Walter and the Dinner Party

“They’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

            “What do we do?”

            “There’s not enough time to deal with it.”

            “Should we tell them the dinner is cancelled?”

            “We can’t rescind the invitation now.”

            “They have to come.”

            “Do we call the police?”

            “Absolutely not.” 

            Walter James stared at the body on the plush carpet as his parents and sister bickered in the narrow hallway. He didn’t mean to hurt Mark. He liked Mark, quite well, but Mark shouldn’t have tried to hold his cat. Only Walter could hold Skittles, no one else. Everyone else in his family understood, why didn’t Mark? And now Mark was dead. 

            “What do we do? They are going to be looking for their son,” Walter’s mother said.

            “Alice.” Walter’s father put a steady hand against her shoulder.

She shook his hand off. “Thomas,” she adjusted her shirt. “I just ironed this blouse.”

“We’ll tell them Mark went home.”

“That’s a good way to send them out the door,” Grace said, twisting her black hair around her finger. Walter thought his sister would rip her hair out if she didn’t stop tugging on it.

“And send the cops banging on ours. What responsible adult allows a nine-year-old to wander home on his own?” Alice said.

            “We’ll do something else.”

            “What?” Alice said.

            “Let me think!” Thomas gripped his hair with both hands. Walter noticed his father had more grey hairs than he used to.

            The doorbell rang.

“ They’re here,” Grace said, glancing down the staircase at the large oak door standing between their living room and their dinner guests.

            “I’m not ready to move again.” Alice grasped the doorway to Walter’s room, as if to keep herself from falling. “We barely finished unpacking the boxes. We’ll have to find new jobs, new schools for the kids. Again.”

            “We’re not moving.” Thomas snapped his fingers, “Walter, you’ll be in the yard. We’ll tell them the boys went outside to play. When we call Walter in, he will tell them Mark went home to get a toy for them to play with. We’ll serve dinner right away and send them on their way to find Mark.”

            Alice straightened, distressed face smoothing. “They’ll hate us for it, but it could work.”

            “Excellent.”

            “And what do we do with the body?” Grace asked.

            Thomas glanced at the small body where it lay in the hall. Mark’s eyes remained half open, his face pale. No inflictions upon him to indicate cause of death. “Put it in Walters room until they are gone. Then we’ll dispose of it.”

            “I suppose it isn’t our first,” Grace said with a levity Walter admired. “I’m not digging the hole this time.”

            Thomas sighed. “No mention of the Locke incident, or Miss. Plum.”

            “Or poor Jimmy,” Alice added.

            “So, lie through our teeth.” Grace grinned.

            “Don’t be absurd.” Thomas rubbed a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Careful omission.”

            “I suppose we’ll just hide the fact our children are on their fourth school in two years,” Alice said.

            “It’s not my fault,” Grace said. “It’s Walter. Always Walter.”

            The doorbell rang again.

“I should answer it.” Alice headed down the stairs. Grace followed, tugging on her violet skirt, adjusting her white cardigan.  

Thomas gestured for Walter to grab Mark’s feet. Walter obeyed, grimacing at the weight. Together, they dragged Mark’s corpse into Walter’s room and pushed him under the bed. When Mark’s arm flopped off his chest, sticking out, Walter kicked it in, concealing the offending evidence.

“Get outside son, remember the plan.”

Walter dashed down the hall to the narrow stairwell leading to the kitchen and slipped out the back door. Cool October air sailed down his windpipe. He inhaled deeply, feeling better about the situation, even more so when Skittles darted around his legs. They began running through fallen leaves together in the James’ spacious back yard. Leaves fell upon his dark hair and crinkled under his feet. Skittles raced through, pouncing on leaves as if they were prey. Walter laughed, exuberant, free, and collapsed in a pile of leaves, Skittles at his side.

“Walter! Mark! Come have dinner!” Walter’s father called.

Walter rose and dashed inside, cheeks pink. His mother and father sat with Mr. and Mrs. Kline at the set dinner table. A bottle of wine sat in the center with a Welcome to the Neighborhood card. Grace simpered over Mark’s brother, Cole, on the couch where the two were seated. They attended high school together.

            “Ah, here he is,” Thomas said, rising to wrap an arm around his son. “And where’s Mark?”

            Walter, maintaining a cool expression, looked up at his father. “He said he needed to go home to get a toy, so he left.”

            Mrs. Kline frowned. “I should go check on him. It’s unlike him to wander off by himself.”

            Mr. Kline set a hand on her shoulder, “He’s growing up, our Mark. It’s not far. He’ll be fine. Did he cut through the woods?”

            Walter nodded. Skittles padded by his feet and Walter scooped him up, running an affectionate hand over his grey fur. The cat purred.

            “He may be growing up, but he is still only nine,” Mrs. Kline said, unappeased, before adding, “I am glad he is spending time with Walter. Mark was excited to have a new friend in his class.”

            “He’ll be fine dear. It’s a safe neighborhood.”

            Mrs. Kline didn’t seem pleased, but she turned her attention to Grace and Walter. “How are you adjusting to a new school. I know it isn’t always easy for some students.” Mrs. Kline was a teacher.

            Walter took Skittles over to one of the recliners across from Grace. “School is good.”

            “Mount high has been wonderful so far,” Grace said, eyes darting to Cole.

            “Where did you say you were from?” Mr. Kline asked.

            “Lewisville.”   

            “Oh, my brother’s twins graduated from Lewisville High School. You must know Donny and Lucy, Grace?” Mrs. Kline said, brightening, temporarily forgetting the missing Mark.

            “I don’t remember them.”

            Mrs. Kline frowned. “It’s a small school isn’t it? They would have graduated a year ago. You had to have known them. Bright red hair?”

            “Oh,” Grace pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. “I went to a different school a year ago.”

“Where to?”

Grace hesitated a moment. “Pembleton High.”

            “We move a lot,” Alice blurted. “For work.”

            “How unpleasant,” Mrs. Kline said and placed her hand over her mouth. “I apologize. I should never have said that. I just know it is hard for kids to make new friends and adjust to a different school.”

            “No offense taken,” Thomas said, topping off Mrs. Kline’s glass of wine. “It’s not always easy to settle again, but we have to go where Alice’s work takes us.”

            “What do you do, Alice?” Mrs. Kline asked.

            “Insurance,” she replied flatly. Walter glanced at her mother. She only started an insurance job a week ago.

            “Where have I heard Pembleton High before? Was it in the news?” Mr. Kline said. 

            “Should we have dinner now?” Alice said, draining her wine glass.

            “I think we should wait for Mark,” Mrs. Kline said.

            “Of course.” Alice refilled her glass as Grace and Cole stood.

            “Where are you two going?” Thomas asked.

            Grace turned, pasting a sweet smile on her face. “Cole asked for a tour of the house. I don’t think there is a reason I shouldn’t, do you, father?”

            “Of course not, dear,” Thomas said with a strained smile. “Though don’t go in your brother’s room. You know how upset he gets when people touch his things.”

            Grace nodded, “Wouldn’t want to upset Walter.”

            Cole snickered and the two of them sauntered up the stairs, Grace’s fingers brushing against Cole’s.

            Walter remained in the recliner, Skittles beside him asleep, as the adults chatted, the conversation starting with Mr. Kline’s real estate business before his parents had to fend off questions about themselves. The lies falling from his parent’s mouths burned his ears. He knew he was the reason for their abnormal lives. The reason for the new towns, new schools, new jobs, and new acquaintances.

Alice’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if she could see through the walls and confirm the teenagers had not crossed into Walter’s room. “I know we want to wait for Mark, But the chicken is done and I don’t want to overcook it. Why don’t we start eating and Mark can eat when he arrives?”

            “My wife has been preparing this meal all afternoon. It would be a shame to let it go cold.”

            “Alright,” Mr. Kline conceded, before his wife could protest.

            “Why don’t you go fetch your sister and Cole?” Thomas asked Walter.

            Walter slipped out of the chair, relieved to have an excuse to leave, if only for a moment.

            He stopped near the top of the stairs as he heard Cole and Grace murmuring in the hallway. He peered over the top of the stairwell, watching them.

            “That’s my brother’s room,” Grace said, sliding between the door and Cole, despite Cole’s hold on the handle.

            “I want to see these things your brother doesn’t want people touching,” he smirked. “What is he so protective of? A teddy bear? A little green army man? Does he have a shelf of dolls?”

            “Cole,” Grace said, laughing, swatting away his other hand as it landed on her waist.

             “I wanted a full tour. Don’t you want to torture your brother a little? You said how much he gets on your nerves.”

            Grace rolled her eyes. “He’s a boring little boy. There’s not much to see. A quick peak.”

            “And then to your room.”

            Grace nodded; her eyes locked on Coles. Walter watched, annoyed and anxious, as the two teenagers spilled into his room. Soft laughter drifted out. He crept down the hall and peered around the doorway.

            Grace stood in the middle of the room, tapping her foot. “We should get out of here. Dreadfully dull.”

            “This is Mark’s,” Cole said, bending over, picking up a Junior firefighter pin that must have fallen off his jacket. “He loves this thing. He used to…” Cole trailed off as his gaze drifted from the pin to the bed. His eyes narrowed.

            “Let’s get out of here,” Grace said, setting a hand on Cole’s arm as he rose. “My room’s much more interesting, and you haven’t even seen the little balcony overlooking the backyard.”

            Cole pushed by Grace, ducking down beside the bed. Walter spotted a finger poking out. Cole reached under the bed and tugged on Mark’s lifeless arm. Cole stared for a moment, shocked, before searching for a pulse and finding none. 

            “Oh my god,” Grace feinted. “What has happened?” 

            “Dad! Dad! Get up here! It’s Mark.” Cole yelled, shoving Grace aside, leaving the room. He pushed past Walter, face red, a tear falling down his cheek. “Dad!”

            Mr. Kline raced up the stairs and Cole showed him to Walter’s room. Mr. Kline rushed inside, Skittles at his feet. Cole made to follow, but Grace grabbed his arm, keeping him in the hallway, blubbering excuses. Walter heard his father and mother downstairs trying to keep Mrs. Kline away from the staircase.

            Mr. Kline knelt by Mark and pushed Skittles away. “Get away, you blasted cat.” Tears ran down Mr. Kline’s face as he cradled Mark’s face. “My son. My son.” When Skittles pressed against Mark again, Mr. Kline roared, whacking Skittle’s back legs.

Skittles yowled. 

            The hallway began to shake. Walter stood at the threshold of his room, facing Mr. Kline and Mark’s corpse.

            “Don’t Walter, please!” Grace shouted behind him. Cole cowered behind Grace as wind blasted down the hall, knocking family photographs off the wall, shattering a vase. Windows rattled and doors vibrated.

            Walter tried, he really did, to reign it in, but he had lacked control since the moment his abilities manifested two years ago. He didn’t intend to blow up the postman Mr. Locke when he came to the door. Walter had been startled while holding Skittles, and reacted. Seeing kind Mr. Locke, who had always had a peppermint for Walter around the holidays, with his head obliviated on the stoop had haunted Walter for months. He had told his parents what happened, but they hadn’t believed him. They believed him after Darlene Plum though, and only because they saw it happen. Darlene, his babysitter from Pembelton High, who towards the end of the evening had locked Skittles outside, claiming she was allergic to cats. His parents arrived as he yelled at her, calling her a liar. They saw as she dropped dead when Walter extended his hand. Jimmy, the college student living next door to them in Lewisville, was struck down by pure chance. Walter, believing Skittles missing, turned his rage on innocent Jimmy who had come to find out why he was having a tantrum in the back yard.

            And now Mr. Kline had broken the cardinal rule, and Walter couldn’t contain it. In fact, the more he tried to control it, the more out of control he seemed. The wind tearing through the house something he had never concocted before. As much as he wanted to, as much as he tried, his power needed release. His quick bursts on Mr. Locke, Darlene, Jimmy and now Mark were not enough. The yelling of his parents and Mrs. Kline at the end of the hallway did nothing to dispel the ringing in his ears. 

            “Walter, please.”

            “He’s a witch! What has your witch of a son done to Mark?”

            “He’s telekinetic.”

            “Stop this! You have to stop this! This is crazy! Mark!”   

            “It’s not intentional, you have to understand.”

            “Where is my son?” 

            “Walter, control it. Walter.”

            Walter ignored their pleas. The wind on his skin, the ringing in his ears, his mouth dry, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms at his side, the senses all consuming. Raw power pulsed through his blood. Walter saw the panic in Mr. Kline’s eyes, but could do nothing for it now. Walter held him firm against the ceiling. He saw Mr. Kline’s eyes bulge, his skin quiver, and his mouth part in a soundless scream.

The power was too much to contain.

            Mr. Kline dropped to the floor, unmoving. The wind stopped and silence descended. Skittles darted from Walter’s room and rubbed his head against Walter’s leg, purring.

            “No one touches Skittles.”