Walter often imagined terrible things happening to Jason and the other bullies. The fantasies had gotten so vivid that he could often smell the blood and sweat coming off them as they begged for their lives. In these scenarios Walter was the one in charge, and the concept of mercy was a foreign one. Sometimes these fantasies were intense enough to cause nosebleeds, but that wasn’t for anyone but Walter to know; just as the fantasies themselves belonged to him and him alone.
On this particular day Walter simply wanted to get home and finish his Lego set, and the tricky part was making it there without incident. The week had been bad enough as it was. During lunch, back on Monday, Jason had placed a chocolate pudding cup on Walter’s seat right as he sat down. It stained the seat of his new corduroys, and Jason proceeded to nickname him Wally Poop Pants, a moniker that was still hounding him four days later. He had walked quickly away from school property, though the nickname was shouted at him by several students. While Walter normally headed west to get home he instead went north, opting for the woods that skirted his neighborhood. It would be a longer walk, and his mother had warned him against it because the woods contained disease-carrying ticks. Not to mention upturned rocks and roots that could lead to a sprained ankle, or worse.
While Walter loved his mother, and did his best to respect her wishes, she wasn’t the one who had to deal with Jason Hansen. When he arrived at one of several entrances into the woods he cast a furtive glance around, making sure nobody saw him. The coast was clear, save for an old man watering his lawn.
Walter stepped inside and prayed for freedom, but fate had been consistently cruel to Walter. This day would be no exception.
As he made his way along the path Walter found the singing birds and smell of fresh pine not just pleasant, but downright therapeutic. Even if it was his against his mother’s wishes Walter thought that, just maybe, this could become his regular route. Further down the path he saw a deer nibbling serenely on a patch of grass. He briefly imagined the deer as a much more vicious creature gnawing not on grass, but on the face of Jason Hansen. As he got closer the deer took off running, and Walter supposed he couldn’t blame it. The only things that made a point to surround him anymore did so in the interest of being mean, and as far as he could tell deer didn’t possess such hateful qualities.
The same couldn’t be said for the two louts he heard talking up ahead. He contemplated turning around, but aside from having already come too far he might also run into Jason. Walter took a deep breath and forged ahead. As he got closer he got a better look at the pair, and he recognized them as two eighth-graders named Anthony and Spencer. Walter had mostly managed to avoid them, but he knew they had gotten into their share of fights and enjoyed picking on smaller children. This was not good, and it didn’t smell good either. The formerly clean aroma had been replaced with an odor that faintly reminded Walter of a dead skunk. It seemed like even the forest was telling him to get out of there. He put his head down and walked past them as quickly as he could.
He wasn’t quick enough.
“Hey, kid!”
It was Spencer, as far as Walter could tell. He pretended not to hear them and quickened his pace, but it was followed by the rhythmic thudding of heavy footsteps behind him. He felt a hand, roughly the size and weight of a Thanksgiving turkey, fall on his shoulder. He slowly turned around to face his would-be tormentors. Some might say such a maneuver was bold, but Walter knew they wouldn’t punch him right away. Such acts of violence required a build up, and this dance had only just begun.
“Where you going, little guy?” Anthony asked, his glossy, gray eyes twinkling with gleeful malice.
“Home,” Walter replied, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. Showing fear or aggression had a tendency to yield unpleasant results.
“You’re not going home,” Spencer informed him. “Not until you see what we’ve got to show you.”
“What is it?” Walter asked, feigning interest.
The two older boys exchanged shark-like grins and guided Walter over to a spot that was just off the path. At first he didn’t understand what the big deal was. He saw a tattered blue tent, a pile of threadbare clothing, and an almost full bottle of liquor. Is that the best these guys had? He thought that maybe the bullies at his school were finally starting to lose their touch, but then Spencer pointed a grimy finger the size of a summer sausage at a heap of clothing just beyond the tent. It took Walter a few seconds to realize that this particular pile of clothing was actually a man sleeping, and it took a few more seconds to realize that the man wasn’t actually sleeping.
He was dead.
“You ever seen a dead body, kid?”
Spencer again. And as a matter fact, Walter had. His paternal grandfather two years ago. His mother had been worried the sight would traumatize him, but Walter was okay with it. The corpse had looked more like a wax figure than his grandfather, but this was hardly the same thing.
“Just
