Chapter 30

4 0 0

'Dear diary, journal, or whatever you may be,

No, you are not dear.

· Walked down the secret stairway.

· Lamp dropped – heard laughter – I think I might be crazy.

· No, I am not crazy.

· I saw the boy in the painting, only he was NOT the boy from the painting. NOT the boy I dreamed of. The boy in the painting looked more like Jamie dressed in old fashioned clothing.

· Wait - - - did that mean that the woman was not real? Did I put my mum into the dream?

· No no – the boy could have been the boy from the painting – I was probably witnessing his thoughts – thoughts engraved in his mind.

· How did he die? Why was he killed? Was he a young man when they burnt him?

· HE DID DIE BY THE HANDS OF THESE PEOPLE. HE DIED BECAUSE OF THE PREIST!!

· NEED TO FIND THE PRIEST – the people cannot walk free – Punishment was only fair.

· But who am I judge?

· Back to the question – why did they kill him? Because he dressed up as a girl? Evil spirit? Noooo! The priest said the spirit did not exist!

· ...........confused.

· Ok, start again....Duke wanted the woman, the fat guy wanted the kid dead so he could take the property – is that legal – unless, she married the Duke after the death of her son!

· Did he really did when he was my age? Maybe just finished school – makes sense to kill him off then – prevent him from protecting his mother.

· So he died to protect him mother.

· But, my dream. Did he die as a young boy? Maybe not, maybe I twisted the story in my head – on his age – but he did die and accused of dressing up as a woman, thus, a spirit inside in him.

· Again, back to why kill him. The mother cannot have been enough!

It is my job for getting revenge, but I need to know if we are related to them in any way – we must be! If we are, the house did not go to the fat man!

That's is for today! But Derek. . . the boy! Ignore it all Kelly... '

'Focus Kelly, focus,' I muttered to myself as I touched the pen to my lips. I moved my pen forward and realised that I was holding a quill. I was sitting at a well handcrafted desk, with an ink set next to me.

How did that happen? I was in my room first. I found my journal, and had sat down to start writing. Then how did I end up with a quill in my hand? I dropped it, which was followed by a scatter of ink. Both my journal and hand now hand ink on it. I quickly pushed my desk back, and stood up. Looking around the room, completely forgot the worry. I walked towards the beautiful wardrobe. Opening it, I looked in. It had moth eaten dresses. 'Stunning,' was all I could whisper. Some stitches here and there would bring at least some back to life. I looked at the drawer along the bottom and pulled it open too. Inside laid a rusty book.

Pulling it out, I flipped through some of the pages. This was a...a...a

'Kelly, what are you doing here?'

I flipped my head up, shut the book and attempted to hide it behind my back. My head then turned to my journal. Rushing to the desk, I slammed it shut and hugged it.

'I could ask the same thing, Jamie,' I returned. With that, I walked out. I ignored the slight smile on his face. Whatever he was thinking, would be better kept to him rather than shared with me. I did not have time for mind games when I had to clear my own.

But, the book that I had just found, was full ofnumbers. That could only mean it was one thing. 

The Boy in the PaintingRead this story for FREE!