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I stood on the stage next to Johnny Rybacki. We were the remaining two contestants left standing in the Spelling Bee. I could feel the sweat on my palms. I was sweating more than I thought was humanly possible. Even my pigtails were soaked. Every year, The Group got together for the Spelling Bee. When a child from the members of The Group turned ten, he or she was forced to compete. I’m an only child, so I never had a sibling forced into the Spelling Bee. I don’t even know that much about the event. The only thing I do know is that my parents are part of The Group, but what exactly The Group is, I still am unsure of. My parents just kept telling me I had to win the Spelling Bee. They kept repeating the fact that I’m an only child and they can’t afford to lose me. What they meant by lose, I still don’t know, though for some reason it makes me uneasy. I can recall the hushed whispers between them as they discussed the event. I would sit out in the hallway and listen in on their bedroom conversations.
“I can’t believe that Rebecca lost,” my mom had said.
“Her poor parents. She was their only child,” was my dad’s response.
“Our Jessie turns ten next year. Ten already, I can’t believe it,” my mom concluded.
I went back to my bedroom after that, knowing that I would be in the Spelling Bee. Now, I stood here, on the stage. I could hear my heart beating, or maybe it was Johnny’s. It was probably both of ours. I glanced over at him. He had beads of perspiration on his forehead, which reminded me of small, clear pearls. His parents must have told him how important it was to win. I looked out into the audience. Only members of The Group were allowed to attend. Since the auditorium was dark, I could only make out silhouettes. The bright lights all shone down on Johnny and myself. I felt like we were the prey, and The Group was joined together as one monstrous predator. All I could do now was wait until the moderator, who was also The Group’s leader, announced the next word. My parents always told me to smile when he spoke to me. They said if I did win, they wouldn’t want him to think that a winner was also a “sour child.” I could never figure out exactly what they meant by “sour child,” but my intuition told me it had nothing to do with lemons or any other citrus fruit. I
heard the moderator clear his throat, and knew he was ready to announce the next word. It was my word. I looked over at him and grinned from ear-to-ear. I was grinning so hard my facial muscles were beginning to strain. At least he couldn’t say I was “sour.”
“Jessie,” he said as he looked at me, adjusting his reading glasses. “Your word is intercourse.”
I knew that word! I looked straight-ahead and spelled. “Intercourse,” I said confidently enough to make Johnny nervous. “I-N-T-E-R-C-O-U-R-S-E, intercourse.” I glanced over at the moderator in his dark blue blazer with the initials “TG” just below the left shoulder.
“Correct,” he said, showing no emotion what-so-ever.
I felt relief from head to toe. The audience clapped solemnly. Their hands looked like shadows moving in slow motion in the darkness. As much as I hated to admit it, I hoped Johnny would get a hard word. I wanted nothing more than for the Spelling Bee to reach a conclusion.
“Johnny,” the moderator spoke in his monotone, which seemed incapable of any emotions. “Your word is vagina.”
I watched as Johnny’s face contorted into an oversized grin. I knew he knew the word.
“Vagina,” he said loudly, acting as if the audience was deaf. “V-A-G-I-N-A, vagina.”
“Correct,” the moderator replied, almost seeming bored at this point.
My relief was soon replaced with shaking knees when I realized it was my turn again. Why this stupid Spelling Bee was so important to my parents was beyond my comprehension. All I could think about was them telling me, “You have to win. We can’t lose you.” I was always too afraid to ask what lose meant, but even if I had garnered the courage to do so, I probably would have received an answer which was too vague to even fathom a guess. I heard another cough coming from the moderator.
“Jessie,” he said, pushing his glasses up again. “Your word is penis.”
I could feel my heart beat faster. I was only ten, but felt as if my heart was going to stop. I used all my strength to smile, took a deep breath, and said the word out loud.
“Penis. P-E-N-I-S, PENIS.”
“Jessie,” he said. “You are correct.”
When I heard the word “correct,” I wanted to shriek, but I just looked at him and grinned. Now it was Johnny’s turn.
“Johnny,” he said. “Your word is terminal.”
I could see Johnny’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink. I hoped that this would be the word to end all words in this idiocy called the Spelling Bee.
“Terminal,” he spoke, sounding like he was ready to cry. “T-E-R-M-Y-N-A-L, terminal.”
There was a long pause. “Johnny,” the moderator said, actually sounding excited this time. “I’m sorry, but you spelled the word incorrectly. It’s T-E-R-M-I-N-A-L, not T-E-R-M-Y-N-A-L. Maybe you should have T-R-I-E-D a little harder.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had won the Spelling Bee! Finally, this torture was over. I looked over at Johnny, who had fallen on his knees crying. Hushed whispers came from the audience. I couldn’t hear what it was they were saying. I didn’t know what was going to happen to Johnny or myself. I just made sure to keep smiling. Before I could make a sound, the lights above the stage went off. I heard Johnny crying at my feet, and then there was silence. I waited in the dark until I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. My heart was ready to beat out of my chest. Then, just as the lights had been turned off without warning, they were turned back on. Johnny was no where to be seen, and it was the moderator who had placed his hand on my shoulder. He began to clap his hands. The audience followed his lead, and soon they were giving me a standing ovation.
“How do you feel to be the winner?” he asked me.
“G-good,” I stuttered. Even though I could barely put my words together, I made sure to smile. I could feel his grip on my shoulder. He just stood behind me, and looked out into the audience. As he raised his hand into the air, the clapping stopped abruptly.
“Now Jessie,” he said smiling, an action I had assumed he was incapable of. “Come backstage to collect your prize.”
There was more. Not only did I win, but I received a prize as well. I dared not to ask what it was. He guided me backstage, where there was the complete absence of light and I had to run my hands along the wall to guide myself.
“Stop,” he commanded, which caught me off guard. “I’ll get the light.”
I waited in the darkness. I guess the lack of my vision was made up for by my auditory sense, because I noticed a strange sound. It sounded like breathing, and whining. I couldn’t tell what exactly was making the sound, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. It became raspier, and all I wanted to do was run back onto the stage where I felt safer. I thought the moderator had said he was going to turn the lights on. Where had he gone? Why was I still standing in the dark with this horrible sound all around me? Then, I heard footsteps approaching, and as soon as I heard the footsteps, the raspy breathing-whining ceased.
“Jessie,” I heard him say. “Look what you’ve won.”
He flipped on the lights and what I saw made my head hurt. The other nineteen Spelling Bee contestants, including Johnny, had been bound by rope, with their mouths taped shut. As the moderator approached them, they began to breathe hard again. That was the sound I had heard in the dark. Each one of the former contestants had fear in his or her eyes. Some were even crying, and I thought I was going to cry, too. I didn’t understand what the moderator had meant by “look what you’ve won.” Did he mean I was going to end up the same way? There was no sign of him anywhere, and I thought about running but my legs wouldn’t move. The sound of footsteps began again. One after the other, after the other, after the other, the footsteps echoed along the hardwood floor. I couldn’t even scream. As I heard the footsteps get closer, all I could do was smile. It was not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t want him to think I was “sour.” I saw him emerge out of the shadows. He held a blue blazer in one hand, and a hatchet in the other. As he approached me, he began to move the hatchet back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
“Spell this,” he said, holding up the hatchet.
I didn’t understand. I thought I had already won the Spelling Bee. I could hear the former contestants try to scream through their tape covered mouths.
“Hatchet,” I said. “H-A-T-C-H-E-T, hatchet.”
The moderator looked at me, and his green eyes made him look like a monster. “Correct,” he said. “And what does one do with a hatchet?”
I could barely speak at this point, so how I was able to even get words out of my mouth amazed me. “Chop wood,” I said, hoping that was what he wanted to hear.
“Almost Jessie, almost,” he replied, now standing only a foot away from me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the hatchet. “Chop, yes. Wood, no,” he explained. “You see Jessie, The Group can only have winners, not losers. You are a winner. Everyone else is a loser.”
I looked at Johnny, who’s face and eyes were red. “What exactly did I win?” I asked, still looking at Johnny.
The moderator handed me the hatchet and laughed. It was a sinister, high-pitched laugh. “You have won the right to be in The Group.”
He put the blue blazer on me. I saw the initials “TG” just below the left shoulder. I can’t explain it, but once I had that blazer on, I felt a surge of energy run through my body. I felt victorious. I felt like I could conquer the world. Finally, I understood what “TG” stood for. It simply stood for “The Group.”
“The Group only honours survival of the fittest,” he continued to explain. “Losers are unfit. This is the way The Group has operated for hundreds of years. You still have to do one more thing though.”
“What’s that?” I asked with confidence in my voice.
He looked at the hatchet in my hands and then he looked at me. I’ll never forget his next words. “You must choose who stays, and who goes.”
The hatchet felt like an extension of my hand. It just seemed so natural to be holding it. I balanced myself, and used all my strength to lift it over my head and bring it back down. I heard Johnny scream. The boy seated next to him, I believe his name was Arnold, had his foot severed and was bleeding profusely. I could feel his blood on the side of my face and it felt good. I couldn’t stop. I just kept raising and lowering the hatchet like this was what I was meant to do since birth. I was in The Group now, and The Group didn’t accept losers. I didn’t except losers. As I brought the hatchet down one last time, it entered the head of Annabella, the girl who was the first to be eliminated in the Spelling Bee.
“Leave it,” the moderator told me, pointing to the hatchet.
I readjusted my blazer, tracing the letters “TG” with my index finger. I had allowed Johnny to live, he had put up a good fight on the stage, along with Sophia, she had spelled asphyxia correctly, and Daniel whom I just liked to look at, but everyone else in my opinion was unfit. I admired the carnage, which lay at my feet. In my opinion, it was better to be dead than to be a loser. Next year, I would get to sit in the audience and watch the Spelling Bee. The moderator took me by the hand and began to walk me back to the other members. I am now part of them. I am part of The Group.
