Chapter Two
The Summer Outing
A little over eleven years had passed since the orphanage had come to attain the charge of the young boy who had been born on New Year's Eve, but Grundler's Orphanage had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same bare lot with its dirt and dried grass, lighting up the railing that surrounded the building; it crept into the foyer, which was exactly the same as it had been on the night when the young mother stumbled in through the door. Not much showed how much time had passed, except for the increased dilapidation of the black and white tiles on the floor. The house showed no sign at all of the children who lived there.
Yet children were there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Today was the long awaited summer outing that the children looked forward to during the winter. It was what tided them over during the drearier summer days, as they prayed for fair weather to come.
"Up! Time to get up!"
Tom woke with a start. The shrill voice carried through the hallway, and a sharp rap came from the door.
"Tom, are you up?"
"Nearly," muttered Tom.
"Well, hurry up. We need to get going soon."
Tom groaned. He heard footstep retreat from his door and move down the hallway to the next door. Tom Riddle flung the gray blankets away from him, and stood up.
Tom had a handsome face, pale skin, dark hair, and was quite tall for his age. He walked away from the iron bestead and walked to the old wardrobe in the corner and began to get dressed. His eye caught the outline of the cardboard box that stood on the top shelf of his closet. Tom smirked to himself.
When he was dressed he made his way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The table was covered with various picnic baskets, all filled to the brim with sandwiches: egg-salad, tuna, chicken, and cucumber. Thermoses filled with apple juice, orange juice, and tea cluttered the surface, and a large paper bag was falling over, and a heaping pile of cookies could be seen within.
"Good morning, Tom," Mrs. Cole said as she prepared more sandwiches, she eyed him warily as he stood before the kitchen table. Mrs. Cole had married once, and when her husband died she resumed her maiden name, she had never left the orphanage, and her late husband had taken great pride in her work.
Tom said nothing in way of greeting, so Mrs. Cole continued to speak.
"There's some muffins and orange juice on the counter if you want," she nodded toward the counter where, sure enough, there was a platter of blueberry muffins and a pitcher of orange juice.
Tom walked over to the counter and sat on a rickety wooden stool. He began eating his blueberry muffin as he watched Mrs. Cole pack the lunches. It was easy to see she was unnerved under his piercing gaze, and just as easy to see her shoulders heave in a sigh of relief as another boy came into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Good morning, Billy. How are you?"
Billy Stubbs yawned and then stopped abruptly when he saw Tom sitting at the counter, his eyes grew wide and he unconsciously took a step back. Billy was clearly a year older than Tom, and bigger, but just as clear, was his fear of the boy who was sitting at the counter finishing off his glass of orange juice.
"Come and have some muffins, Billy," Mrs. Cole smiled at the boy as she shut the lid of a picnic basket.
Billy shook his head and refused to step into the kitchen, still watching Tom with horror.
Tom seemed not to notice the boy's horrorstruck countenance, or he simply did not care. Tom finished his juice and left his glass on the counter by the sink. Then headed toward the door where Billy Stubbs stood petrified.
Billy shrank into the wall as far as he could, but Tom walked closely to the boy and whispered something into his ear. Billy just nodded and dashed past Tom into the kitchen, where he immediately began washing out the glass Tom had just used.
Mrs. Cole watched Tom's figure recede and shook her head. She had known the boy all his life, and yet he still refused to open up to her as the other children had. He was always such an odd boy. As a child he hardly ever cried, and as he grew older, he seemed more like a miniature version of an adult rather than a child. Most people would agree with this portion of Mrs. Cole's analysis on Tom Riddle, but she knew better. Tom Riddle had a mean streak in him a mile wide. It was difficult to see, but if you spent as much time around Tom as Mrs. Cole had, it would only become too evident.
Half an hour later, Tom, and the other six orphans, who inhabited Grundler's Orphanage, were standing in the courtyard outside the building, on the way to the sea for an outing of fun and entertainment. Before they'd left, Mrs. Cole grabbed Tom by the arm and drew him aside.
"Tom, before we go out I just want you to know that I know what you've been up to." She looked at him sternly, "I know that somehow you were the one who hung Billy Stubbs's rabbit from the rafters. I have no idea how you did it, but I know you did. And I want you to know that the rest of us who watch over you children have noticed that odd things happen to those you don't like. Any funny business, anything at all-and you'll be in serious trouble, young man."
"I'm not going to do anything," said Tom looking up at her with wide eyes. "Honest…" His tone would have made any other adult believe that Tom was completely innocent, and they would have believed that nothing horrible would happen today.
Mrs. Cole didn't believe him. She never did.
Strange things happened around Tom quite often, and it was no good telling the matrons that he didn't make them happen.
There was the instance with Billy Stubbs's rabbit, but the children of Grundler's Orphanage had seen stranger things where Tom was concerned.
Rats would occasionally scurry out of the dry grass and snap at children who had only just insulted Tom. The rats scared the wits out of the children, causing them to shriek and bring the adults running. When the matrons went out to the yard to look for the rats, there was no sign of them. Calls were made to exterminators and mousetraps were set all over the courtyard, forcing the children to play in the back or remain in the house, yet not a single rat was ever found.
Another time, Mrs. Grundler had been trying to force Tom to take care of the younger children. The more she tried to coerce him into chores, or looking after the children, the more frightened the children became of him. It was evident that this was why they refused to let him join in their games, yet they would never explicitly say why they were quite so afraid of Tom Riddle. One day, Mrs. Grundler confronted Tom about the children's behavior. They had a long chat in her office, from which she emerged crying. She resigned the next day, left Mrs. Cole in charge, packed her things, and left.
On the other hand, Tom seemed perfectly respectable and polite, while some of his compliments sounded like insults the adults could never quite reprimand him. His chores got done one way or another, and Tom was never rowdy or got into fistfights like the other children. And when he was left to his own devices, Tom would shut himself up in his room and read.
Aside for the strange events that happened around Tom Riddle, there didn't seem to be anything terrible about the boy.
The children all left in pairs, except for Tom who stood, without a partner, at the front. The group made their way past the iron gates, and down the bustling London street. Soon they were on a train, heading towards the sea.
The entire party consisted of seven children, and three adults. The children were all excited and chattering happily, as they peered out of the window and stood on their seats, the spirit of joviality. Mrs. Cole had already given up trying to restrain the children as they rocketed around the small compartment.
"Are we there yet?"
"Eric, stop jumping."
"Is it time for lunch?"
"I bet it's warm enough to go swimming!"
"You prat, you cant even swim."
The prattle never ceased as they train sped along the tracks. Tom never said a word.
It was a very sunny Saturday and the beach was crowded with families. Each child was given a little pocket money to spend at the town not far from where the train stopped. The children pushed and shoved to be the first to get their spending money as they crowded around Mrs. Cole.
"Now remember," Mrs. Cole said as she handed each child their money and their lunches, "We meet back here at exactly three o'clock, no later. It is currently," she glanced at the tall clock the overshadowed the rest of the town, "fifteen past noon. So you'll have a little less than three hours to do what you please. Don't get lost, no going to the cliffs, and don't talk to strangers. Stay with your partners. Tom," Mrs. Cole turned and looked the pale-faced boy who had money clutched in his hand. Mrs. Cole did not recall giving any pocket money to the boy, but disregarded it.
"You will partner with Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, you three are around the same age."
The two children she had called, groaned openly, but stopped quickly when Tom cast his gaze toward them.
"Run along now. We will be at that café," she pointed at a small café not far from where they stood. Its' giant wooden sign in the shape of a coffee cup was brightly painted and highly visible.
"Off you go," and the children scattered, except for Amy and Dennis who were following Tom warily. He meandered the streets and paused every now and then to inspect the wares in the windows of the shops, blatantly aware of how frightened his two companions were. He was inspecting the window of a shop that displayed various antiquities and trinkets.
"So what do you want to do?" said Tom as he turned his attention from the golden locket in the window, and looked at the reflections of the two children who stood behind him.
"Um…maybe go to the beach and explore a bit?" Dennis suggested meekly.
"What a splendid idea." Tom said smirking at the two, who cowered even more under his sneer.
"Where shall we go?"
Amy swallowed hard and stuttered, "W-we can go there," she pointed ahead, "to go look at the sea."
Sure enough the children could see the ocean, the little village was situated at the very top of the cliffs. The salty sea air whipped at their hair and clothes as it whisked by them. Tom climbed over the safety fence and clambered over craggy dark gray rocks to reach the edge of the cliff. Amy and Dennis looked as if this was the last thing they wanted to do, but they followed Tom like shadows.
Below them was a sheer drop, black and faceless. Waves crashed against large chunks of rock that looked as if they had fallen from the cliff face at some point in the past.
The view was bleak, and there was no tree or sweep of grass or sand in sight to break the monotony of black rock and black sea.
Tom leaned as far over the edge of the cliff as he could without falling. Amy and Dennis were nowhere near as brave.
"Come on, Riddle, let's go back." Dennis whispered in hushed tones as he watched Tom.
Tom looked over his shoulder, a wicked smile distorting his handsome features.
"Let's climb down. It'll be fun." He went back to the others and ushered them toward the edge of the cliff.
"NO! I don't want to!" Amy tried to twist her wrist out of Tom's vise like grip.
"Now, now don't struggle or you might fall." Tom grinned his terrible grin and began descending. Amy and Dennis looked at each other in horror as they followed.
It was now half past three, and Mrs. Cole was counting the children yet again, as if recounting the children for the hundredth time would prove her wrong.
"Where are those children?" She paced and began counting the children again.
One of the newer girls, who had come to assist for the trip, suddenly gasped and pointed,
"There they are!"
And sure enough there were three solitary figures making their way down the street towards them. Tom in the lead, looking as though he had merely taken a stroll around town, while the other two children were soaked, exhausted, and frightened.
"Where have you three been?" Mrs. Cole shrieked as she kneeled in front of the three children.
"We just went exploring," said Tom innocently, he turned to his companions, "right?" he asked. The other two just nodded dumbly,
"Yeah, exploring," muttered Dennis.
Amy nodded again, "We went into a cave, lost track of the time."
"Are you sure? Because you two look as white as death, but you Tom," she rounded on Tom, "You look as if you've just spent a lovely day around town. What were you three up too?"
"Nothing, Mrs. Cole." Tom swore, "We only went exploring along the beach."
Tom lay in his dark room much later, frowning. He hated this place, absolutely hated it. Tom hated the matrons of this place who patronized him, the children who assumed he was just the same as them. It was ridiculous, could anyone else make animals do as he wished? It wasn't by coincidence he was able to have Billy Stubbs's rabbit hang itself. Could they make objects move without touching them? Could they make bad things happen to the people who annoyed them? Or make them hurt? No. Tom Marvolo Riddle knew he was special, knew he was different.
When he had been younger, Tom had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened. He had no family. Yet sometimes he imagined a world where others realized his talents, respected, and looked up to him. Here he had none of that. They feared him, yes, and that garnered some form of cooperation, but it wasn't enough. Tom rolled over in his bed, and stared out the window. A bird had alighted on the sill, and looked at him with its beady eyes. It was an owl. Tom glared at it, and its wise eyes grew cloudy. The owl fell over backwards, and Tom could hear the sound of a thud as the bird hit the ground below. A self-satisfied smirk grew on Tom's face, which turned to disgust as his thoughts returned to his situation at the orphanage.
At Grundler's, Tom had no one. Everybody knew that the other children were afraid of the odd boy with his pale skin and frightening animosity, and how nobody liked to disagree with Tom Marvolo Riddle.
