In Adversity

The bell rang. A moment later a huge cheer went up throughout the school as the end of term was greeted exuberantly by all. All that was, except one. For Wesley Wyndham-Price the end of school promised little but misery.
Noticing his downcast expression the boy next to Wesley, a tow haired young scamp by the name of George Smithson, gave him a nudge. "Cheer up Price, it's the Christmas holidays, three weeks of no school and a trip home to boot. You should be happy."
Wesley's nod of agreement held little enthusiasm and his look remained glum. He wished he was happy but whereas the other boys were looking forward to going home he was dreading it. Home had never been a happy place for him and he was certain that this Christmas would be no different.
"Are you not looking forward to seeing your family?" Smithie asked.
Wesley shook his head. What family? He had no one but his parents and his relationship with them was not what you would describe as a happy. His father had high expectations for his only son, expectations Wesley had so far failed to live up to. And his mother… well, his mother had never had the backbone to disagree with her husband and he doubted she had grown one since their last meeting.
At the front of the classroom Mr Yates had finally opened the door and the other boys were starting to file out. Pushing his chair back Smithie got up. "Well anyway, I'll see you in the New Year, Price," he said.
Wesley nodded. "Yes, in the New Year," he returned, wishing the holidays were over already.
With a final look at his friend, Smithie joined the exodus, leaving Wesley to follow a short while later.

Getting out of the car, Wesley looked up at the large house with foreboding. A looming structure the building was squat and ugly, and had little in the way of architectural style or panache. With thirty rooms spread over four floors the Wyndham-Price ancestral home had always been far too big for them and much of it had fallen into disrepair. Many of the rooms hadn't been used in years and those that were still in use had all seen better days.
"There you go Master Wesley, safe and sound."
Wesley looked at the chauffer and nodded. "Thank you, Angus."
"And I'm sorry for the delay" he patted the old Roller with affection "the old gal's been a wee bit dodgy of late."
"That's ok Angus, no harm done," he told the old man. Indeed he was just sorry that the delay hadn't been longer. Looking at the car he couldn't help but think that if it had been a horse it would have been put out of its misery years ago. Not that he would ever say that to Angus. Like the house the chauffer had seen better days but he was a pleasant enough fellow and was very attached to the old car.
"You better run along then," Angus told him. "You father will be waiting and unless I'm much mistaken your mother has made your favourite."
Wesley was sure that he was, ready with his complaints and criticisms no doubt. He picked up his suitcase. Oh well, there was no point in putting it off any longer.

Of all the rooms in the house it was the study that had fared best. The leather on the chairs was new, the desk had been crafted from the finest wood and the shelves still contained many rare books. It was also the place where Wesley's father spent much of his time, reading and reminiscing about the past.
Godfrey Wyndham-Price had been a bit of an adventurer in his day, a real Indiana Jones type, travelling to the furthest corners of the world in search of lost treasures and magical relics. Those days were long gone now. Disease had ended his adventuring years ago and forced him into a life he hated, a life of quiet domesticity and
endless struggle against debt. 
Slipping quietly into the study trepidation caused Wesley's step to falter and for a time he stood just inside the door, unsure whether to go forward or to retreat. He was still debating with himself when his father became aware of his presence.
"Don't loiter by the door boy. Come forward so I can see you," he ordered and reluctantly Wesley shuffled forward. "Don't drag your feet."
He stopped by the chair opposite his father's but knew better than to sit down. "Hello father," he said respectfully.
Godfrey shifted in his chair. Although he was only fifty his prematurely grey hair, sallow skin and wasted body gave him the appearance of a much older man. A man closer to seventy. His gaze though was still sharp and he looked his son up and down critically. "Do they not feed you at school?" he asked. "You look like a badly dressed scarecrow."
Silently Wesley groaned. And so it starts. For the next half an hour he endured his father's tirade of criticism and condemnation stoically, only speaking when it was absolutely necessary. Disagreement was pointless as that would only send him into a rage. Eventually he ran out of things to moan about and after a minute of glaring at his son in silence he held out his hand "So where is it then?"
Wesley gulped, the moment of truth had arrived. Reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer he withdrew his school report and handed it over.
For several minutes Godfrey read it in silence then nodded. "Your exam results have improved I see."
Wesley was shocked. Was that a hint of praise beneath his gruff tone? "They have father," he confirmed then continued eagerly. "I have been working hard all year and I was ranked second overall in the whole school."
His father's face darkened. "Second you say?"
Wesley failed to notice his father's change of tone. "Yes and that included the older boys as well."
At his son's words Godfrey snorted. "Second is nothing to be proud of. A Wyndham-Price is not satisfied with second, his aim is to be the best."
"Father I…"
"Don't you dare say I tried my best," he warned. "Now go to your room."
"But mother has made my favourite."
"Losers deserve nothing. Now go."
Head bowed Wesley did as he was told.

Cold and alone Wesley sat on the edge of his bed. A single lamp did little to banish the dark and even if it had there would have been little to see. There were no pictures on the walls, no shelves full of books or cupboards packed with games and toys. What few possessions he once had were long gone, like so much in the house sold to raise money to send him to private school.
A quiet tapping at the door caused him to look up and when it continued he hurried across the room, opened it a crack and looked out. His eyes widened in shock, it was his mother. "What are you doing? If father should see you he'll be furious."
She looked over her shoulder nervously then thrust something into his hands. "I'm sorry, it's all I could manage." 
Wesley looked down and seeing a half a packet of biscuits, he smiled. "Thank you. Now go, please." He went to close the door but his mother's hand stopped him.
"Here, have this as well," she said and offered him a small leather bound book. "It was my grandfather's."
He took it. "Thank you, mother." Whatever it was it would help pass the time.
"Goodnight my Wesley." She looked anxiously over her shoulder again. "The book may seem far-fetched but believe me, it is all true."
His mother gone and the door closed Wesley returned to his bed, intrigued by her last words. Whatever could she have meant? Sitting as close to the lamp as he could get, he opened the book and began to read.

`Thursday 17th January 1867. Having scoured the city for days I have finally found her. A mercer's daughter, she is unaware of her destiny but needs must I make haste. The surrounding countryside is teeming with vampires and …'

`Sunday 25th December 1870. I have failed her. My kind hearted Erin is dead. No more shall I see her beautiful smile or hear her sweet voice. Her killer, a lone vampire, is also dead, slayed by my own
hand but it was a hollow revenge. My Slayer is gone and I am a Watcher no longer.'

With tears in his eyes Wesley looked up and was surprised to see that the room was bright with sunlight. The night had fled without him noticing but he was not unhappy. The book had taken him on a journey of fear and hate, of joy and love, and it had filled him with a purpose. He would also become a Watcher, the best Watcher ever.