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.
That is why I am confiding in you now, dear journal. I am confused as to what is going on. I do not know if I should tell Mother or keep what I heard to myself. I could be imagining it after all. Please help me to figure this out. I leave you for now. Maybe everything will be back to normal for tomorrow.
Sweet dreams.
The music.
Just like what I had heard only a week before. Could I not have imagined it like Margaret? Could we both have heard the same thing?
I glance at my bedroom door.
It came from Margaret's closet, and I'm sure that what I heard came from Nina's room. Could it have come from her closet as well? But how? How is all of this possible? The music, the symbols, Nina's disappearance, and the locket? Could it all be connected?
No, it has to be connected. That's the only way any of this can make sense.
The only question now is how? How does this all come together? And more importantly, what connects it all?
I shake my head of these unanswered questions. I can't focus on what I don't know. I have to concentrate on what I do know—or at least what I know will lead me to the answer.
With this in mind, I flip to the next page.
June 5
I am terribly sorry for neglecting you for I have been very busy helping my cousin with her wedding. And to be honest, I have been feeling less like myself. The music has come every night, but last night was different. The music was softer, but I heard voices along with it. They were not singing along with the music, but calling someone to them. It took me but a moment to realize that they were calling my name.
Over and over again they called, their voices mesmerizing. I felt trapped in my bed, unable to move. But then it stopped as suddenly as it began. As soon as it stopped I was able to leap out of bed and hurry to my cousin's room down the hall. I slept next to her that night.
I am afraid to sleep in my room again.
This is new. I don't remember voices calling my name, only Nina. If my sister is the one calling me, then who was the one calling Margaret?
I skim over the next few entries, seeing how they are about her cousin's wedding and Margaret not going back to her room. It isn't until the end of June that things start to get interesting.
June 21
Mother made me go back to sleeping in my room. Right now I am hiding in the pantry.
It happened again, but this time my closet door opened on its own accord. The music was louder and the voices more urgent as they called for me, as if upset by my disappearance. A sight breeze blew into my room from my closet with a white light following. I was trapped in my bed once more as the icy kiss of the wind brushed against my cheeks.
It was awful, no matter how much I struggled, I could not break free. At one point the wind even blew my blanket off of me, leaving me shivering against the fierce breeze. The papers on my desk started fluttering to the ground. I could not move, I could not scream. It was terrifying.
It was not until I heard a thump in the hall that time seemed to freeze for but a moment before everything was sucked back into the closet and the door was slammed shut.
After that I did not hesitate to run out of my room, but I remembered to bring you with me. I am scared. I do not know what to do, but I will not be going back into that room. There is no way I can do that.
All of this is coming from her closet? How is that even possible?
I glance down at the silver chain around my neck, the locket twinkling in the moonlight. I think back to the tunnels in the house and how the locket glowed and lead the way back to my room.
Maybe not so impossible . . .
I flip through the next few entries.
???
I do not know what day it is. I have lost too much sleep to pay attention to those minor details. I do not think that I can take it anymore. I should just give into them. When I finally had the courage to talk to Mother about what I have been seeing, she did not offer any explanation or any help at all. She only told me that I have to do this on my own. I have to decide to stop running. I will—
What?
I run my hand over the binding, feeling the small bumps from where the page was ripped out. It left Margaret's entry in mid-sentence.
The page is missing. Why is this page torn out? What is on the page that I'm not supposed to see?
I glance at the next page, but the handwriting is different from Margaret's. Why is Margaret's last page ripped out?
A yawn escapes me and I feel my eyelids droop. The clock on my bedside table reads two in the morning. I have to get up for school in a few hours.
Reluctantly, I close the journal and hide it under the loose piece of wood. I take the blankets away from the door and turn off my flashlight before crawling into bed.
Closing my eyes, I let out a frustrated sigh that empties my lungs of air. I have so many questions, but none of the answers seem to appear.
But I will figure this out. No matter what happens, I will get my sister back.