HamLIT

By Allegra M. Walker

A storm brews in the illustrious town of Elsinore, Massachusetts, and no one knows it yet.

Not Hamilton “Ham” Dane III, who’s angry because it’s only been one month since the untimely death of his billionaire father, and Ham’s uncle, Claude, has already taken control of the family’s empire. And that’s not even to mention the blooming romance between Claude and Ham's mother, Gretchen.

Not Harry Yeoh, who’s desperately in love with his best friend but finding it more and more difficult to hide as dark secrets threaten to destroy their relationship.

Not Lia Polonio, who’s struggling to find the balance between her feelings and the demands of her controlling father and older brother.

And certainly not Rosie Chan or Gil Stern, who think they’ve just landed the internship that will get them into Harvard.

But all it will take is one mysterious message—a call for revenge from Ham’s late father—for Elsinore to descend into chaos. And once the downward spiral begins, there’s no guarantee that everyone will make it out alive.

A bold retelling of Hamlet for a modern audience, Allegra M. Walker’s sophomore novel puts a fresh new spin on Shakespeare’s classic story. Poignant, dramatic, and often darkly humorous, HamLIT is guaranteed to delight teens and adults alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apollo Grannus Books
• Release date: Sep 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953613080

Book preview

Prologue

WARNING: This story is going to get wild. 

Seriously, soon I’ll be talking about murder, adultery, prestige, money, social media, drugs, mental illness, vlogging, deranged family dynamics, and some incredibly cheesy (though admittedly rather enjoyable) eighties power ballads.

Oh, and spoiler alert! There will be death, death, and more death. 

Still here? Okay, well, stay if you must—if you dare—but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am your humble narrator. It doesn’t really matter who I am; my job is simply to deliver the story, as I see it, to you, my reader. For all you know, I could be the reincarnation of Shakespeare himself, here to tell his edgiest tale yet. Or I could be just a nerdy teenage girl. Whichever you choose to believe is fine with me. 

Speaking of Shakespeare, you may notice that this story bears a striking resemblance to the great playwright’s most beloved tragedy, Hamlet. This is completely coincidental, of course. Well, okay, maybe it’s not. In fact, it’s purely intentional. Don’t worry, the story I’m about to tell you is no different from your favorite angsty tale of murder and procrastination at its core. This version is just a little more lit. And, apparently, a lot more cringey.

So, if you’re still reading, buckle up. It’s going to be a roller coaster ride from start to finish.

Part One

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

W. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2

Chapter One

Harry Yeoh’s Venti Decaf Extra-Foam Soy Latte

Our story begins in Terminal E at Boston Logan International Airport. It’s nearly ten thirty on a warm June night, and even at this late hour, Logan is on edge. It’s always on edge. You see, Logan represents its city well; it’s medium-sized, covered in sports banners, and oozing with stress. 

Amidst the travelers coming and going, a young man stands by the curb in Terminal E’s arrivals area. At first glance, anyone would be able to tell that this young man takes meticulous care of himself and isn’t afraid to show it. His outfit, from the collar of his Vineyard Vines polo shirt to the tips of his blindingly white sneakers, has not even a hint of a wrinkle or stain. Designer sunglasses rest on his forehead below his wave of carefully combed dark hair. With his right hand, he taps away on his phone, and in his left, he holds a venti decaf extra-foam soy latte. But he isn’t paying much attention to his drink, which arrived at exactly 150 degrees from the airport Starbucks. He’s too busy texting, an anxious look on his face. In fact, he radiates so much anxiety that he fits in quite well at Logan. 

His name is Harry Yeoh, and he’s fresh off the plane from the United Kingdom, where he was born and bred.

Hey! Harry, is that you?

Two tall, pimply guys jog up to Harry, dragging suitcases behind them. They are both sixteen years old, the same age as Harry.

Dude! one of them says in greeting. 

Harry looks up in surprise. His worried expression is instantly replaced by a bright smile. It’s completely fake, of course, but Ben and Mark don’t notice.

Oh, hi, Mark. Hey, Ben. How are you guys?

Ben and Mark Gardner, twin brothers who attend the same highly prestigious boarding school as Harry, grin. They’re not really his friends, but since Harry is popular at New Hampshire’s Wittenberg Academy, they’re eager to talk to him.

We just got back from our vacation in France! says Ben. 

How was it?

It was awesome, we—

What are you doing here, though? Mark interrupts. I thought you’d be in the UK. Didn’t you fly back home after finals?

Er, yeah. Harry shifts uncomfortably. I did, but I came back today. I’m going to visit Ham. Actually, I’m waiting for my Uber driver now, but… He checks his phone again. It looks like he’s going to be pretty late. Apparently there’s a big crash on the motorway.

(Ham, by the way, is Harry’s best friend. Don’t worry, you’ll meet him later.)

Oh. Ben and Mark look at each other in that annoying way people look at each other when they both know something but don’t want to refer to it explicitly.

So, uh…how’s Ham? says Ben. 

Harry shrugs. I haven’t seen him since last month, but it sounds like he’s doing okay.

What’s he been up to? It’s kinda weird to see you without him—you know, ’cause you two are always together. 

Harry winces. Well, he’s on a date with Lia right now—

Lia! Ben interrupts. "Like, Lia as in Ofelia?"

Ofelia Polonio? Mark interjects. 

Oh, yeah, er…Ham’s been going out with her, says Harry, shifting his feet awkwardly, his hands deep in the pockets of his salmon-colored shorts. 

Since when?

Since about a month ago, I think. They live in the same town, so they’ve been hanging out since they got home from school. 

The twins are gaping. Holy shit, says Mark. "He’s so lucky. Ofelia Polonio is so hot."

You think so? says Ben. "She’s weird, man. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard her talk. Also, I hate her older brother. He is such an asshole."

Who cares! Mark exclaims. She’s hot! I didn’t know she was into Ham.

All girls like Ham, says Ben, rolling his eyes. It’s, like, a rule or something.

Harry is starting to feel irrationally irritable, the way he always does when he remembers that Ham and Lia are together. It’s not like he dislikes Lia; he actually doesn’t really care about her either way. No, what he doesn’t like is that she’s Ham’s girlfriend. But that’s a whole pot of tea that we can spill later.

Harry hides his irritation well. Ham’s fancied her for, like, a year, I think, he explains patiently, and he finally asked her out after school ended.

Bro, that’s sick. I’m so jealous.

Have you heard from him? I want to know how the date’s going. I bet she’s secretly a freak!

Ofelia? Nah, she’s a prude, obviously!

You never know! 

Ignoring those last few comments, Harry looks at his phone. He hasn’t texted me yet. Hang on, lemme check Snapchat. He opens the app and stares at it for a few seconds. His brow furrows. Huh?

Did he send anything? Ben and Mark lean over Harry’s shoulder. 

No, but…who’s that? Harry points at the screen. He has just received a message from someone whose name is, in all caps, HAMILTON DANE.

Is that Ham? Mark asks.

"No, that’s Ham, see? Harry points at another name on the screen. Ham’s avatar is a cheerful cartoon face with wavy brown hair, as well as the number five hundred and the fire emoji, which signifies a five-hundred-day streak. Harry continues, He still hasn’t opened the last thing I sent him, so he’s probably busy right now."

"Ha-ha, busy." Ben and Mark laugh.

But who—? Harry taps on the mysterious username, and the profile of HAMILTON DANE pops up. Weird, he says. His snap score is zero. Like, he’s literally Snapchatted zero people. Or maybe it’s a new account? Actually, maybe Ham made another account for some reason. But still—zero? I don’t understand it.

He sent you a video, says Mark. You should open it.

Harry taps the little purple box under the name to open the video message. The whole screen goes black.

Huh? Immediately sensing that something is off, Harry attempts to return to the home screen, and when that doesn’t work, he tries to lock his phone. Nothing happens.

What’s going on?

Suddenly, a single word flashes across the screen. The letters are white and bold:

HAM

The boys stare. Harry is still trying desperately to fix his phone, but nothing works. Three more words cross the screen:

I WANT HAM

Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, the words vanish. The phone finally returns to the home screen. Harry scrolls through his apps, staring in disbelief. It’s as if nothing weird has happened. The only difference is that when he opens Snapchat again, he finds himself staring at the yellow login screen with its white ghost logo. He’s been signed out of his account. After a brief moment of hesitation, he logs back in. There is no sign of HAMILTON DANE in his recent messages.

"‘I want ham’? says Mark. What kind of message is that? Why does he want ham?"

I think he wants Ham, says Harry slowly. Like, Ham the person. Ham Dane.

What?

Harry looks at Mark and Ben nervously. Will they think he’s crazy? What if… he begins before trailing off. His thoughts are racing. What if…what if that was a message from Hamilton Dane?

Ben and Mark are dumbstruck. (They’re also just straight-up dumb, but we don’t need to get into that.) They both know to whom Harry is referring, of course. The sudden death of Hamilton Dane II, CEO and chairman of Dane Investments and one of the richest men in the country, was all over the news just a month ago. The media storm only intensified when the late CEO was succeeded by his younger brother and deputy, Claude Dane. At this point, everyone knows the story.

To Harry, Hamilton Dane II’s death was important on a personal level. It was the death of his best friend’s father, an event that would change Ham forever—and perhaps, through his friendship with Ham, change Harry, too. But to Ben and Mark, the event is just another juicy news story. Although Wittenberg Academy is home to the children of quite a few billionaires, celebrities, and politicians, Ben and Mark (and many of their classmates) are just regular people. The death of a famous billionaire is bigger than anything that’s ever happened in their own lives. 

But Hamilton Dane is… Dead. No one needs to say it. 

Obviously, he couldn’t have sent it, says Harry thoughtfully, more to himself than to either of the boys. But maybe…well, I don’t know. I suppose that doesn’t make sense. But there’s definitely something very strange about that message. I mean, it basically shut down my phone. Kind of like a virus. 

Yeah, how’d it do that, anyway?

I…I don’t know. But maybe whoever sent the message is trying to tell us that he needs to talk to Ham. I’ll tell him later when I see him. 

The twins stare at Harry in awe. They’re a little jealous that he gets to be best friends with a billionaire’s son. If only they knew what that entails.

A news notification pops up on Harry’s phone. It reads, massachusetts attorney general disses late hamilton dane ii in viral tv interview. That headline alone makes Harry’s heart sink, but he taps the link anyway, unable to resist. The Gardner twins look curiously over his shoulder.

The link pulls up a snippet of a news interview with a stately bald man in a suit. The caption at the bottom says, Interview with Brady Fortin, Attorney General for Massachusetts.

A clean-cut, crisp-voiced news reporter on the left side of the screen asks him, So, Mr. Attorney General, how do you think Hamilton Dane’s death will impact Massachusetts and the United States as a whole?

In true awkward-TV-interview fashion, it takes an extra moment for Brady Fortin to respond. But when he does, he’s very forceful.

You want to hear what I honestly think? he asks gruffly.

The reporter looks bemused. Go for it, Mr. Attorney General.

Fortin clears his throat, then declares, Well, you know me. As the attorney general for the state of Massachusetts, I’ve prosecuted Dane Investments any number of times, so you know my stance on that. He laughs a little, his voice ringing with irony. I assume that’s why you wanted to interview me. Anyway, to be completely honest, I think his death is a calamity. Dane Investments is a big deal. It’s the second-largest financial services corporation in the country, it manages trillions of dollars worth of investments, et cetera, et cetera. Not to mention what Dane means to this state, you know, in a cultural sense. But now that Hamilton Dane is dead, the entire company is going to fall apart—

Uh, hold on, Mr. Attorney General, the reporter interrupts. "Did you just say Dane Investments is going to fall apart now that Hamilton Dane II is dead?"

Oh, sure, says Fortin with a short, derisive bark of laughter. Of course!

Why do you say that?

Look, I’ve known that family for a long time, and I can tell you for certain that they’re a hot mess. Hamilton Dane was a…well, he was a strong man. A powerhouse, really. I’m convinced he was the only thing keeping that company together. And now that he’s gone, it’s all going to fall apart.

Can you elaborate on that, Attorney General Fortin?

"Well. Where do I start? Let’s just say the company has a lot of problems. Look at all the times I’ve prosecuted them! They’ve had so many corporate scandals—corruption, fraud, cover-ups, allegations of harassment… His voice rises; he isn’t even trying to conceal his excitement. Even so, Hamilton Dane got them through all the setbacks they’ve had to deal with. Look, there are a lot of things I could say about him, and we don’t need to get into all of them, but he was a very strong leader. And without his leadership, Dane almost certainly would’ve been toast years ago. But now that he’s dead, all those problems Hamilton Dane cleaned up are going to come back to bite them. Well, that’s if the family’s personal problems don’t bite them first. Don’t laugh! I’m being perfectly serious!"

The reporter seems astonished by how fruitful this interview has turned out to be. So you don’t think Claude Dane can live up to his brother’s legacy?

Fortin makes a face. Pff. No.

You seem very confident about that, Mr. Attorney General. Now, can you tell us more about those personal problems—

That’s about as much as Harry can take. Cutting the reporter off midsentence, he exits the news app, clears the multitasking bar, and locks his phone.

There’s a moment of silence as Harry ponders the dark phone screen. Then Ben says, "So that’s what all those memes were about."

Memes? Harry breathes, unable to believe this could get any worse.

You mean you haven’t seen them? Mark exclaims.

No.

Well, that guy’s a meme now! Ben giggles. Here, lemme show you one of them, they’re hilarious—

I’m good, says Harry faintly. Really, you don’t have to.

Oh, okay. But yesterday I saw this one—

Harry doesn’t listen. As he finishes up his venti decaf extra-foam soy latte—which, sadly, is no longer exactly 150 degrees—Ben and Mark are interrupted by their parents, who have just picked up their bags and are ready to go. Harry watches them head off in the direction of the parking lot before throwing away the coffee cup, an invisible weight pressing down upon his shoulders. He sighs, wondering what Ham and Lia are doing right now.

Being hopelessly in love with your best friend is never easy. But it’s even worse if your best friend has a dead billionaire father, a bizarre family (more on that later), and a girlfriend. Nobody knows that better than Harry Yeoh, who’s been crushing on Hamilton Ham Dane III ever since they met in the autumn of their freshman year at Wittenberg.

Of course, it’s not Harry’s fault that such a thing has happened to him. He’s a smart, kind, humble young man—certainly not the type of person to ever put himself in an awkward situation on purpose. But even he is not free from the whims of fate. For all his virtues, he’s simply had the misfortune of falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time.

If only he knew just how wrong.

Chapter Two

Way of the World, My Ass!

We’re already a chapter into the story, and we haven’t even met our protagonist! I don’t want to keep you waiting, so now let us take a moment to get acquainted with Hamilton Leroy Dane III, better known as Ham by his family and friends. 

Like his best friend, Harry, Ham is a rising junior at Wittenberg Academy, a fancy boarding school in central New Hampshire that’s just as famous for its academics as it is for its sex scandals (you know, the usual—teachers preying on students, seniors preying on freshmen, — bad things all around). Ham has it all: seemingly endless money, top-notch academic resources, and plenty of attention, which he likes very much. And that’s not even counting the prestige that comes with being the son of Hamilton Dane II.

Hamilton Dane II, the richest person in Massachusetts. Hamilton Dane II, the thirty-second name on the Forbes 400 list of the wealthiest people in the United States.

Or, that’s what he was. Now he’s just a corpse in a grave.

When Ham is not at Wittenberg, he lives in Elsinore, the wealthiest town in Massachusetts.

Ham’s house is the biggest, most expensive house in all of Elsinore—if you can even call it a house. The Dane family residence (as I should probably refer to it, just so I can sound more official) is a massive Victorian mansion. It’s graceful but monstrous with its hard stone walls, its sharply angled copper trim, and looming brick chimneys. The many-paned windows glitter even in darkness, like eyes watching all that moves within and without. On the western side of the mansion, the eyes are shaded by tall, ancient pine trees. On the eastern side, they look out over the sparkling waters of Elsinore Lake. The vast grounds of the estate cover some ninety acres in total—ninety acres of graceful forests, fields, and lakeshore.

The mansion was built in 1885. It once belonged to the daughter of an oil baron, a Gilded Age heiress. In her day, she was the closest thing to a princess that existed in the United States. Today, it’s home to another heir, another prince of another gilded age.

Ham can sit in his room on the third floor of the Dane mansion and look down at the world. He’s at the top of America’s social pyramid, and if he looked over the side, he would see the drop down to the ground. After all, the higher you are on a pyramid, the further you have to fall.

Now, back to the story. Ham is turning his black Tesla Model S into the driveway. Before his house was even in sight, he entered his neighborhood’s high-security gate and navigated the car along a dark, winding pathway through the woods. Usually at eleven o’clock in the evening, the driveway is illuminated by small ground-level lights that can be switched on remotely. Tonight, though, nobody has turned them on, so the Tesla is little more than a silent shadow in the dark.

Ignoring the circular drop-off area in front of the house’s dramatic facade, Ham drives into the garage, an ugly structure that was built by Ham’s late grandfather, Hamilton Leroy Dane I. He parks the Tesla and turns off its noiseless engine. His parents got him the car brand new for his sixteenth birthday last fall. As he unbuckles his seat belt, his Rolex sparkles in the car’s dim light. It’s his fifth Rolex; he’s cracked four of them since he got his first one at age twelve.

But it’s not all sports cars and expensive watches for Ham. Such things are distractions, shields to hide behind. And the past month, Ham has been relying on those shields more than ever. It’s too bad money can’t banish pain the way it can banish virtually everything else.

Ham droops forward and rests his elbows on the steering wheel. He’s exhausted, anxious, and depressed. He just spent an entire evening complaining about his miserable life to his new girlfriend, but since Lia isn’t the type to express what she’s thinking or talk about herself or really do anything other than sit there with a blank expression on her face, he’s starting to wonder what kind of impression he made. Probably a bad one.

He’d hoped that maybe going out with Lia Polonio would take the edge off the pain, but so far that hasn’t worked. At all.

He tries not to look at the cherry-red Ferrari in the back of the garage. He doesn’t want to face that hollow, aching feeling he gets in his chest every time he sees it. 

Ham drags himself out of the car and enters the house through the garage door. As he steps over the threshold and trips over the scattered shoes in the entranceway, he sighs dramatically.

"My life is so goddamn hard, he mutters to himself. Mmph. Sounds like the title of my next vlog." Forgetting to shut the door behind him, he heads toward the kitchen. Right now, all he wants is a bag of Cheetos. Preferably Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, if possible. That way, he can just burn away all the pain. 

All of the lights in the house are off. It feels like no one lives here. The vast open spaces are gray and formless, the polished wooden staircases spiraling into the shadows above. Ham has to hold his arms out in front of him to avoid bumping into an antique armoire or a cabinet full of crystal wine glasses or a priceless porcelain vase or something. As he makes his way slowly but surely toward the kitchen on the eastern side of the house, a revolting sound reaches his ears. It’s the sound of tinkling eighties keyboards, a slow but powerful beat, and an annoyingly catchy melody. (Disclaimer: it’s Ham who thinks it’s revolting, not me.)

Ham’s eyebrows rise. The house is usually dead quiet at this hour, since the help have all gone home. Dread builds in his stomach as he advances toward the kitchen and the music gets louder and louder and louder. He wishes he didn’t recognize the song, but it’s actually one he knows well: Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship, the ultimate eighties power ballad.

Ham arrives at the kitchen door. He thinks he has an idea of what he’s going to find in here, and he definitely doesn’t want to see it. But he knows there’s no escaping his fate now. Plus, he really wants those Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. So he braces himself and peeks through the door.

The kitchen is decorated like a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day, with candles lining the countertops and rose petals strewn across every surface. It’s all very peaceful, romantic, and dimly lit. The source of the music is a small Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island. Beside the speaker is an empty wine bottle.

Though he already knows what’s going on, Ham still feels a jolt of nausea when he sees the dancing couple. They move slowly between the island and the stove, their movements cautious yet horribly, horribly sensuous. They cling to each other gently, like they’re worried they might