Lost Kids (a.i.)

thirty one

PART TWO OF LOST KIDS:

"Not sure." I shake my head, lying.

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The house was empty, once I was used to the eerie feeling and the dusty cobwebs, but now chills ran through my vines that didn't pump blood. The house was even more empty now. The walls were stripped of colorful pictures and posters. Even the damn ugly painting of a fruit bowl, done by some artist just barely making it, was gone. The cupboards had been emptied from head to toe, not even a crumb left. My wall that once sat behind the boys instruments, was painted over. The only untouched part, was my attic. With my small polaroid of Ashton and I, that we had never taken but appeared to me when I had to choose between earth and else-where. The attic also contained the few boxes, the record player, and the ratty mattress.

And most of all, the boys were gone, making the house more empty than ever. The chuckles and strums of strings no longer ran through the halls. No one to share my secret with, no one to talk with at all. I had no clue when I would ever see them again, or even if I would.

A family could move in and I would have to find elsewhere. Or the house could remain empty for years.

They had left an number, but no phone.  An address, but no paper or pen. A key, but no where to go. And memories, they had left them with me.

I stared at the Polaroid silently, twirling my hair. I stand up, taking the key they had left, heading out the door. The fall air made my toes curl. This was my favorite season, summer was far too hot and winter was far too cold, but fall was crisp and cuddly. Each house had been decorated for Halloween, a place where I finally fit in.

The leggings I wore clung to my knobby knees, but held no warmth. My chilled skin breathed out flakes of coldness. I wrap my jacket tighter, I dare not show any signs of diversity to the normal human race.

I take long strides, checking the book Luke had given me. I had only read the first chapter. It wasn't even a book, it was a journal of some scientist of the sorts who hid it in plain sight, the library.

Arriving at the library, I notice the dear librarian ,who I had luckily never met in my life. I step to the front desk where she sits reading a novel.

"How may I help you dear?" She glances up to me. I open the book to her, showing her a picture of a man and a younger woman. The woman was small and brittle. Her skin looked thin like paper and she had a slender figure.

I point to it, "Have you ever seen either of these people?" I say, clearing my throat.

"Perhaps the man came in years ago, my memory is fading, sweetheart. I can not recall exactly." The woman apologizes for her memory.

"No, you're fine ma'ma! My friend found this book in your library and I was wondering who the author was, it does not say."

"Friend? Is your friend perhaps the young boy with the blond hair that sticks straight up?" She closes the book she was reading, concentrating more on the conversation.

"Yes ma'ma." I nod.

"Well we found the book in section c, paranormal." Her crooked finger points straight to her right, my left. I head the direction, skimming titles and information.

The woman stands, following my actions in a slower motion. "Your dear friend sure was interested in ghosts." She smiles, her red lipstick smacked onto her thin lips.

"Yes, he finds it quiet intriguing."

"Though, he seemed to be looking for something. Do you know what?" Her eye brows knit together as she pulls out a book to look at.

"Not sure." I shake my head, lying.

"May I see the picture again, I have a scanner. I'll scan the photo in the book and look for similar faces to the two in the photo on the internet." I hand her the book carefully, not to hurt the binding that was so poor. She quickly scans the photograph. Pulling it up on her desktop and searching the face.

"Ah, the man was Richard Bowman, a Thanatoligist. He studied the dead for many years and kept secret journals on his work. He died in 1976 from an infection that spread through the body." The librarian reads over a summary of the man as I take notes in my head. The book I have must be one of his many journals.

"And the woman was a young French girl who died in a protest back in 1962. Nothing much on her, and no name." The librarian signs, handing me back my book. I thank her and bid her a good day.

Knowing how a dead person looks, myself being an example, I knew the French girl much have been a ghost Bowman had helped cross-over and more.

I walk into a small coffee shop, slipping spare change I had in my back pocket into a phone and dialing the only number I knew.

"Hello, this is Ashton."

{PART TWO OMG OMG WOOO SO PUMPED FOR PART TWO! MY BIG TWIST IS GONNA CONE SOON AND IM SUPER EXCITED FOR IT CAUSE I KNEW I WAS GONNA DO THIS TWIST FROM THE START I SWEAR ITS NOT SOMETHING RANDOM IM JUST GUNNA POP INTO THE STOry! ALSo I SAW 5SOS LIVE AND THEY SHOUTED MY FROEND AND I OUT BE NUGHT EVER I CRY THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORY ON THIS STORY

-more soon}