The Fortune Killer
Chapter one
1994, the year that my mother had gotten the morning newspaper when the paperboy came around.
My mom was sitting on the couch crying as though she was devastated, from what I can remember. I had walked over to her to see why she was crying, and I saw my father's face was on the front page with the title, “The Ohio Cannibal behind bars.”
A couple of years later, my mom was sent to the local hospital for a traumatic injury due to a car accident. Sadly during my mother’s stay, she hung herself with her hospital sheets. When my ten-year-old self got the news, I locked myself in my room, grieving for days that felt like years.
My name is Tristan Bendhoover; I’m 17, living independently, and going to high school. Life could be better for me, but it was all just a minor bump in the road to what God’s plan is for me. I work full time, and I constantly help my Aunt Carron, who has dementia. I do all the housework at her home while also doing the grocery shopping, and on rare occasions, I also pay the bills.
I was on my way to school when a strange figure was sitting in a nearby alley next to the school grounds. I walked in that direction, but I stopped as soon as the bell rang. At that moment, a story appeared in my head. That story was the original fable called the Gingerbread man, “Run run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man.” As that quotation traveled through my mind, I sprinted to my first period. Luckily, I got to my history class before the tardy bell rang. At the front of the classroom, my teacher stood at the chalkboard. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes. His skin was like the color of caramel, but the clothes he wore were dark and dull, and he had this soulless expression that completed his look. He picked up a small stick of chalk and wrote, “ Mr. Barker,” on the board.
Mr. Barker turned and faced the class. “Good morning, class.”
“Good morning.” The class repeated.
Mr. Barker looked at me directly, then trailed his eyes off to someone else. “I hope you all had a great summer, and now, time to kick off another year here at school.”
I looked down at my desk and then glanced over at the window. A small but silent sigh escaped my lips. “Excuse me, Mr. Bendhoover. Are you bored in my class on the first day?”
My attention went back to Mr. Barker, “ No, sir.”
“Seeing as though you lied to me, I’ll give you an essay that will be due in the next two weeks. Come see me after class for details.”
I nodded my head with no verbal response.
Why did he just give me an essay on the first day? There’s no point.
About half an hour later, the bell rang. I put everything back in my backpack before I walked over to Mr. Barker's desk.
The first words that I said were, “So, what am I going to write my essay about?” Right as that sentence escaped my lips, I knew I was doomed.
Mr. Barker looked up from his desk with a cold glare that struck the core of my soul. “Want to get started, I see,” He paused, “Well, Mr. Bendhoover, your essay isn’t going to be formal. I would like you to write me a short story. It can be whatever you would like, but-” He paused to make a grin. “You have to make sure that you write it to my liking.”
I looked at him in amazement. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” He looked at a few classwork assignments.
I walked to the door with my body facing away from him. “Okay, sir.”
Before I left the classroom, Mr. Barker had given me a tardy slip so that I wouldn't tally me as absent.
I walked down the hallway. A cold, unsettling chill went down my spine as I passed this girl, who was following me to my next class. Sometimes, as I was walking down the hall, I would see her reflection in the glass windows. She had dark brown hair, pasty skin, and an unsatisfying grin on her face, but there was an ominous look in her hazel brown eyes. The girl’s eyes were shifty and full of content that left a turning in my gut. To stop being followed, I rushed to my classroom and took a seat. She stood at the door entrance and continued her path down the hall, distancing herself from my class. I let out a long sigh.
What a weird first day back at school, I thought.
I took out my sketchbook and ignored the world around me. I was in art class; it’s not like I'm going to get in trouble for something that is what I'm supposed to be doing. I started drawing a weird minor character, thin body, long hair, really cartoonish. I went to draw the eyes, but I didn't know what emotion the eyes should portray. Pain? Sorrow? Joy? Sadness? Or the expressionless eyes I usually draw? I put my pencil down and just decided not to draw any eyes at all.
I sighed, then I jumped when a baritone, male voice spoke from behind me, "Excellent, Tristan."
I hid my face behind my hair. "T-thanks . . ."
How was the guy so silent?
The male pointed at the void on my paper, “Was this a choice?”
“No, I just didn’t know what to draw there.”
He clicked his tongue, “Now, now, there is no ‘I don’t know' in the art. Everything in a painting, a sketch, a melody are purposefully formatted. There are no such things as mistakes nor fillers.”
"Okay." My eyebrows knitted together. "Who are you, if I may ask."
The man’s lips stretched and curled to form a warm smile, “I am the new art teacher, Mr. Woodington. You can call me Elijah.”
I brushed my hair out of my face and returned the smile. “Tristan Bendhoover,” My eyes widened when I realized that Mr. Woodington already knew my name, “B-but you already knew that,” I muttered.
“Wonderful shade of brown you have as hair, Tristan. Quite remarkable.” He lifted a hand to the side of my head and held some of my hair. His face lit up, “And soft too!” Mr. Woodington’s tone in his voice had become one that an excited five-year-old on their birthday would have.
I started to examine his features.
Mr. Woodingtone was a tall, stalky man. He dressed nicely, probably to fit his work ethic, but his dirty blonde hair was messy. It looked as though he didn’t have time to brush or comb this morning.
My train of thought was interrupted by the boasting of a loud girl.
She seemed exuberant, but she also seemed prideful.
Throughout the entire class, the girl continuously talked about the most random and obnoxious things.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Boredom.
That’s all I felt during my time at school today.
Now, off to Aunt Karen’s to see how she is doing.
~~~~~~~
I walked on the same sidewalk I did this morning with my bag hanging off my shoulder.
The same unsettling feeling from both early this morning and with that girl from school came back. I looked around to see if someone was following me, but there was nothing.
I’m just paranoid, I thought to myself.
I continued to walk to my Aunt’s house faster, fearing that my nerves were getting the best of me.
I finally made it.
I stood at a door that was all too familiar and knocked. After I had done so, something crashed around from the inside. Startled, I knocked again and said, “Aunt Karen? It’s me, Tristan. Are you okay in there?”
I heard footsteps walking getting louder as they got closer to the door. A few minutes passed by, then a soft, stern voice came from the opposite side of Aunt Karen’s door, “What if you're that pesky solicitor again?”
“He hasn’t been here in a week, Aunt Karen, and he said he would stop bothering you. May I come in?”
"What did you say your name was, boy?"
I put on a light smile, “Tristen, Aunt.”
The door swung open to show frail, older women. “Tristan! Yes, now I remember!” She paused to collect her thoughts. “Where have you been? I have been waiting for you all day!”
I snorted, walked inside, and closed the door behind me. “I was at school.”
“Oh, that right. School.” Her voice drifted off, and she looked around then back at me.
My heart sank. Her memory is getting worse.
I sighed and walked to the kitchen to set my bag down. The motion of resting my bag paused when I looked to my left. I noticed that plastic plates and utensils scattered around. Another sigh escaped my lips.
Glad I got rid of all my Aunts glass plates and metal utensils.
I walked over to the mess and started to clean up.
The loud crash from earlier must have been my Aunt knocking down the plates and utensils.
“Tristan! You forgot to clean your room!”
I laughed, “I don’t live here anymore, remember?”
“Then who’s room is so messy?”
“Aunt Karen, that’s more than likely your room.” I finished picking up everything on the floor and went to my Aunt to see the meaning behind my Aunt’s babbling.
I made it over to her, and she was standing at the doorway of my old room.
An eyebrow raised, and I started to worry a tad bit.
I stood next to her and looked in the room.
She was correct; it was a mess, almost like someone broke into her house and started searching the room.
I looked towards my Aunt, she seemed confused, but she wasn’t bothered by the situation. My eyebrows knitted together. “Aunt, did you have uninvited guests over at one point?”
She shook her head, “Not that I know of,” a smile grew on her face, “Would you like some pie, dear?”
I shook my head, “No, thank you, I have some stuff to do at home, but I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Okay, see you till then.”
I then grabbed my bag and made it for my home.
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