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Join troop 15 around the campfire as Willy finishes his story.

After three calls to the office in three weeks his mother started to get worried. When her son didn’t grow out of the strange new phase he had adopted, the next visit was to the doctor who assured Barbara Dodson that her son, like her radio and television, was fine. 
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this is a continuation from this morning, to see the first part, click here 

Bill's Story (Willy's Story) continued: 

His mother decided on ordering in and that night she and Bill shared a half pepperoni half Hawaiian pizza and watched family feud. Both fathers on each team had beards, which Bill took as his dad giving him a nod from beyond. Bill nodded right back, hopeful that Mr. Bilbo would put him on the line next time. 

Except that Mr. Bilbo always put off talking to his father. Bill talked to him (it?) three more times over the weekend and each time when he asked if he could talk to his dad Mr. Bilbo would spell out L-A-T-E-R. Bill grew impatient while Mr. Bilbo seemed to only grow more impatient for interaction. By their second conversation the planchette moved on it’s own leaving Bill’s hands free to write down the answers to his questions, and by Sunday evening Mr. Bilbo was turning on Bill’s bedside lamp as a means to tell him he wanted to talk. Every time Bill saw that lamp light he would race to his desk where he kept detailed notes beside the board. Every time he rested his fingers on the planchette he hoped it would be dad, and every time it was Mr. Bilbo wanting Bill to play repeat-after-me. 

After a typical Monday of ghosting through the halls at school and trying to stay under the bully radar during recess, Bill returned home anxious for human contact. His mom wouldn’t be home for another few hours so he filled his time trying to get Mr. Bilbo to move the planchette. After Bill sat long enough for his stomach to demand an after school snack  he got up and, casting a resentful look at the board, got himself some gushers. 

At 2:53 Tuesday morning Bill’s beside lamp threw a blaze of harsh yellow light over him. He squinted through it and threw the sheets off, this was ridiculous, he had school in a few hours. He thumped over to his desk and grabbed the planchette, scrapping it hastily to the GOODBYE option on the board. So long Mr. Bilbo, maybe this weekend he would try again, and he wouldn’t say a single word until he knew he was talking to his dad. Bill got in bed and shut the lamp off. Seconds later it clicked on again. “No!” Bill said and shut it off, his fingers hardly left the switch before the lamp turned on again, the click sounding angry in the stillness of the the morning. Bill sighed angrily and shut the lamp off again, this time his hand was still on it when he felt the bulbs heat. Bill played the absurd game of tug of war three more times until the light bulb blew and he was once more bathed in darkness. “There, good. Bye.” he said as he settled back under the sheets trying not to feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. After that he drifted into a fitful sleep until his alarm went off. 

Bill hardly saw Reg after that Saturday in October, but Mr. Bilbo didn’t leave. As soon as Bill replaced the light bulb the lamp snapped on. And when he unplugged it stayed on defiantly. It wasn’t until Bill took the bulb out and set the lamp in the storage room (telling his mom he’d outgrown Spiderman, and no he wouldn’t like to replace it with a more adult one.) 

Mr. Bilbo moved to his alarm clock, setting it off at random until Bill was forced to move it to the storage room beside his lamp of Peter Parker’s alter ego. After Bill took the bulb out of his overhead light he thought he’d outsmarted Mr. Bilbo for good. But Mr. bilbo moved to other appliances in the house. Sometimes the radio or TV would shut off unexpectedly. His mother learned to live with it after the second visit to the repair shop told her there was nothing wrong with either of them. 

School stopped being a refuge for Bill when he realised Mr. Bilbo was with him there too, he would get a sudden heaviness about him and knew that Mr. B was right there. It (not he) might as well have been whispering in his ear. In his sleep deprived state Bill found his grades slipping more and more and with them so went his tolerance for classroom insults and bathroom beatings. He was a victim of the latter when he felt his spiritual parasite weigh on his shoulders and Willy realised Mr. Bilbo was just another bully, just someone else who wanted to see him suffer, and if he couldn’t hurt Mr. Bilbo, then maybe he could hurt those who were just like him. 

 

After three calls to the office in three weeks his mother started to get worried. When her son didn’t grow out of the strange new phase he had adopted, the next visit was to the doctor who assured Barbara Dodson that her son, like her radio and television, was fine. 

As the years went by, Barbara watched her son recede further and further into himself. With each new school she hoped to see him blossom into his own, to join a group or make at least one friend. He went through three schools in three years and when each change didn’t stop her son from targeting attacks on other children, she resorted to homeschooling. Bill was a quick study, like his father, and more often than Not Barbara thought she was doing a disservice when he’d give a better example than her or solve an afternoon’s worth of work in about an hour. 

Finally, after two exhausting years, she enrolled Bill in the local boy scouts under the guise that maybe he would find his people in bush craft, when in reality she just needed a break.  Maybe she’d get lucky and Bill could identify with at least one of the leaders.  She hadn’t had a call yet about Bill fighting, but she’d sometimes get a glimpse of how he was being treated by the other boys when she’d go to pick him up and, sadly, figured it was only a matter of time. 

 

Willy finished his story and a new silence fell over the group of boys. It wasn’t the silence of fear or terror, at least not for Brian, but the silence of regret. It didn’t take an idiot to realise Willy’s story was about himself. 

Brain was just as guilty as the next guy of falling victim to the mob mentality when the insults and name calling started, hell he’d done as much tonight as anyone, but that didn’t have to continue. He made a vow to himself to try and if not stop Brayden next time he started in on Willy, then to at least not make it worse. Derek seemed to feel the same as he was the first one to break the silence. 

“Wow. -uh- Willy, that was actually pretty good.” 

“Yeah man.” Brain agreed, rubbing his elbows and looking behind him into the shadows “gave me the creeps.” 

“Lame as the rest of yours if you ask me.” Brayden piped up from his side of the fire. Brain winced but was thankful Brayden didn’t glom on the way he sometimes could. Willy took the compliments in and simply nodded into the fire. A look close to contemplative disappointment etched in his features. “Bill’s a uh- friend of mine” he offered feebly. 

The fire was a few dying tongues of flame licking over the husk of a maple log. Derek stirred the coals and placed another log on before announcing he was going to take a leak. With one of their party gone the silence around the fire turned awkward as the scouts wrestled with the dwindling warmth of the fire, and the fear of venturing into the darkness for more wood. When he came back into the firelight, Scouter Alan was a welcome distraction.

Don't miss the conclusion of the Campfire Frights October 30th in Second Saturday Stories, see you soon