Chapter Ten:
The Photograph
After a while Gregory's cheek and teeth began to hurt as his face pressed against the rough pavement. Of all of the times he had been bullied in his life, and there had been quite a few, no one had ever quite reached the level of ferocity and incongruity that the Wayward kids were attaining. Since he had met them, one week before; he had ended up in the lake twice, he had lost all of the photographs and sentimental things his parents had given him, and now, in what was probably the most peculiar bullying situation Gregory had ever been in, he was currently tied at the ankles and wrists, by manner of his own shoelaces…right outside of his front door. He groaned at the level of feebleness he had reached.
He had been there for an hour, and after struggling the entire time, he had come to the conclusion that he would not get free unless his aunt, or someone else found him lying there. This dismayed him.
"Why can't things ever be easy?" He whispered to himself. He began to look around him for something that would aid his escape from the binds which, only an hour before had kept his shoes on (Not that he needed that anymore, considering that Edward had taken both of his shoes with him when he had run off.) when he caught sight of a set of sheers sticking out of a flower pot his aunt had left out after doing some gardening. He sighed, deciding that using them would be a terrible idea and would probably just wind up making his day worse and then he began to proceed toward them very slowly.
Almost ten minutes went by before he reached the large sheers. After that he decided that he never wanted to put so much effort into moving again. He struggled to turn around, so that his back was turned to the sharp instruments and began to back up as best as he could against them.
"Ow!" He yelled out as his first attempt sent the blade scraping across his right hand. "there has got to be an easier way to do this."
He backed up again, this time going slower so that if the blades came in contact with his hands, it would only touch them slightly. He felt it brush against his left and slowly moved both hands so that the blade touched the shoe laces. Gregory took a deep breath and jerked his hands back forcefully. The blade lunged through both his hands and the small laces, cutting him free, but also giving him two nasty scrapes along both his right and left palms. Gregory gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the pain to diminish a little.
When it did he sighed and slowly moved his hands in front of his face, crimson droplets ran down both palms, the sight of it made him cringe a little. He hoped he never had to do anything like that again. After a brief pause, which he took to flex both hands to make sure they were alright, he leaned forward and untied the shoe laces which were binding his ankles. He would at least be saved the embarrassment of being found tied up beneath his front door, even if he did come out of it with a few marks that would probably leave nasty scars.
It was already past dark when Gregory came through the front door. When he did, he was immediately bombarded with scolding remarks from his aunt who was in the next room.
"Gregory, where have you been? I expected you almost three hours ago. It's 8:00, where were you?"
He ignored her. When she didn't get a response she walked into the room and watched him angrily as he walked slowly up the stairs.
"Where are your shoes? And ugh! Your so dirty! I swear Gregory your poor mother would be horrified to see you carrying yourself like this."
By the time she had finished her sentence he was already up the stairs and had turned down the hallway. She didn't bother to ask him why blood was dripping from his palms and the back of his right hand, he expected she just didn't notice.
A couple hours later Gregory had showered and had bandaged his hands as best as he could with injuries on both. He was sitting in his room looking over his homework halfheartedly, when he remembered the picture of his parents in the pocket of the pants he had worn that day. He stood up and looked around until he found his dirty clothing strewn about in the corner. When he did he grabbed his pants form the pile and shoved his hands in one of the pockets. His hand closed around a photograph which he pulled free from the pocket.
He started to carry the photo back to his desk when he got a good look at it and discovered it was not his. He stopped and stared at the unfamiliar photograph bewilderedly. After a few seconds which he spent trying to come up with an explanation for why he had had the picture in his pocket, he rushed back to the corner and shoved his hand in his other pocket. He pulled it back out clutching the picture of his parents, with a sigh of relief and crossed the room to set the picture on his desk.
With that done, he looked back to the other picture and examined it carefully. In the picture there were three guys. Two of them looked similar, like they were related, but the third looked nothing like the other two. The man in the middle, who had a very solemn look on his face was the oldest, as most of his hair had turned white and grey. He was tall and skinny, and had eyes as dark as the night. The one who looked like him was considerably younger, and looked to be in a better mood as his face was lit up with a broad smile. Gregory also thought that he looked a lot like the man he had met earlier that day in the Pumpkin House. That left the last man, who was obviously younger then both of the others. He stood a head lower then both of them and had dark brown hair instead of black. His face was lined with fresh whiskers and his ear had a glinting silver ring in it. He also looked happier then both men combined. Gregory liked the look of the third man, he looked like someone who could get along with just about anyone.
Gregory rose his brow and wondered again how the picture had gotten into his pocket. He sat on the revolving chair at his desk and rested his arms on the desks wooden surface. For a few minutes he sat like that staring at the picture as he mentally went through his day, trying to uncover the point where he had taken a strange photo. He couldn't remember. As he thought his light flickered a little. He looked up at it and sighed. One week and the old wiring in the house was already acting up. He stood, and as he did, the room went completely black.
"Great…just great." He said under his breath as he began to feel his way around his room. He reached what he thought was the closet and began to feel around inside it. He talked to himself quietly while he looked.
"I get talked into breaking into a house by someone who runs off at the first sight of trouble, and then proceeds to blame me for everything. I get caught a second time when I think I'm lucky enough to get off home free, I get off again only to be bound by a couple of psychotic tormenters! Now I'm searching for light bulbs because this stupid house has stupid faulty wiring!" He touched something sharp and let out a cry of pain, which slowly to shifted to that of rage as he hit the wall in frustration…which ended up making it and his previous cuts feels worse.
"Oh Darn it!" He laid his head against the wall by his closet, trying to calm down.
"Darkness…oh well…at least it's not strobe…" Gregory stopped in mid sentence and rose his head, and looked over to where the desk would have been if he could see it.
"That's right…" He said, as he remembered something from earlier that day. "I pocketed something in that guys basement when it was dark…that's where I got it." Having figured that out Gregory felt a little better and went back to searching for the light bulbs, which he found after he touched whatever the sharp thing was at least twice more.
After he struggled back to his desk and fiddled with the old bulb for a few minutes he was able to screw in the new one, which for one moment, didn't seam to want to work either. Gregory tightened his jaw, and was sure he was about to pick the lamp up and throw it across the room when the bulb came to life and illuminated his small room once more. He let out a sigh and sat back into his seat. He examined his hands again and found three fresh cuts, and fresh blood where the old ones had been. Gregory groaned.
"Maybe I should go to bed, before I accidentally slit my wrists." He said in frustration.
(3 Hours Earlier)
Throughout most of the trip home, Justin noticed his father was being more quiet and jumpy then usual. He kept casting nervous glances behind him, as though something were going to come upon him in the growing dark. Justin gave his father an aggravated look.
"Why do you always have to act so bizarre. Before long the whole towns going to start calling you a nut case like that idiotic Mr. Stiltz. Do you even care about me and mom. I mean, how are we going to look next to you if you start acting like a mental case?" Jeff was partly ignoring his son, but before the boy could get too deeply in his accusations he spun around to face him and grabbed him roughly by the jaw. Justin stopped talking immediately and looked up at his father fearfully.
"Justin, I would not be testing my patience tonight! You have done something today that is near unforgivable! You are not to ever go into that house, or even be within fifty feet of the property it is on from now on! If you ever go there again you will be in so much trouble that you will wish I'd have left you to those nasty Wayward kids. Do you understand?" Justin was still staring up at his father in something close to shock. He had never talked to him that way, ever. Normally Jeff was a perfect pushover, a spoiled kids sweetest dream. Justin didn't like this new development. He nodded furiously and then glared at his father as he turned and continued to walk towards their house.
He would listen to what his father said this time, but not because his father had said it. He had no plans of going back to that house anyway. There was no way he'd ever go in by himself and now that he had tried to push the full blame on Gregory (Whether it had worked or not.) he didn't think the boy would agree to go back to the dwelling with him. Justin thought that although Gregory was a total loser, he wasn't entirely stupid. He had fooled him once, he didn't think it would be possible to do it again.
So, he would go to Plan B. Justin grinned. According to his mother, his cousins were due over for the week. This would have been there first time in Kingston. Over the last five years, they had suggested that the King family come down to see them on reunions. They, as they explained, were not all too crazy about coming to stay in an old town full of eccentric residents. For the first couple of years, Justin's mother had wailed about this. She had tried to make Jeff guilty and miserable about bringing her to live in such a horrible town, separating her from her sister and wonderful nephews. Personally, Justin found both of his cousins to be a bit oafish. They looked like two ogres who were trying to pass as nice well behaving boys. But he never said anything even remotely close to this around them.
When it came to Stan and George, Justin felt he should keep his mouth shut, which was a thing he rarely did. After all, if he played his cards right, and did everything they said, and sucked up to them as best as he could, they'd do just about anything he asked them to. And right now, he had something of great desire in mind. Justin's grin widened.
Edward and Violet would pay. They would see what it was like to be beaten senseless.
In Pumpkin Town, on every night in October, the Town would fill with the soft sound of music, that drifted down from the large clock on top of Town Hall. The song played was called 'She Wondered Through The Pumpkin Patch.' And each night a few notes of the song would be played, right before the clock struck midnight. The last time the song would play was on Halloween. On this night it played the whole song, all the way through.
The music was installed as a tribute to Susannah and Anastasia Skellington, both of whom died in the same year. Susannah, Hectors beloved wife, had only been thirty seven when she passed. She had died, quite simply, of a broken heart. Many people believe such a thing is impossible, but after losing her daughter, Susannah was over come with such a deep sadness and sense of loss that she found her self captive of it. She grew ill and faded away. Hector and Susannah's daughter, Anna had had a heart condition. Her heart was sick from birth, and her life was short as a result. When she died, she was only five.
After the passing of his wife and daughter, Hector did a lot of things to honor their memory. He renamed the town, from Skellington to Pumpkin Town, in honor of Anna, who had acquired the nickname Pumpkin Head, due to her fiery red hair.
The song, he chose because his wife had loved Halloween and autumn, and it had been her favorite.
None of the town members objected. They all missed Susannah and Anna terribly, but none so much as Hector himself, who fell into a dismal state without his wife and daughter. It got to the point where his older boy did most of the work around town, though at the time, he had been only thirteen years old, even at that young age, Viktor showed a deep longing to help, and also missed his sister and mother deeply.
Hectors younger boy went a different route. He seamed to fall into a quiet state of depression, becoming more and more disconnected and isolated from the rest of the town.
In Kingston, at night in October, there is no music played before the clock strikes twelve. Part of this is due to the new ownership, but it is mostly due to the fact that the clock on top of Town Hall has been stopped at Seven Forty One for almost eight years. Therefore, because both the song, and the name of the town has either changed or diminished, the ritual of honoring the dead, has long since been abandoned by the people of Kingston.
Still, some things are far too powerful or memorable to vanish completely and honor is still shown throughout Kingston, whether the people know they are doing it or not. Many of them find themselves humming the notes of 'She Wondered Through The Pumpkin Patch.' Years after the song itself has been heard. Some even wake up at Twelve O' clock to the song being played, only to realize they had been humming it in their sleep. And of course, many of them still called the town Pumpkin Town, whether it had a different owner or not.
As twelve O' Clock rolled around, and it officially became October Twentieth the town was quieter then ever. This, whether by weather terms, or that of literature, is generally deemed; the calm before the storm.
Many of the towns residents found themselves getting tense. They told themselves it was the oddly warm weather, or that they were just coming down with a slight case of the heebie- jeebies, but what they were all thinking still drifted about the air in an uncomfortable superstitious cloud;
Halloween was coming again, and this time, it was the Thirteenth anniversary of Hector Skellington's death.
Mhmm…yea, still not where I want to be. This story is going to have a huge amount of chapters. Oh well, I'm getting close.
To Skeleton The Wanderer; yeah, I knew it was an iron maiden (In The Law Of Your Anarchic Demise.) It just slipped my mind when I was writing the story. But thank you for bring that, and many other things to my attention. At some point, I need to go back and change everything.
Is anyone ( And by anyone, I mean, you two, who have been reading and reviewing the story.) getting an idea what's going on yet? I imagine you'll both know what's going to end up happening long before I start giving stuff away. Thank you for reading and reviewing this story. I'll try to update the other one (Or both, if I decide to go down that road and write three stories at once.) sometime this weekend. Until then, I hope you enjoy what I have.
