I felt my body tremble violently as I reached out my hand to grab the bloodied journal that sat by Jack's severed head.
I had picked it up and identified it to be Jack personal journal, something he cherished so dearly and would never let anyone touch.
The blood started running down my fingers and masking my hand with a crimson mask.
I shuddered just questioning myself; I am sitting by Jack's head, holding his journal up in the storage, what could this possibly mean? Why was it even placed next to him?
Does this explain the noises I heard earlier?
I shook my head as I quickly lurched back remembering that Jack's head was literally sitting in front of me.
Out of fear I shut the box with a huge thud before pushing it back and allowing myself to flick through the literally bloody book.
A few pages had been sealed with the thick liquid that had been drying up for God knows how many minutes since the unmistakable murder of Jack.
Or was it murder ?
A scrap of paper flew out of the notebook and landing on top of the chest, causing me to sigh just knowing what lay beneath the lid.
I leaned forward and snatched the paper up and it had scrawled writing on the small area.
PHIL.
I saw nothing more than that until I realised that it may have tabbed a page that was important for me?
I heaved myself onto the floor of the small storage and sat myself down against the wall, looking down at the page my thumb had held onto and saw the words written clearly in Jack's naturally messy writing :
Dear Phil ...
