The Wisherman

by Danielle

  "Initiation ritual, you think? I’m not going to do it." Paul said, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, to both Oliver and Malachi's disgust.

  "I wonder what it involves." Malachi muttered, darkly. The boys finished their dinner without another word, eventually shuffling off into one of the large, glass study rooms on the second floor of the dormitory. Each floor of the dormitory was home to one of these glass study rooms, and Oliver found them to be the most beautiful part of the dorm so far. He could look out the large glass windows and see the nearby valley below for miles.

  Paul sat on the edge of the study table, legs dangling, and Malachi leaned against the window sill, his dark brows furrowed as per usual.

  "How long have you guys been here?" The question had been lingering in Oliver's mind ever since his sudden re-acquaintance with Paul and Malachi.

  "Same as you, really." Paul shrugged and looked over to Malachi.

  “A couple days. Malachi got here first.” Malachi nodded, his eyes wide as he began remembering.

  “It was exactly how I told you. They put me in this van, and we drove for a long while, only stopping for food and water. I didn’t think I would ever get out again.”

  Paul nodded in agreement, and swung his legs forward. “I miss my mom. Do you think we’ll get to talk to them again?”

  “Our moms?” Malachi snorted, though his face drooped. “I think we’re in jail and we’ll get our one phone call.” Malachi said quietly.

  “This is a pretty nice jail, though. We’ve got a buffet. We have beds.”

  “At what cost? I didn’t do anything to deserve this.” Malachi moaned.

  Paul looked sideways at him, eyes narrowed. “You had to do something.”

  “Well, what did you do?” Malachi countered.

  Paul whistled. “What didn’t I do, man? I guess I have an addiction to doing what’s all wrong for me. It’s like I freeze up and decide that I want my life to be worse off. Some part of me goes yeah, this option looks really good, like it’ll get me somewhere, and I’m not going to do it! It’s not even fear, because I would know what that felt like.

  As if he’d gotten some sudden, quiet, encouragement, Paul raised his voice and puffed out his chest proudly. “I want to be here. I want to do better. Don’t you guys?”

  “You don’t get it. I was doing just fine.” Malachi insisted. “I was just walking back home from school.”

  “They arrested you for going home?”

  “Okay, so I was skipping.”

  Paul smiled a knowing smile.

  “That still doesn’t mean they had the right. I just didn’t do school well. I just ‘couldn’t keep my mouth shut.” Malachi finished the sentence in a high pitched voiced. Oliver and Paul laughed.

  “Is that what your mother sounds like?” Oliver asked.

  “Yeah, doesn’t yours? Always telling me what I’m doing wrong.”

  “No.” Oliver thought back to his mother, quiet, frazzled, with a pencil tied in her hair. Her eyes were never much of a giveaway about how she felt. “My mother never says much at all. She certainly didn’t tell me I was coming here.”

  “See, that’s what I’m saying! Since when was it legal to just ship your kid off somewhere?” Oliver shrugged, the familiar sadness returning as the officer’s words returned to haunt him.

  “I wonder if my mother is better off without me.” He thought aloud. Oliver’s words hung in the air, as all three boys contemplated this, unwilling, and unable to break the silence. Some minutes later, enough time for contemplation, Paul piped up about food, and he in Malachi were soon engaged in a lively discussion about the delicacies of the dining hall.

  But for Oliver, the small innocent thought, just one seed, had taken root. He had wondered if his mother would be better off without him as if it were a question at all. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother would be better off with a son who could turn dreams into nightmares, with just a touch of a finger.

  “What did you do anyway?” Malachi broke away from what was surely a riveting conversation about cafeteria food.

  “I’m telling you about my life and I have no idea what you’re in for.” Paul’s eyes darted from Oliver to Malachi and he grabbed at his shirt collar.

  “I mean, it’s not like you killed anybody right?” Paul shot Oliver a knowing look, which only intensified the feeling that Oliver was a deer caught in the headlights of a particularly aggressive driver.

  To be fair, Oliver knew the question would come eventually, but he hadn’t thought about that day in several days. It had almost been a luxury of sorts, all the new things that were going wrong. The handcuffs, Matron Charlie, and a new school. In so readily accepting everything that had happened, Oliver had allowed himself to forget the reason he was here in the first place. The burning secret that followed him everywhere he went, even in his dreams. He could get away from his father, he thought darkly, but he could never get away from himself.

  Malachi stared expectantly at him, while Paul bit his bottom lip, evidently anticipating some kind of throw down.

  “I was getting into trouble at school, and at home. I guess my mom thought it was best for me to be here.” The words sounded hollow, even to Oliver’s own ears. Malachi’s face fell, and Paul settled back onto his spot at the window sill, looking considerably less anxious.

  “Sorry, it’s not really a great story.” That much was true, Oliver thought bitterly.

  Malachi pursed his lips. “You know, my mother always said I would end up in here. That I talked too much for my own good. Always had to be right, and that would lead me wrong.” Malachi made exaggerated air quotes. “But I told her that it was more than that. It wasn’t that simple. I can’t just stop talking.”

  Paul laughed, shortly. “My mother has a solution for that. They grow on trees. Man, I miss her. She would love that I was here. Learning how to be a 'disciplined young man'. I can't wait to go back home. She won't even recognize me after I've been here for a few months.” Oliver thought back to Dean Tenbrook's tour, a dark thought forming on his lips. But before he'd had the chance to speak, Malachi had clapped Paul on the back.

  "I bet she'll be proud."

  The three boys spent the rest of the evening going over schedules, silently wondering what the next day would bring them, no one wanting to jinx their first day with silly expectations and hopes. The occasional low cheer filled the air as the crossed compared classes. Oliver had the first half of the day with Malachi and Paul and the last half with upperclassmen. "I bet those classes are much harder." Paul remarked, confidently as he looked over Oliver's schedule. The evening ended on a slightly nervous note, which each boy departing to his room with a wave, as if to say See you on the other side.

  Chapter 5

  A jarring sound, like that of ten thousand horns pulled Oliver from his dream in such a manner that his heart nearly jumped from his chest. The previously dark bedroom was flooded with bright, blinding light.

  "Wake up!” A voice said.

  Oliver rubbed his eyes, yet he still couldn't fathom what he was seeing. As the shock of the light slowly faded, Oliver surveyed his room. On the other side, his roommate was yanked up and directly in front of him, a boy with a dragon mask leaned down. His face came within an inch of Oliver's and Oliver could feel his hot breath on his cheeks.

  "IT'S TIME."

  Twenty minutes later, Oliver was running naked through the woods. As he did, he couldn't help but wonder if this was one of those pivotal moments in his life. He remembered briefly the drug free advertisements on television, where the camera would slowly pan up to the face of a drug using teen, with the bold, black caption "Is this where you want to be in ten years?” He could admit pretty easily that at no point in his life had he ever planned or expected to be in this situation. The thoughts quickly disappeared as he heard howling in the background behind him, and he quickened his pace, jumping blindly over branches. It wasn’t until this very moment that Oliver had felt awake and an active par
ticipant in his life.

  "Start running." Dragon Mask screamed, and the wispy baby hairs framing Oliver's face literally stood on end. He had rushed to grab a pair of pants and a shirt, but before he could, he found himself being thrown from his room with Robert in tow. There they had stood, freezing in the dormitory halls in just boxers before a mob of boys wearing dragon masks jeered them out the front door. The air was crisp and he and Robert had jogged alongside each other for a few moments before the mob of dragons showed up once more, jeering and yelling and Oliver found he had lost track of his roommate.

  The full moon followed him as Oliver ran deeper into the woods. He was at once struck by the disappearance of the footsteps that had forced him from his room. The only footsteps he realized were his own. The howling too had grown distant and weak. At this realization, he stopped and put his hands on his knees, panting. He did not know how far he'd run. The trees, shrouded in darkness and crystallized dew from the cold New England night all looked the same and even they shivered at night.

  Oliver walked along the closest thing resembling a path. The path, or rather an indentation in the dirt wide enough for two feet, lead far off into the distance, winding into the darkness. Oliver followed, legs suddenly aching as the adrenaline from earlier in the night wore off.

  “Robert?”

  His question was absorbed by the sounds of night, and in response, Oliver only heard the gentle rustle of the nighttime creatures. He continued on, feet slipping on the uneven path as he made his way towards the distant lights of Delafontaine. The lights glowed with the promise of home, though despite walking in their direction, the lights never seemed any closer. Instead, forever just out of his reach.

  Having decided that enough was quite enough, Oliver’s legs began to cramp. He leaned against the nearest pine, and jerked his hand back immediately when he felt the sharp grooves beneath his fingers. Oliver ran his finger along the trunk of the pine, realizing that the grooves formed a pattern. He peered closer, using his fingers to start at the top of the pattern. He drew his finger down and across and down again. “H”, he muttered. Next, he traced three sideways bars and one vertical bar connecting the three. “E”. Oliver’s finger shook as he put it up to trace the next one---one vertical and one horizontal bar, “L”. By the time he’d finished tracing, Oliver’s finger was shaking so violently that he had to grasp it with his other hand. Because there, carved on the pine, was the word “Help”.

  If Oliver had screamed, he was certain that it would have simply been absorbed by the blackness surrounding him on all sides. Despite his protesting limbs, Oliver found himself moving along the path towards Delafontaine with a quickness that could only be inspired by the worst kind of fear. This was the fear that ate away at you. Not the obvious kind, like clowns and small children. This was the kind of fear that rises up and takes a part of you, because it was already in you. It knew you from the beginning and was waiting for the perfect opportunity to remind you that it was still here and that it was coming for you.

  Oliver's body felt like it was made from the heaviest of metals. After several hours, he managed to find his way back to the dorm. Every inch of his body was soaked in sweat, and he hadn't even had the energy to open the door. He leaned on it, and it opened of its own volition, and slowly and painfully had he made his way to his bed. The few hours of nighttime remaining were spent with Oliver's body falling into the familiar paralyzing effects of sleep, while his mind wandered on far beyond his corporeal presence. His dreams were disjointed, like a game of mental peek-a-boo, with images flashing by quickly and then fading into darkness. One image—-that of the pine tree carved with the words ‘help’ floated into his mind’s eye for far too long before flitting away.

  When sunrise came, Oliver lay in his bed, eyes wide open. Some shuffling from the bed on the other side of the room announced Robert's presence. "How'd last night go for you?" His voice was groggy with sleep, and Oliver wondered what happened to him on his initiation. Oliver blew out a wheezy cough. He heard the bed squeak in response, and looked over to find Robert laying on his side facing him.

  "It went alright." Robert gave a casual shrug, although his eyes remained as intense as ever. “You?"

  Oliver bit his lip. Oliver wondered if Robert had seen the carving. There was no way. He hadn’t seen Robert all night. In a sudden moment of dark clarity, Oliver wondered if there were more, if every pine was decorated with the last words of somebody.

  "Fine. It was pretty cold out there." He said, at last.

  Robert studied him for a moment before apparently deciding that this was an appropriate answer. He rolled back on his side, away from Oliver, and Oliver did the same, all the while wondering if he and Robert were thinking about the same things. Sleep overcame him once more, but at last his dreams were peaceful. He dreamed of the rolling quads of Delafontaine, and of his mother emerging from them, with wide open arms. She said nothing, but her face said it all. She walked towards him, her eyes shining and her skin glowing like a backlit photograph. She had nearly reached Oliver, her tiny eyes crinkled up from the most genuine smile he had ever seen on her face.

  Sun had nearly engulfed the room before Oliver woke for the second time. As he did, he felt pressure on the end of his bed. His eyes snapped open and immediately found himself looking into Paul's eyes.

  “You’re lucky we don’t have a schedule on Sunday.” Oliver wiped the sleep from his eyes, sat up, and shot Paul what he hoped was a deeply irritated look.

  “You weren’t sleeping anyway, I bet.” Paul said.

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “No, I really was. I promise you.”

  “How could you sleep after that? I’ll have nightmares forever about the dragon masks alone.” Oliver looked at Paul, contemplating whether or not he should tell him what he’d seen. But as he looked at Paul, face open and inviting, he found that he couldn’t do it. It was probably just a joke, anyway.

  “I can’t believe you actually did it.” He said, instead.

  “Me neither.” Paul smiled.

  Oliver had seen the older boys’ smirks, deep and practiced. The Dragon Run must have been an initiation rite as old as time, meant to scare every new student, Oliver reasoned. He would ask them about it later, and they would tell him that they carved the tree for extra effect.

  "We should go into town. Malachi said he’d go, but I couldn’t wake him up.” Paul complained.

  As soon as he could pull on his clothes, Oliver was on the path towards the tiny, tiny town of Wynton, Massachusetts. The red and gold leaves fell in a flurry from each tree he passed, creating a natural gingerbread trail from Delafontaine to the town. The air was crisp, and Oliver had wrapped himself up with the blue and white Delafontaine scarf. Paul had instructed them to take the narrow trail behind the school, which was obviously not meant for walking. As Oliver tripped over the occasional tree branch, he looked around to see if he could spot any of the locations he'd been at the night before. But, the forest in the daytime looked completely different, friendly even. There was no trace of the dark pressure Oliver had felt the night before and he began to wonder if what he’d seen was a simply a figment of his imagination.

  The path widened, and Oliver found himself stepping into the town. The town of Wynton surrounded The Delafontaine School. There was one four lane road that ran down the center of the town, with wide sidewalks on either side. A large green area, the town commons, sat further off the road. Oliver followed Paul to the left sidewalk, while the rare car idled past him in the opposite direction. There was no one else on the street as far as the eye could see.

  The first store on the left was a quaint tea shop named Ava's. Oliver stopped to stare in the window at a small electronic teapot that was scooting around the window display, but Paul pulled him away. The next shop was an old bookstore---Wynton Books, the sign said in fading blue and white letters. He felt a tug at his arm, and he reluctantly followed Paul further down the street. They passed an empty café, and the smells of bread
and pastries wafted through the open front door, causing Oliver's stomach to growl.

  "Ah, look at this!" Paul exclaimed from a bit up the road. Oliver rushed over, his stomach aching with hunger. He pressed his face to the glass storefront, hoping to see pizza, a display of cakes, anything edible at all. To his dismay, however, the glass display only held one poster that had a single almond shaped eye on it.

  "We have to go inside." Oliver looked over at Paul, who seemed like he was nearly salivating. "A fortune teller. A real live fortune teller. I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid, at this traveling carnival. It had fortune tellers, and the world’s smallest man. Real live carnies."

  "She's not a real fortune teller." Oliver looked back over at the sign, his eyes now catching the tiny print at the bottom that read: Fortunes are not guaranteed true. One's destiny can always be manipulated.

  “Man, it’s real if you believe it. That’s all that counts.” Paul stood in front of the door, his feet jittering with excitement, and he beckoned Oliver over. Oliver sighed, and reluctantly, his feet were carrying him through the front door.

  He stepped inside the shop, and he immediately inhaled a lungful of dusty air. The shop air seemed almost hazy, as dust particles danced around like windblown dandelions, and the shop seemed stuck in a lost time. Several bookshelves framed the walls, and they were heavy with leather-bound books. Paul stepped besides him in the foyer, and Oliver immediately felt crowded. The shop was no bigger than the room he shared with Robert, and it felt as though the very walls told stories. The walls, he imagined, whispered their stories like they were secrets, but only because they had been long forgotten. A door chime sounded as soon as their feet hit the welcome mat, but several minutes went by before a distinct, steady shuffling sounded from the back of the shop. The shuffling was slow and deliberate, a tap drag, tap drag. The sound continued until a hunched figure appeared from behind the bookcases. She--and it took Oliver a moment to determine this--wore a shawl that covered much of her face. The shadow from the shawl hid her eyes. Then, she spoke.