Dark Secrets [COMPLETED]

Chapter 7: Seeing Things

I was on Cloud Nine for the rest of the week. In fact, I was so captivated by mine and Roger's blossoming relationship—or the prospect of it, anyway—that I completely forgot about Meredith's journals until Saturday evening, when I almost tripped over them on my way to bed.

I picked up the box and sat down with them. Now that I had some free time, why not read some more? I was on the last book in the box, anyway.

Strangely, the last journal was mostly empty. I flipped through it, and the next entry was halfway through the book. A single line was written.

Grandfather Kendrick has died.

I flipped through the book, wanting to see where the journal ended. The last few pages were missing, like they'd been ripped out. The last intact one was dated October 28 1918, meaning that Meredith was nineteen when she wrote her last entry. It read:

Mama's condition is worsening. William insists that it must be influenza, but I'm not keen on trusting his judgement these days. Especially after what happened with Grandfather. William had something to do with his death. I just know it. I will find evidence if it's the last thing that I do.

I reread the passage, confused. Where did that leap come from? Most people don't just go from thinking someone is creepy to straight-up accusing them of murder. I knew that from personal experience. Since there was no information about how her grandfather died, I couldn't figure out why she would think so either. What the heck happened?

Since the following pages were missing, it looked like I wouldn't be getting any explanations.

I huffed and tossed the book back into its box. It was strange that I was so invested in someone else's life, especially since that someone was long dead, but the experiences I had read about were just so similar to my own. The loneliness, the unwavering feeling of being watched...

I shuddered, thinking about what Roger had told me, about the rumours of people dying and disappearing in Kendrick House. It turns out he wasn't wrong, since at least one person did die here. I wondered if he knew about it.

Not wanting to think about it any further, I pushed the journals under my bed and went to sleep.

~

I've worn nothing but black throughout these last few weeks. Ever since Grandfather's death, I've taken on the life of a mourner. It's a curious contradiction: these walls suffocate me, and yet I can't bring myself to leave. There's too much of him in here still, and I'm afraid to leave it behind.

A knock sounds at the door behind me, and I turn around. My stomach churns when I see William's dark visage standing there. His handsomely rugged features are somber, but his eyes are devoid of emotion. I feel ill looking at him, and I turn my gaze back to the overcast sky outside my window. Perhaps if I ignore him he will leave.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Meredith," he says. "Your grandfather was a good man."

I glare at him, my silent response echoing in my mind:

"Is that why you killed him?"

I jolted awake. At first, I didn't know where I was, but when my eyes adjusted and focused on the thick blackness of the trees, I realized I was in Meredith's hidden office. I looked around, confused. I didn't remember unlocking the door. Hell, I didn't even remember coming in here.

I left the office and closed and locked the door again. For good measure, I pushed my armoire back in front of it before I went back to bed. No matter how many times I closed my eyes and rolled over, I couldn't get back to sleep. Given that my throat was feeling a little scratchy, I decided to get a glass of water.

I crawled out of bed. Leaving the lights off, I made my way down the hall as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

I went down to the kitchen. I flicked the lights on, squinting my eyes at the sudden brightness, and went to the cupboard. I got a tall plastic cup and filled it up from the tap. I took a long swig and sighed in relief.

The dreadful feeling came back suddenly, like a freezing cold hand stroking the back of my neck. I shivered, suddenly wanting to get out of there and go back to my room. I turned around, cup in hand, to rush back upstairs.

I audibly gasped when I saw a shadowy figure standing in the foyer. In shock, I dropped my cup, spilling water over my bare feet and the tiled floor.

The figure didn't move. Instinctively, I stepped backward, clutching at the counter behind me. I examined the shape I was seeing. I couldn't make out any features in the darkness—just shadow. It did have a distinctly feminine figure, with long hair and the faintest hint of curves. I reluctantly called out: "Hello?"

The figure didn't respond, or even move. Did Mom somehow manage to come down on her own? I called out once again to check. "Mom?"

In the dark, it darted forward. I instantly flew into panic mode, fumbling with the knob of the junk drawer. I didn't dare to take my eyes off of the figure until I managed to open it. My hand closed around an emergency flashlight and, hastily, I yanked it out, turned it on, and shone it directly into the darkness.

There was nobody there. I moved the flashlight around, searching, but the foyer was empty. I was alone down here—just me and my wet feet.

Taking the flashlight with me, I hastily ran back upstairs. I only realized, halfway up the stairs, that I forgot to turn off the kitchen light, but I didn't dare to go back down out of fear that the shadow would return.