The Boy in the Window

Disclaimer: This story is of my own creation, the people, places and events are fiction and not based on any person living or dead or event however coincidental.The songs are not written by me, they are "Hollywood" by Common Rotation and an old Irish folk song called rickety tickety tin. Some lines of the irish folk song may not be suitable for everyone. please read at your own discretion.

The boy in the window

Chapter 1

England, Yorkshire, December 1886

About a maid I'll sing this song sing rickety tickety tin
... Who did not have her family long

William was alone, always alone, no friends or family to love him, at least that’s what he thought not living his life the way he did. He doubted if anyone knew of him except for those with vague memories of him as a young boy, them and his ‘family’ who denied he was there all day every day, they only had the three daughters God blessed them with, no son to call their own they weren’t that lucky.

Not only did she do them wrong.
she did everyone of them in.
Them in. she did every one of them in

William continued to stare blankly out of the window whilst singing as he heard his sister cry out in pain again and again. His face no longer cringed at this sound, that he didn’t like, it meant that this situation was all to familiar. His singing was out of tune he knew that but he also knew not hearing the music or any music for so long could do that to a boy of his age.

One morning in a fit of pique sing rickety tickety tin
... she drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
And we had to make do with gin
With gin. We had to make do with gin

William couldn’t help but just stare out his window, he was locked in here, unable to help Meg. He had tried once but had just ended up being locked away when his father was home, ignored and nothing more than a shadow in the house. No one spoke of him for fear of ending up like him.

Her mother she could never stand sing rickety tickety tin
... stand and so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand
And her face in a hideous grin
A grin. Her face in a hideous grin

He hated his mother for allowing him to be kept here while his father was out there. It had been at least five years since he last saw anybody but the one maid who silently brought up his meals and clothes when he needed them and then later returned for the trays she left behind earlier. Of course she had been warned that if she so much as smiled at William she would be out of a job.

She set her sisters hair on fire sing rickety tickety tin
... and as the smoke and flame grew higher
Danced around the funeral pyre
playing a violin
O-lin. playing a violin

Chapter 2

England, Yorkshire, June 2006

This is a song about Hollywood California
It is not a true story

As Annie was driving to meet her estate agent she had the CD player blasting. She considered turning it down but decided against it as she was alone, there were no houses, traffic or Sam except for the occasional car from the other direction.

Get this table off my back
and let me teach you how to clap
we’ll sketch out all our dreams
and write down our elaborate schemes

As her phone rang Annie looked at the screen and paused the song. It was Harriet, her estate agent. It was nothing of importance; Harriet was running a little late so she would be there in ten minutes at the most. Annie was relieved to hear this as she herself was not there yet.

Annie hit the pause button on the CD player again as she ended the call with Harriet. She continued driving down another long winding county road to see the next possible house on her list She wanted her son to grow up in the country unlike the city girl she had become over the years trying to keep up with the fast pace of it all.

We could clone ourselves
Despite what they might say
Put them up on an immortal shelf
And save them for a rainy day

Annie pulled up to the entrance, a sign saying “Abela Manor” welcomed her as she drove up the driveway. As she turned the corner, the most beautiful house she had seen came into view. It had 4 storeys with old metal window frames that made the house look magnificent. There was a spread of ivy up the front that could have easily been there since the house was built. The only thing wrong that she could see from this distance was that no one seemed to live there although she was glad because it was defiantly love at first sight for her.

It's an uncomplicated jest
That locks you in with all the rest
It strangles all the mood
But it keeps you here subdued

Chapter 3

England, Yorkshire, December 1886

She weighted her brother down with stones
Sing rickety tickety tin
She weighted her brother down with stones
And sent him off to Davey Jones
All they ever found were some bones
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin
Occasional pieces of skin.

The air was cool and William could only see a little way out of his window with his candle. It was certainly a country winter. His window was one of the smallest in the house although it was the biggest window he could remember seeing now. The only sound he could hear now was his own singing, his sister was crying again he knew that but he didn’t hear that anymore tonight.

One day she had nothing to do
Sing rickety tickety tin
One day she had nothing to do
She cut her baby brother in two
And served him up as an Irish stew
And invited the neighbors in, bors in
Invited the neighbors in.

Meg was older than him and most likely to be kept at home to help their mother with the youngest two. William had no real memory of these two as they were extremly young when he was sent up here, the eldest being one. he had no idea what they were like and knew he never would find out.

The winter was always cold, providing william with nothing but frost on the windows and country views for company. His window was at the rear of the house on the third storey in order to keep him from the view of guests and the household staff, he also thought this was so his father didnt have to see the room where his 'son' was kept, most likely to his dismay.

And when at last the police came by
Rickety-tickety-tin
And when at last the police came by
Her little pranks she did not deny
To do so she would have had to lie
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin
Lying, she knew, was a sin