Murders at Westfield High

Chapter 3

The next day I met Julia in the hall, but we only exchanged pleasantries. She had a full schedule and it wasn’t English today. I had History and math, classes she wasn’t in, at least not in the same periods.

We ate lunch together in the cafeteria/lunch room. The place was noisy, but we could still talk.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at me and smiling.

“I’m glad we have lunch at the same time,” I said, sitting down opposite her.

“I agree. We could have been assigned to different times.”

I grinned. “Must be fate.”

“How are things going for you?” she asked.

“So far, so good. I have gym in the last period. That could be interesting.”

“You shouldn’t have any problems. You look athletic.”

“I don’t go out for sports. I’m too busy working part time.”

“That’s okay. Sports here at Westfield are not all that good.”

I didn’t know if she was making a criticism or just being honest. I really didn’t care.

My last class was gym. I dreaded going to phys ed classes. One day it was swimming and the next day, gym. I was never that good at athletics. It wasn’t because of a lack of strength or agility; I just didn’t care for competitive sports. It was too much like war. My father was killed in World War II, and it made me hate war. Fortunately, I was too young for the Korean Conflict. I knew some guys who got drafted and one that got killed. It wasn’t that I was afraid; it’s just the waste of human life for what: land or political agenda? I really didn’t want to die in a stupid war that most people will forget.

We finished lunch and had to get to our next classes. “I’ll catch you later,” I said.

She smiled and answered with a nod.

Last period and I headed to the boys’ locker room. I dressed for gym in the required tee, shorts, tennis shoes and the important jockstrap. There were always a few idiots who decided to forgo that essential protective item and suffer the consequences when they had a slip on the parallel bar. Ouch!

Mr. Taylor, our instructor, is also the boys basketball coach and Heath Class teacher. He’s a fifty eight year old ex marine with a tough exterior and a gruff voice. He’s coasting along after achieving tenure until he gets to retirement and doesn’t really care about running gym and swimming classes. There were a few of my teachers doing the same thing. They hadn’t changed their course material in years. Shame on the school board for not doing their jobs to set things straight!

Today’s session involved the obligatory calisthenics, consisting of pushups, jumping jacks and running. Then, it was a game of volleyball. I was getting ready to serve when I saw someone sitting in the bleachers. Usually, there are no spectators for a gym session. The girl had long blond hair, but she was not wearing the usual blouse, skirt and penny loafers that girls prefer these days. She appeared to be wearing a prom dress, which consisted of a bell-shaped white chiffon skirt obviously over a petticoat. The square bodice was cut high and had thin straps. She also had on a pair of white pumps. Her face was pallid and sad, almost as if she were in mourning. She stared at me with penetrating eyes, and my eyes locked to hers.

“Hey, Kramer, serve the damn ball,” Mr. Taylor yelled. “We don’t have all day here.”

I made the serve and got into position to defend. Someone on our team missed a return and it was the other side’s turn to serve. I managed to intercept a long serve and knock it back up to the front line. When there was a lull in the action I looked back over at the bleachers, but the girl was gone. I had no idea who she was or what she was doing there.

After the session ended, I showered and went to the locker where I had deposited my clothes. I spun the correct combination numbers and opened the locker to find that my clothing was missing.

“Shit!”

“What’s the matter?” Neil asked me.

“Someone took my clothes.”

“How’d they open your lock?”

“Good question.”

“Hey,” a redheaded kid yelled. “There’s clothes in the waste drum over here.” He had a few pimples and he was taller than Neil.

I hustled over and saw that it was my stuff. “Who the hell would do this?” I looked up at him.

“Bastards think it’s funny to play pranks,” the kid said.

“Thanks. I’m Jay Kramer.”

He smiled. “Nelson King. Glad to know you, Kramer. Neil has told me about you, that you like cars.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not as fanatic as he is.”

“You should come down to Conner’s Race track sometime,” Nelson said. “You can watch us compete.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I would like that.”

I got dressed and went to my locker in the East hallway. While I was busy depositing books in my locker, a loud bang startled me. I immediately looked down the hall and saw a locker door open and then slam shut, but no one was there. It kept opening and shutting as if it were alive.

When I went to the locker, the door stayed closed. I saw that it didn’t have a lock, a sign that it was unused. I noted the locker number--235.

Assuming that this was another prank, I looked around nearby but saw no one. When I returned to my locker, I waited for a while, but Locker 235’s door stayed put.

“What the hell is going on here?” I asked myself.

I was beginning to think that I was either going crazy or that this school is haunted.