Taken

Chapter 10

I stand in the middle of my room, my schoolbag over my shoulder and my bland navy and white uniform on. I stare at the loose piece of wood which hides the journal and key. Biting my lip, I contemplate on whether or not to take them to school with me, to be safe from my parents.

            But then I remember the guy who was at my school, telling me that 'they' are watching me, and then saving me on the lattice. I'm not sure who he is, but I can't risk him getting his hands on the key nor the journal.

            That settles it. The journal and key don't leave my room.

            With a small nod to myself as if to confirm this fact, I turn walk out of my room. I mount my bike once I carry it down from the porch and hurry to school, not wanting to be late.

                                                  .                             .                             .

I wait until I know that my parents are asleep before I pull out the journal. I stuff one of my blankets into the cracks of my door and pull out my flashlight. Crawling back into bed, I try to get comfortable and turn on the light. I run my hand over the cracked leather, glad that I finally get to read this.

            I open the clasp, finding some of the pages wrinkled and yellowed with age, the writing in the old styled calligraphy. I start flipping through the pages and find that the handwriting changes completely over time, as if more than one person has written in here or the writer has bipolar writing habits.

            My eyebrows furrow as my lips twist to one side.

            Why would more than one person write in here?

            I check the dates, but all that is written is the month and the day, not the year. With an annoyed sigh, I flip back to the beginning and read.

May 17

            Mother gave me this journal today. She said that I am of age. Mother also said that I need to write everything that I notice happening around the house. I still do not understand why she asked this of me, but this is a lovely journal so I guess this does not really matter—

           

I skip over the next few entries, merely skimming the lines because it is all the same; the writing of a young girl.

            My eyes backtrack when they fly over the first entry, finding that the girl's name was Margaret. I make a note to research her if she ever mentions her surname. Maybe there will be some public information that will help me figure this journal out.

            I flip through another few pages until I find an entry that catches my interest.

June 1

            I am writing by candle light at the moment. Mother and Father are asleep. I am not sure if this is what Mother meant when she gave me this journal, but I heard music.

            I woke from a lovely dream to a symphony of sorts. A beautiful melody seemed to flow into my room, but I could not find where it was coming from so I got out of bed and went to the window, but the music only dimmed. I became confused as I continued my search. As I neared my closet, the tune became stronger so I opened the door, but as I peeked inside, the music ceased its tune, leaving me feeling like a fool standing there in my nightgown.