Spirit of the Weeping Willow Swing

Chapter 3

I finally found my homeroom after 5 minutes of searching the enormous campus. I tried to open the door as quietly as I could so I could sneak in without drawing attention. As soon as I was about to sit in my seat in the back of the class, I heard a familiar voice "Ms. Summers isn't all students supposed to be on time for class?" that stupid jock Trent asked sarcastically while giving me an evil smirk. The teacher looked to the class from the blackboard she was writing on to answer Trent's question. Before I could sit at the desk, she noticed why Trent asked the obvious question.

"Ah, you must be Phoenix Blakely. I understand it is your first day, young man, but that is no excuse to be tardy. I'll let you go with a warning this time, but do it again and I'll have to issue a detention. Is that understood?" she stared for a moment to hear my answer. I just nodded my head and sat down. I wanted to argue, but I was already in trouble with the 'old hag' at home. Ms. Summers was pleased that I at least acknowledged her and continued her lecture on the writing styles of Edgar Allan Poe. 'Well at least she has good taste' I thought to myself.

It was the first time in a long time I was actually interested in class. Edgar Allan Poe is my all-time favorite writer. Ms. Summers seemed to agree, with the way she talked about his work. She went over the titles of poems and stories he wrote. She had someone in the front row pass out a list with all the titles she mentioned. "Now, for this assignment, I would like you to pick one story and one poem. You will write a report containing 6 pages total. That's 3 for the poem and 3 for the story. I want to see what your thoughts are about them, what the author was feeling, the writing style, and lastly, at the end of the report, you are to choose to write a poem or story of your own. Requirements for whichever you choose are on the sheets Amanda passed out. Does anyone have any questions?" the classes shook their heads. Just then the bell rang for the next class.

The next few classes passed in a blur. I can barely remember the subjects or teachers. The reason being was I was so engulfed in the assignment from the first period. I knew if I passed any class it was going to be that one. The teacher was not only easy to understand, she was also easy on the eyes. Ms. Summers looked to be about 22-24 years old. She has long curly natural red hair, big green eyes, high cheekbones, soft porcelain skin, with a hint of freckles on her cheeks, and a slim but curvy figure. She should've been a model, not a 12th-grade high school Literature teacher.

As I was lost in thought the bell rang for me to head to lunch. When I made it to the lunchroom I saw a table in the far corner with no preppy inhabitants, so I made my way to it and sat down. I pulled out my notebook and continued working on the only assignment I gave a damn about. I was trying to think of a poem when lo' and behold the king of the jocks, Trent sauntered over to my table with 2 of his lackeys in tow.

"What's hanging, freak? Oh, wait I know, yourself." He let out a huge drawn-out laugh. His goonies laughing on cue alongside him. I just rolled my eyes and continued to jot down ideas. When Trent didn't get the rise he expected, he looked really irritated. So, he tried to continue. "I hear you fuck corpses. What's that called again, Nate?" he looked to one of his 'buds' for assistance. "Uh, necrophilia?" he said more of a question than a statement. Trent turned from Nate with a haughty smirk.

"That's it. I hear you're a necrophiliac. What's it like, fucking a dead girl's pussy? I bet you do it because no living girl would ever consider dating you, let alone letting you fuck her. So, instead of raping girls and getting in trouble you just fuck the ones who can't say no. Am I right?" he leaned down so his face was inches away. He was expecting me to retaliate with violence, but I just shrugged my shoulders and said "I would rather fuck dead pussy, than rape little boys behind Walmart like you do, Trent." I looked up without moving my head with a victory smirk on my face.

Trent's face turned to beat red from the anger boiling inside him. I shrugged my shoulders again and said in a low voice "Hmm, must've struck a nerve." with that I stood up and started to walk away. Before I could make it even 3 steps, Trent grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me like he was about to swing, but he just pulled me close and said "Think you're so tough loser, I dare you to go the top of the hill that overlooks the town tonight and stay there until morning."

I looked at him confused. He rolled his eyes. "The weeping willow on top of that hill has a swing that is haunted by some ghost. She was murdered a long time ago and seeks revenge." I looked at him dumbfounded. 'Is he fucking serious' I questioned in my mind. Does he really believe in superstitions and ghost stories? Trent saw the look on my face and remained serious. "If you think it's a joke, then please prove me wrong. I promise it's no joke. I've seen her with my own eyes." he looked away as if trying to hide a slight fear of a memory past.

Blinking away the thought he pushed me away and regained his superior demeanor and said "Listen, I understand if you're too chicken." he said mockingly, folding his arms awaiting my response. "Fine, I'll go, but if I do just leave me alone for the rest of the school year," I said glaring at him. Trent pretended to think long and hard, finally, he looked back at me with serious eyes and said "Sure, if you even live that long." with that he smirked and walked away.