Chater 1A Chapter by InfiniteLSIf you had asked William Edwards what was going through his mind
the day his mother dropped him off in front of the That’s where he was now. Not inside of the mansion quite yet but
looking on from outside of the iron fence wondering exactly how he was going to
get in. He did have to admit that it was quite creepy looking. With the on
coming chill of winter in the air, the overgrown grass had called it quits and
was as brown as William’s hair. The building’s stone was way overdue to be
repainted whatever color it was before hand and was now a lovely shade of storm
cloud gray. Well, the parts that weren’t covered in ivy, that is. As he hesitated by the gates, he silently cursed his English
teacher for giving the stupid assignment, his grandparents for not existing,
his mom for suggesting Mr. Styles and driving him here, and most of all
himself, for ever bringing up the assignment to his mother in the first place.
Every kid had a fear of the old man, including William. He was admittedly curious, though, as to what his mother meant
when she told him that Mr. Styles had a ‘rich past’ that he would benefit
learning from. And even though fear clawed at his stomach as he walked up to
the somewhat famous intercom, he pressed the button for the sole reason that he
wanted to sate the thirst for knowledge that had suddenly overcome his brain. “Hello?” an irritated sounding voice crackled from the intercom
making William’s heart to climb into his throat. “Er, hi, um Mr. Styles, sir,” William replied awkwardly surprised
at himself that his voice did not shake. “What do you want, kid?” Mr. Styles questioned gruffly. “I, uh, would like to know about your past, sir. My mother said
you had a rich one, yeah?” William told the faceless elder, a touch of
confidence being planted within him. He was hoping it would flourish quickly
despite the day being cloudy and gray. “Who is your mother?” the man questioned, curiosity taking away
some of the edge from his naturally raspy voice. “Darcy Edwards, sir,” A pause. A pause so long that William was beginning to think Mr.
Styles was unsatisfied with his answer of who exactly his mother was. A bizarre
reason but a likely one seeing how strange Mr. Styles was. “You may come in,” Mr. Styles said eventually in a more hushed
tone. The intercom went dead as the iron gates screeched with indignation as
they were forced to open for William. Gripping the notebook that he had brought
with him, William forced his feet to move up the stone driveway that led to the
front door to the home of the man that had scared many a teenager shitless. It started to rain lightly as William went right to go around the large
fountain that was the centerfold of the mansion. The fountain, William noted with
mild disgust, was choked with leaves and filled with brackish water while cracks
ran along the sides of it. “If you
looked creepy mansions up in the dictionary, you would find a picture of this one,”
William
thought to himself. William hopped the few steps it took to arrive right in front of the
door to the inside. He held his breath as he raised his fist to lightly knock but
let it out in a rush as the door opened right before his fist could collide with
it. Instead of looking down or, at least, looking straight ahead,
William actually had to crane his head upward to view Mr. Styles’s face. He was
obviously a lot taller than William had at first expected. William examined his
face. It was wrinkled, as to be expected, and reminded William of the worn,
cracking leather on his mom’s old winter boots. Atop of his head was the
thickest amount of hair William had ever seen on an elderly man’s head. It was
curled and twisted in an unruly gray mess on his head and William suspected it
was always like that and probably always would be. As William was giving Mr. Styles a once over, Mr. Styles was doing
the same to him. He grunted in what William guessed was supposed approval
because after that he beckoned for William to follow him inside. “Shut the door behind you, will ya?” Mr. Styles threw over his
shoulder as he shuffled down the hallway, a bit bent over but not too bad. “No problem,” William muttered, turning so he could close the door
behind him. Quickly, he took off his soggy looking shoes to be polite and let
his feet breathe for he didn’t wear socks, and it could get quite suffocated in
those things after a while. He set his shoes beside the door, shrugged out of
his coat, and bounded after the old man with his trusty notebook in hand. Walking slowly, William swung his head from wall to wall as he
peered at what appeared to be records hung inside golden frames along the
rather massive hallway. Maybe Mr. Styles liked to collect them? “Here, you can go sit in the living room while I grab us some tea.
How many lumps would you like?” Mr. Styles “Uh, two lumps please,” William answered the elder. The old man
turned and shuffled in the kitchen which, from where William stood, looked to
be massive. But really, he should expect nothing less seeing how he was in a
freaking mansion for crying out loud. Squaring his shoulder and turning to his right, William entered
the living room and forgot how to breathe for a moment. The entire room was
circular with high brick walls and lights over the windows. The center piece of
the ceiling was sporting a chandelier as titanic as a horse. A short distance
to his left was an extravagant fireplace made most definitely of pure marble
with a 45 inch flat screen above it. He suspected speakers were hidden around
the room although he didn’t spot any. Curiously enough, that wasn’t what stole his breath. It was all of
the awards spread lavishly around the entire room. Moon men that William had
seen being handed out to celebrity artists at the VMAs piled atop of the mantle
on the fire place. Two fine wooded tables that were decoratively on either side
of the fireplace held Grammy’s, Brit Award’s, Teen Award’s, and other kinds of
awards as well. William was also pretty sure he saw an Oscar amid all of the
awards as well although, he couldn’t fathom why seeing as how all the other
awards were for music. William peeled himself away from the mantle and table display to search
each wall. Two of the four sections of wall were dedicated to records while the
other two were dedicated to pictures and old newspaper articles. The records told William more specific details of what the awards
could not. How a song titled ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ went triple platinum
same as for a whole album titled ‘Up All Night’. But the pictures were even more mesmerizing. Mr. Styles, it
appeared, did not go through this whole award winning by himself. Four other
young dashing lads accompanied him on his musical journey. Each picture showed
the five of them- Mr. Styles easy to pick out seeing how William’s previous
guess about his unruly mop of curls had been correct- in suits posing for the paparazzi,
smiling perfect smiles. William wanted answers, though. And answers were something
pictures could not give. Not fully anyway. William started to make his over to
the wall that held the newspaper articles when he was stopped short by none
other than Mr. Styles himself. “Figured you’d be reading those. You seemed like the kind who
would care what was written to be read instead of blatantly skipping over them
like most of your generation,” he said in a sort of scoffing voice as he
shuffled over to the black couch inside the large room that shrunk him down to
a more appeasable size. Sorta. “So, these are all yours?” William asked out of awe as he came to
sit a respectful distance away from Mr. Styles on the black couch. He retrieved
his tea and notebook off the coffee table as he went, preparing to write
something down that was indeed a rich past. Mr. Styles took a long draw from his tea and smacked his lips
together in a satisfied way before replying. “Yep. All this stuff I worked for
and earned a lifetime ago. The best era of my life, I’d say,” “You and your four band members?” William pressed, trying to get
him to elaborate. Mr. Styles set his tea down and slowly leaned back until he was
resting quite comfortably on the couch. William watched as he saw the fierce
green eyes that upheld half of his intimidating demeanor soften a bit as they
glazed over with memories. “Friends,” Mr. Styles corrected gently. “They weren’t
just band mates. They were my band mates, friends, and brothers rolled into
one.” “What were you called?” “We were called One Direction, and back then, we were the biggest
boy band the world had faced in a long while,” ~ © 2012 InfiniteLSAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews  Last Updated on October 6, 2012 Tags: old man, Harry Styles, William dwards, 15, 83 Author
InfiniteLSLondon, United KingdomAboutI have decided to join the very scant Larry fandom on here. WOO :) more..Writing
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