Castle

I wasn’t married to Theo, but I was living with him and helping him raise his kids. I don’t think we were even having any kind of sexual relations. We lived in an apartment on the upper floor of the old school. The school was over 100 years old, and everyone in the town referred to it as The Castle. It was a very complicated place; there were no regular classes, just education settings for wayward boys from kindergarten to grade 12. There were about 50 boys total. My son lived with us, but he attended school elsewhere. Theo and I were the property managers, teachers, and student supervisors. Of the 50 boys who attended, only five of them lived at home with their families. We were responsible for the rest. There was a skeleton crew at all times. We were severely under-staffed, but there was nothing we could do about it. Nobody wanted to work at the Castle, and it had nothing to do with the behaviour of the students.

The Castle was notoriously haunted. I never believed in spirits or ghosts or much paranormal hocus pocus until I moved into the Castle. The amount of energy that flowed through that place was palpable. You could catch spirits on camera, on video or in still photos, you could talk to them and get clear replies as if they were living people right there with you. At first it was disconcerting, but over time they became nothing more than typical residents.

I walked into our apartment to find Theo and one of the female student aides “discussing” curriculum. I could tell they had been fucking, and I didn’t care. I wondered if his wife knew that he was cheating on her, and then I was confused because I couldn’t remember if she was still alive. There had to be a reason that I was the one helping him raise the kids, right? The aide quickly made her exit, and Theo and I began our evening routine. We made dinner for our kids, my one and his two, and put the little ones to bed after. My son and I went downstairs to spend time with the students.

Some of them were playing video games, some of them were watching tv, others were on their computers or phones. We had two cafeteria workers who lived at The Castle. They made all the meals and snacks, and the kids all ate at the same time every day. There was also a janitor who lived there, a part time janitor who came in daily and some weekends, six teachers who did not live there full time, and a rotating security guard who came in from 8pm to 8am. The students were fairly well behaved, and to be honest it was more of an orphanage than a juvenile facility. Most of the boys came from broken or abusive homes, many of them had been placed with us as youngsters and their parents never returned. Each year we got about 4-5 new students; currently the 6th through 8th grades were our largest groups.

There was a trend going around of the boys trying to be YouTubers. Someone would make a video and post it to their channel, and whoever got the most votes/views/likes/subscribes in X amount of time would be the winner. It was amusing to watch them beg and barter for likes, but it also became a point of contention at times. If someone had more to give, they could get more votes than the boy who had nothing.

I walked down to the janitor’s apartment to visit. We had been friends for a long time, over 20 years, and we were madly in love. He was one of the best men I had ever known. He had lost his wife years back, as I had lost my husband, and we naturally floated towards each other. We were fairly opposite, him being a country person and myself being a bookworm, but it worked out perfectly. The sex was amazing, and we took every opportunity to fuck that we could find. Sometimes it was hours long in the middle of the night, sometimes it was ten minutes with the office door locked. We fit together like a puzzle and it was glorious. That night we fucked pretty quickly, but hot and intense as always, because I had to hurry back to the lounge to help supervise the kids. I kissed him goodbye and ran back down the hall.

Just outside the doorway, my son was leaning against the wall. He looked like he had been crying. I asked him what was wrong and he just stood there staring at the floor. I said come on, let’s go get you into the bathtub and ready for bed. When I was getting him undressed, I noticed there was blood smears in his underwear. I asked him if this was why he was crying. He nodded and started sobbing. I hugged him tight and said I would take care of it. I took some pictures of his butt and his penis and scrotum. There didn’t appear to be any damage to anywhere but his scrotum, which had a fair sized tear in the skin. Through the tears he told me that one of the older boys had grabbed him by the junk and lifted him up over and over, pretending he was lifting weights. After a few minutes when my son started to cry, the boy threw him to the floor. It had happened just before dinner, but my son didn’t say a word to me until the pain became too much to bear. I drained the tub and we skipped the bath so that the cops could come and do a forensic exam.

The boy who had assaulted him was in 7th grade. He was a bully, a drug abuser, a drug dealer, and an all-around bad seed. I gave most of the boys a break, but this kid had no desire to improve himself or his life. He seemed to enjoy getting in trouble. As a professional I knew there had to be some deep seated trauma that caused him to be like this, but as a person it was so difficult to accept. He was actually on a list to be transferred to the juvenile detention center south of us, but his date was still two weeks away. I was furious. I called the police, and explained to them what happened. They sent a pair of officers immediately. One of them went to the boy and one of them came to me and my son. Shortly after, the forensic team arrived, and they took pictures of my son as well as pictures of his underwear. Then, to my surprise, they took pictures of the boy. The police detained him and took him to the station, where ultimately they would call his parents who would not answer the phone. Later I found out he was transferred to the juvenile facility the next day. Fortunately my son had no lasting physical damage, but the emotional damage was horrific and took him years to get through.