Her Secret

When her mother died, she was forbidden to enter the library. But one day, she decides to push open the door, to open the journals that her mother kept. And it's there that she found the secret.

The little girl started to push open the door, and then stopped, not wanting to know what was waiting on the other side. Just open it, said the familiar voice. It had been following her around for two years, and it popped up at the strangest times. However, she was not scared by it, as some people may have thought. She loved the familiar voice, and she always longed to hear it, no matter where she was. 

On the other side of the door, there was a single chair in the middle of the room. The wall with the door was blank of anything else, and the one next to it had floor to ceiling windows looking out at the wasteland that surrounded all sides of the big house. You could see the spot where the pond had once been, and the dead trees. The wilting barn stood next to the shed that was lying on its side, the door hanging on one of its hinges. Every inch of the remaining two walls were covered in books. As the girl walked closer, she saw that some of the books were journals, while others were novels, encyclopedias, and books filled with the wonders of the world. 

She reached out and touched the spine of one of the journals with her mother’s name engraved in gold. Not that one, the voice said. The small girl’s hand moved along the line of journals until finally, she heard the silky voice murmur to her that she had found the right one. She carefully removed it, and opened it to the front page. 

A picture of her mother, with two small babies, one boy and one girl, was pasted to the first page. The girl turned to the next page, and another picture was there. It was one that she remembered, a day that she couldn’t forget. I remember that day as well, my darling. I’m sorry you had to see what you saw. That was not meant to be seen by such young eyes. She remembered seeing the puddles of blood, the gaping holes in the skin. What she couldn’t remember was the life in her mother’s eyes, the joy that you could still see through the film in the picture.

On the next page was part of a diary entry, but it carried on onto the next page, without any skipped lines or new paragraphs. The small, neat handwriting covered every inch of the page, and more than half of the one after that. Although the little girl couldn’t read what had been written, she felt that it was important. She flipped through the other pages, until she came to a page halfway through that had different hand writing. 

This writing was bigger and messier, the exact opposite of the small, neat handwriting that had covered all the previous pages. This is an important part of your history, dear. This journal is where you will find the secrets and answers that you’ve been needing. But first, you must learn to read.

Author's Note

Right now, this is unfinished. And I do plan on finishing it, but I'm not sure when (including this, I'm in the middle of writing four books and editing another). But I will finish it, some day.