The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

49. M. M

What are you waiting for?

A foot of mine sways back and forth, while my heart beats reach my throat.

My palms constantly twitch with sweat as I stand at the door frame. I try to hold the golden door knob in front of me, but it constantly slip.

Ms Bragge has been out almost an hour because of some errands, and she may not be back for another half an hour.

This was much easier in my head.

My eyes wander to the clock at top of the door's head, just as my palm collides the knob again and the door swings open.
The heels of my shoes click on the floor, as I spin around to survey the attic.

Everything is exactly the same; though, it still has lingering shadows: a stained glass panel colouring the streaming sunlight, the curtailed portraits at every nook and cranny, and the loose floorboard.

If only I can find that loose floorboard...

I look to the left and see something that I had almost forgotten of.

Isabelle's painting.

I press my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans, as I look back at my twin of different generation. A thin layer of dust coats her painting, and I have too look away before albums of memories cease my sight.

There is another painting next to Isabelle, but it's veiled with a white cloth. I have a strong inclination that this masked one may be Henry.

I move forward.

This time, however, my foot doesn't fall into the floorboard; its tip only circles around it.

The board is tilted to the left, rather than being entirely straight.

Looks like journals are not the only things that Dylan keeps tilted.

I first debated whether I should look here or at Dylan's room. Later, I came to the conclusion that that's just wrong. Though, I still don't know why it took almost an entire night to decide that.

I have never been religious, nor were my parents. Dad was a Protestant, while Mum was Jewish.
We only went to church for special occasions, rather than every Sunday.

They only taught my siblings and me to follow the moral aspect of religion, and to respect other ones.

Technically, reading my brother's letter isn't very moral as well, but I need to know what's going on with him.

What if that's the reason why Mary and Richard... I'll think of that later.

I remove the board from its position, and put my hand inside it.

My hand just keeps hitting the insides of the board.

I guess I was wrong at thinking that Dylan might have left something here...

Just as I pull my hand out, my finger scratch against paper-like: soft and yet hard. I grab it before I lose it again.

It's a letter!

I fall back on the floor as I pull the letter out. I tear off the top of the envelop and the rest falls itself. The letter is from somewhere in Luton, Bedfordshire. If I remember correctly, Bedfordshire is a county near London, my own city.

I hold the letter in between my fingers, and pray for nobody to see me. It only has a one line.

23 December, 2008

I thought that you were my friend, Dylan.

Love,
M. M

Great! Just one question...
Who is M. M?