on his NY Yankees baseball cap and fall jacket, then gathered his heavy violin case and slung it across his shoulder so that it rested on his right side.  The shouts of kids laughing and calling out to each other in the hallway echoed around his ears.  Nobody said anything to Wil, but he was used to that.  He put his bag of books on his shoulder and headed out of the school, looking at the ground by his feet the entire way.

It was chilly outside, and the leaves had started changing colors.  Several brown leaves littered the sidewalk, and blew past his feet with each gust of wind as he walked away from the school.  He hunched his shoulders up against the cold, but the weight of his bag and violin case forced his shoulders back down again after just a few steps.  A few steps more and he forgot about the cold, and instead thought about the magical world he had read about in J.R.R. Tolkien's novels as he made his way to his instructor's apartment.

A queer sensation stole over him in the middle of his musings, and he realized the cold was no longer the reason for it.  He had arrived at the house.

The house had once belonged to someone fairly wealthy in the Victorian era, and at one time must have been the site of lavish parties and elegant gatherings of the elitist members of high society.  It was three stories tall, and even though it now had several broken windows, peeling paint and a partially caved in roof, it was easy to see the beautiful care and attention to detail that had gone into the architecture of this structure.  It had been empty for years, partially damaged by a fire.  There were giant red No Trespassing signs posted on the front door, and on a few of the trees in the yard guarded by a half-broken iron fence.

It was well known to be haunted.  Bruce Davies had made sure he had pointed that out.  Then he had said, "Wanna go inside and see?"  Wil desperately wanted to go inside and see if there were really ghosts in this abandoned structure, and could almost hear them whispering to him as he stood on the sidewalk gaping.  But his fear of his parents and the knowledge of their severe disapproval of him trespassing on a property such as this was enough to deter him.  He had simply looked at Bruce and shook his head.  Bruce had shrugged, then they had continued on to Spring Street, and Bruce left him there to find his way to his instructor's apartment.

Every time Wil stood before this house, he wondered if Bruce would have become his friend had he gone inside with him.  Today, as he had every day he stood here before, he looked at the house and wondered whether he should go inside.  Just like every day before, he decided against it.

As he was walking away, Wil felt the touch of something go shivering up his spine.  As he turned to look, he heard a slight creaking noise, and thought he saw the back door of the house start to swing open.  Terror filled him, blind panic, and he ran all the way to Spring Street as fast as he could manage with a bag full of schoolbooks and his violin on his shoulder.  He did not stop running until he reached his instructor's apartment door.

The door to his instructor's apartment was locked.

Mr. Green's car was not in the driveway.  Wil looked at his watch and saw the time.  He really did not feel like having a violin lesson today.  Will was on time, but Mr. Green sometimes arrived a few minutes late, and Wil's parents would have to pay for the lesson whether it happened or not.  Wil did not want to stick around.  In the short time that he had run from the haunted house, the sun had been hidden by some very dark clouds and the wind had picked up.  He felt a few light drops on his hands and face - it was going to rain.

Making up his mind to tell his parents that he had stayed and waited an extra fifteen minutes past his lesson, Wil started on his way home from Mr. Green's apartment.  He walked to the opposite end of Spring Street, which turned into Madison Street after he crossed Nelson Avenue.  He then headed down East Avenue, and shivered as the wind blew a little colder.  When he reached Lake Avenue he took a right, and headed all the way past the East Side Recreational field, which had a playground, tennis courts, basketball courts, baseball diamonds and even became an outdoor ice skating rink in the winter time.  He kept going past the Church his parents forced him to attend every Sunday, followed by Sunday School which always made Wil feel as though he was being forced to believe something that did not make a lot of practical sense until he reached Excelsior Springs Drive, which was a winding road with a fairly steep hill he would have to trudge down while keeping his balance.

This was the most direct way home, and Wil had walked it many times.  He kept wishing for a better way to get home - for a more direct route.  As he reached the bottom of the hill he wondered if he could save himself a little time by cutting through the forest in a diagnal path to Gick Road.  Looking around, he saw nobody outside watching him, and there were no approaching cars that he could hear.  He wasted no additional time, and stepped off the road and straight into the woods, aiming directly toward Gick Road as he did so.

(to be completed by the author as time permits)