1The warm summer air billowed through the field, spiraling around the two boys. Grass swayed from side to side, and the summer light filtered through their eyes, leaving the distinct blotchy impressions behind their closed eyelids. The perfect summer was finally upon them, having waited all year to arrive at this day. A door swung closed in the distant, its hinges creaking of rust.
"Tell me why we're doing this again," James said, gazing onward down the hill at the lonely brown shack surrounded by forest.
"I already told you," came the sharp reply, a heavy tone of frustration seeping through, "what he said about my dad? People think they can just talk about him all they want, and no one will care. I'm going to prove 'em wrong."
It was not news to any of the kids at their school that Tom's dad was a drunk, and although no one would ever say it to his face, Tom was always hearing the whispers; the talk of how his dad beat him, how they always fought. It had driven the teenager to tears before, the rumors – no, the lies - that had been spread. It was true, that Tom's father drank, and it was also true that he got drunk on occasion. But never had his father ever laid a hand on him, and he was tired of people saying otherwise.
Sliding out the sledgehammer, Tom made his way down the steep hill, being careful not to fall down the slippery grass slope. Although this was an act of pure malice, James found that there was a hint of peace in this area. It was rare to find a forest in Toronto, and this was one of the largest in the city. Trees higher than office buildings, with grass that's color never seemed to fade – it was the perfect contrast to the dull grey of the surrounding city.
"Coming?" Tom called from the bottom of the slope. James came back to reality with a sharp shake of his head, clearing all the thoughts from his mind. He needed to be able to concentrate for now if he wanted things to go smoothly as they should. Following Tom's exact path, James stopped at the bottom of the hill. He reached behind him into his backpack, and pulled out his weapon of choice – his fathers' aluminum baseball bat.
Not another word was spoken, both boys knowing what was to come next. They had studied the house, learnt when the old man would be away and when the best to time to strike was. Originally, they had no interest in harming the geezer; their interest lay solely on the house. But as time past, anger built, and they decided that rather than trash the house, they would confront him and have a little "talk". They'd observed the house regularly for the past two months after school, taking two buses and a subway to get there. It was decided at the beginning that they would wait until the summer break so they would have more time to go through with the plan.
Throughout their scoping of the house, they had quickly discovered the old mans habits. He rarely left the shack, but when he did it was always at the same time and on the same day, leaving the boys with a very easy target. It was every Wednesday at 4:30 that Mr.McElnick left his house and hiked into the forest. Although the boys always assumed he went hunting, they never saw him bring back any carcasses. They had simply surmised that he was a very poor hunter.
Staying true to their observed schedule, the door swung open at 4:34 – five minutes prior to their venture down the hill. They had watched as the man of at least 60 years old made his way into the wilderness. He was dressed in camouflaged from head to toe, hunting gear strapped to his back with rows of ammo circling his shoulders. To any onlookers, he looked like a mix of a hunter and a second generation mercenary.
"Come on. Now or never," Tom grunted. Making his way to the house, the sledgehammer swung in his hand ominously, a dark shadow of the wreckage that lay ahead. Keeping close on his friends' heels, James followed a few feet behind, his aluminum baseball bat glinting in the sun.
"Look, Tom..." James started, stuttering to find his courage. "I… I don't know if this is a good idea. It just seems like a lot of things could go -" he was cut off as Tom's fist came spinning around into his gut. Falling to his knees, tears came to his eyes as he tried frantically to blink them away.
"Shut. The Fuck. Up." Tom snarled at his kneeling friend. "I told you already. You can't back out of this. You said you were in on it, so now you're in on it. You don't get to change your mind now." Tom crouched to his friend's level, and took the other boys chin in his hand. He leaned in closer to his friend, until his mouth was mere inches from the James's ear. Barely above a whisper, he uttered the few words that James would remember forever. "I can kill you if I so chose too. Remember that."
A chill ran down his spine as James heard the near-silent words slip through his friends lips. He had known for a long time that Tom was not a good person, but he was his friend. The only friend he had, really, and he wasn't going to ditch him just because of a little anger issue. Hearing those words made a heavy feeling of doubt course through James though, and for the first time since he'd known Tom, he reconsidered his view. Maybe Tom was dangerous. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe it was just too late. Recomposing himself, James and Tom walked towards the house, weapons in hand and anger in their hearts.