'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!
· 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.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy in the PaintingMystery / Thriller
'Death is our best friend from childhood. It is just lost in this cruel world. When it finds its friend, what happens, only it decides. Has Death found its best friend? We will find out tonight,' Father Jones calmly stated. I like drawing, so yes, t...