TOM RIDDLE AND THE PROPHECY OF TWO (ENTRY 1)
Chapter 2
The year was December 30th, 1937.
A young boy lay awake in his bed with his deep hazel eyes piercing the dark, watching the clock that read 11:58 PM very intently. With his fingers interlocked and crossed over his stomach he tapped his feet to the sound of the second hand against the lower bar of the bed frame. “Almost there,” thought the boy, as a slight grin shot across his face.
The next minute ticked by and the boy became more restless. He shifted in his bed to his side and picked up a black piece of chalk that had been tucked away and placed at his side. The boy continued to watch the clock from over his left shoulder, now facing the wall. “Just Ten More Seconds Now” he whispered, growing impatient.
The boy pressed his chalk against the wall facing him and counted down from five. When the two hands on the clock reached 12AM on the dot, the boy drew two lines next to one another that each resembled a one. “Happy Birthday, Tom” he said under a whisper while now smiling as big as he could. The boy then put the chalk back down on his bed, turned on his back, and pulled the blanket up over his body.
The air was incredibly chilling this evening and Tom’s room just happened to be at the end of the hall, away from the furnace. The snow outside was piling up by the second on his windows adjacent sill, and frost could be seen crawling across the inside edges of the window’s pane.
Tom was no stranger to these conditions, however, as this had been the room he had taken residency in his entire life. Every birthday, holiday, and celebratory event you can imagine was conducted within these four walls and while most would consider this state of affairs less than suitable for a boy of only eleven, Tom thought of it as home.
As Tom was drifting off to sleep a loud slam jolted him awake. His eyes opened quickly and shot directly to the door. Two eyes were now peering through a slot that was previously hidden by a sliding wooden cover placed just at eye level. Tom stared directly at the set of eyes for what felt like forever but had been only seconds.
“Go to sleep you! ”exclaimed an older woman’s voice from behind the door.
“I’m doing my best to madam,” replied Tom to the unfamiliar voice.
“The voices in your head make it a little hard there Riddle.” said the woman laughing uproariously.
Tom moved his hands from where they had been under his covers and positioned them behind his head, and closed his eyes. “I won’t give her, whoever she is, the satisfaction of a response.” he thought to himself.
“That’s right boy. Mind your tongue before you lose it.” said the voice while chuckling.
Another loud noise echoed and the sliding door was now shut, as swiftly as it had been opened. Tom could hear the incessant laughter and footsteps carry down the corridor of the orphanage until they echoed faintly out of ear-shit.
Tom wasn’t sure who had visited him this evening, but it surely was not Mrs. Cole or Martha, the caretakers of the children’s home.
“How then did she know about the voices? What else did she know and why was she in the home?” he thought to himself.
Tom laid awake most of the night looking out of the window at the snow drifting down from above the frame and disappearing below it.
His thoughts were becoming obsessive around the event that had taken place and he couldn’t help but feel anxious about not knowing who had spoken to him that evening.
Tom awoke the next morning to the sound of the birds chirping in the tree not but a few feet from the outside of his bedroom window. The snow had come and gone and now the sun was beating down into his room and across the floor.
“Today’s my birthday!” Tom thought as he planted his feet on the ground beside his bed and sat up.
Not much ever happened in the orphanage, especially in the means of birthdays. In fact, most of the kid’s birthdays were unknown to Tom, but if he had been made aware it probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway.
You see, most of the kids didn’t like Tom and thought he was different. It was not uncommon for them to tease him, prod at him, hurt him or try to humiliate him for the voices he heard.
In one instance a family had come to visit Tom when he was much younger. A lovely couple that had been trying for a son nearly their entire romantic life and was unable to conceive. They had now visited on three occasions and were almost settled on taking Tom into their home.
On the latest visit, a thin, blonde-haired girl by the name of Abigail Numrich had made it her personal goal to make sure Tom did not go home with this family. During their visitation time, she began asking Tom about how the voices were treating him and if they were still telling him to physically harm everyone in the orphanage.
This of course was not truthful at all, but the couple could not get over the discomfort they felt thinking about letting Tom into their home.
After their visit, Tom never heard from the family again, nor did they ever return to the Orphanage.
A young boy lay awake in his bed with his deep hazel eyes piercing the dark, watching the clock that read 11:58 PM very intently. With his fingers interlocked and crossed over his stomach he tapped his feet to the sound of the second hand against the lower bar of the bed frame. “Almost there,” thought the boy, as a slight grin shot across his face.
The next minute ticked by and the boy became more restless. He shifted in his bed to his side and picked up a black piece of chalk that had been tucked away and placed at his side. The boy continued to watch the clock from over his left shoulder, now facing the wall. “Just Ten More Seconds Now” he whispered, growing impatient.
The boy pressed his chalk against the wall facing him and counted down from five. When the two hands on the clock reached 12AM on the dot, the boy drew two lines next to one another that each resembled a one. “Happy Birthday, Tom” he said under a whisper while now smiling as big as he could. The boy then put the chalk back down on his bed, turned on his back, and pulled the blanket up over his body.
The air was incredibly chilling this evening and Tom’s room just happened to be at the end of the hall, away from the furnace. The snow outside was piling up by the second on his windows adjacent sill, and frost could be seen crawling across the inside edges of the window’s pane.
Tom was no stranger to these conditions, however, as this had been the room he had taken residency in his entire life. Every birthday, holiday, and celebratory event you can imagine was conducted within these four walls and while most would consider this state of affairs less than suitable for a boy of only eleven, Tom thought of it as home.
As Tom was drifting off to sleep a loud slam jolted him awake. His eyes opened quickly and shot directly to the door. Two eyes were now peering through a slot that was previously hidden by a sliding wooden cover placed just at eye level. Tom stared directly at the set of eyes for what felt like forever but had been only seconds.
“Go to sleep you! ”exclaimed an older woman’s voice from behind the door.
“I’m doing my best to madam,” replied Tom to the unfamiliar voice.
“The voices in your head make it a little hard there Riddle.” said the woman laughing uproariously.
Tom moved his hands from where they had been under his covers and positioned them behind his head, and closed his eyes. “I won’t give her, whoever she is, the satisfaction of a response.” he thought to himself.
“That’s right boy. Mind your tongue before you lose it.” said the voice while chuckling.
Another loud noise echoed and the sliding door was now shut, as swiftly as it had been opened. Tom could hear the incessant laughter and footsteps carry down the corridor of the orphanage until they echoed faintly out of ear-shit.
Tom wasn’t sure who had visited him this evening, but it surely was not Mrs. Cole or Martha, the caretakers of the children’s home.
“How then did she know about the voices? What else did she know and why was she in the home?” he thought to himself.
Tom laid awake most of the night looking out of the window at the snow drifting down from above the frame and disappearing below it.
His thoughts were becoming obsessive around the event that had taken place and he couldn’t help but feel anxious about not knowing who had spoken to him that evening.
Tom awoke the next morning to the sound of the birds chirping in the tree not but a few feet from the outside of his bedroom window. The snow had come and gone and now the sun was beating down into his room and across the floor.
“Today’s my birthday!” Tom thought as he planted his feet on the ground beside his bed and sat up.
Not much ever happened in the orphanage, especially in the means of birthdays. In fact, most of the kid’s birthdays were unknown to Tom, but if he had been made aware it probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway.
You see, most of the kids didn’t like Tom and thought he was different. It was not uncommon for them to tease him, prod at him, hurt him or try to humiliate him for the voices he heard.
In one instance a family had come to visit Tom when he was much younger. A lovely couple that had been trying for a son nearly their entire romantic life and was unable to conceive. They had now visited on three occasions and were almost settled on taking Tom into their home.
On the latest visit, a thin, blonde-haired girl by the name of Abigail Numrich had made it her personal goal to make sure Tom did not go home with this family. During their visitation time, she began asking Tom about how the voices were treating him and if they were still telling him to physically harm everyone in the orphanage.
This of course was not truthful at all, but the couple could not get over the discomfort they felt thinking about letting Tom into their home.
After their visit, Tom never heard from the family again, nor did they ever return to the Orphanage.
