@Aryan achakzehi: تر خپل ارمانه چی رسیږم زما په قبر به جنډی ولاړی وینه 💔

Is that a brain in that lava lamp? A skull on his desk. Um… should I be concerned? This room is so messy it’s like a bomb went off in here and covered everything in a strange smoky hue… oh right I know what that smell is. I guess it’s kind of cool the more I look at it.

The posters on the walls of artists from yesteryear.

The dozens of action figures and LEGO pieces adorning his room look so interesting to me.

His bed is comfy too, is that a heated blanket under my butt? I like it because it’s freezing outside.

I know to some this room might not seem that unusual but to me it’s like a new world, I’ve never been in another boy’s bedroom before, this is all new and exciting for me.

He’s yawning, I must be boring him. Oh wait no… he’s doing the thing!!! He’s doing the thing!!! He’s such a dork. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

The snow tapered off as we arrived at The Pineapple Inn, a bed and breakfast nestled in the woods at the base of the Pocono Mountains. Only a few inches of snow had fallen, just enough to outline the barren tree limbs and cover the ground with a thin blanket of white. Although we stayed at different places, my fiancé Katie and I visited the area every December to spend a long, romantic weekend together. We always returned home refreshed after spending a few days unplugged from the world.

The Victorian home was larger than anticipated with mother in law quarters on one side that served as the living space for the owner. An octagon shaped sitting room was a prominent feature of the house, along with a wrap around porch that curved along the contour of the building. Had the temperature been warmer, it would have been a nice area to enjoy the peaceful solitude that surrounded the home.

A small bell attached to the handle of the front door jingled as Katie and I entered. Waves of a cinnamon spice scent welcomed us. Stanley Thatcher, a sixty something retiree, was in the back of the house setting up place settings for dinner service. He called out to us when we arrived and appeared a few minutes later.

“Get ‘em while they’re hot,” he said with an outstretched plate of warm cookies. “Fresh out of the oven.”

The hardwood floors creaked under our footsteps as Stanley guided us around the home, pointing to the amenities. Scenic photographs of local importance filled the walls of each room and along the staircase leading to the bedrooms.

Originally used as a living room, the space had been converted to a dining area. Windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling. They offered a better view of the yard, one unadulterated by vehicular traffic. A large fireplace made of quarried stone was built into the wall on the far end of the room. The wood crackled under the heat of the flames which added to the warmth of the home.

Of the three bedrooms available, ours was the only one with a private balcony. There was a community bathroom one step across the hall. It had been awhile since Katie and I enjoyed private time together, so we planned on spending more time in bed and less at breakfast. With only a shared bathroom available, I hoped that meant we could shower together without causing much of a fuss.

When we stepped into our room, I asked, “Why is this called The Pineapple Inn?”

The fruit isn’t native to northeastern Pennsylvania and I hoped for an interesting story.

Quick to explain, Stanley replied, “Pineapples are a warrior with a heart of gold.”

There was a matter of fact tone in his voice which suggested he had been asked that question many times in the past. After he turned to exit our room, I looked at Katie with squinted eyes. She did the same in return.

“What does that even mean?” she whispered.

I shrugged my shoulders and rolled my eyes, confused by his explanation. Before closing the door behind him, Stanley looked around the hallway to ensure no one was within earshot. He turned to face us, one hand cupped around his mouth.

“My wife loves pineapples, that’s why,” he whispered before returning to the first floor.

Katie and I spent the rest of the evening curled up in one another’s arms. We talked about our hopes and dreams for a future we couldn’t wait to experience. Our wedding was only a few months away and the large house we lived in would one day be filled with children. Lots of them, I hoped. We fell asleep locked in an embrace that no one would ever come between.

In the middle of the night, I awoke, needing to make a trip to the bathroom. Stumbling out of bed half awake, I almost walked into the hallway naked. For a moment, with my hand on the doorknob, I considered making a quick dash to the bathroom. It was only a few steps away. I opened the door slow, just enough to peek through. The squeak of its aged hinge sliced through the quiet. It startled me enough to realize this was a bad idea. I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed at my eyes to get my bearings. After pulling my sweatpants on, Katie ran her fingers along the small of my back.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

“Never,” I replied with a kiss upon her forehead. “I’m just going potty.”

As I approached the bathroom, the muffled sounds of a mother’s voice could be heard singing to her restless child. Relieved to have opted for clothing, I paused to eavesdrop.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…”

Even though the singing was muted after closing the bathroom door, a happy thought remained. Someday, that would be Katie’s voice, or maybe even my own. I repeated the lyrics in my head a few times. At one point, while still in the bathroom, I thought to have heard the neighboring songstress but dismissed the idea. She was two rooms away.

A few hours later, I awoke to an empty bed. A quick scan of the room found one of the French doors leading to the balcony ajar. Wearing sweatpants but nothing more, I stepped outside and wrapped my arms around Katie from behind, pulling her close while kissing the side of her neck. She moaned with delight. The voyeuristic sun struggled to peek through the overcast skies. My bare feet ignored the accumulation of snow, overpowered by the warmth inside my heart.

“Don’t you start up again,” she warned. “We have to eat at some point.”

“You go ahead down. I’m right behind you.”

When she returned to the room, I stretched and looked around. Almost invisible amidst the backdrop of snow, a woman wearing a white parka stood in the backyard with a bundled up baby cradled in her arms. Her lips were moving though she was too far away to hear what was said. She comforted the child by rocking him in her arms.

Mesmerized by the sight, I found myself humming The Mockingbird Song, as if willing the infant asleep from afar. It wasn’t my intention to stare at them but got caught doing so nonetheless. I offered a nervous wave in their direction before retreating to the bedroom. When I joined Katie in the dining room, the song continued to repeat in my head. Without realizing it, I began to sing the lyrics aloud.

Standing beside me, Stanley paused before placing a filled breakfast plate on the table in front of me. He tilted his head and stared with a vague curiosity, as if singing about a mockingbird was odder than preaching about a pineapple’s warrior spirit.

I apologized for being distracted and explained, “Got a song stuck in my head.”

“It happens,” he replied before leaving us to enjoy the meal.

Throughout the day, every trip to the bathroom was accompanied by the same sweet melody sang from the confines of a neighboring bedroom. Her voice was soft but audible enough to hear each word enunciated. It never crackled under the strain of exhaustion or boredom. At one point, I thought about knocking on her door, to offer whatever assistance Katie and I could, but figured our neighbor deserved as much privacy as we did.

The following day, I woke up much earlier than expected. It was 4:00 am. Checkout wasn’t for a few hours but I found myself unable to sleep. As in past years, I wished the weekend would last forever and decided to suggest taking these trips every six months while we could. After our lives were blessed with children, it would prove more difficult to carve out private weekends away. It was a conversation for the ride home.

I headed to the bathroom to wash up and shave the stubble from my face. With a woman across the hall and another in my bed, their respective morning routines might clash, or in the very least be hectic. Best to finish what I needed to do in order to remove myself from the equation. When I stepped into the hall, the same song continued, though louder than previous instances. From within the bathroom, I could hear the song as clear as if the woman was standing beside me.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

I hummed in unison to her voice, a private duet for an invisible audience. When I exited the bathroom, the woman stood loitering in the hall. She continued to sing even though the baby wasn’t in her arms. Startled by my sudden appearance, she stopped and looked at me.

“Finally get the little one to sleep?” I asked.

“Yes, but he loves that song and I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve been humming it all weekend.”

“Do you two have kids?” she asked, nodding towards our room.

“Not yet, but someday. Hopefully, someday soon.”

“Cherish them every chance you get.”

I wished her goodnight and returned to my room. Even though there was no chance of getting back to sleep, I laid beside Katie, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear.

“I love you.”

Sweet sentiments of affection don’t always require acknowledgement. She knew I loved her and I knew the same of her. It didn’t matter if she’d never remember what was said to her while she slept. In response to my adulation, she mumbled something incoherent. It sounded like she said “muffin man”. I wasn’t sure if she was hungry or having an affair with a baker. Either way, it would be another conversation during the ride home.

While checking out, I continued to hum The Mockingbird Song aloud. Stanley again looked at me with a puzzled curiosity, wanting to say something but hesitant.

“The woman in the room next to ours,” I explained. “She kept singing that song and now it’s stuck in my head.”

“What woman?” asked Stanley. “You two were the only ones here this weekend.”

“The woman and her baby.” I looked towards Katie and pleaded with her. “The one that was in the yard when we were on the balcony.”

“There was nobody out there,” she replied.

“Sure there was. She was wearing a white coat so it was hard to see her but she was there.”

“What exactly did she look like?” Stanley asked, his curiosity piqued.

While I described the woman and relayed the conversation from earlier that morning, Stanley’s face turned pale with fright. He grabbed for the wall and guided himself to the entrance of his apartment. After taking a few steps inside, his knees buckled. He fell hard onto a nearby chair. Without saying a word, he pointed to the wall where a collage of photos were displayed. Among them hung a framed snapshot that included generations of his family. Photographed in the rear yard, The Pineapple Inn filled the background. I pointed to a woman, dressed in a white parka, who stood cradling a baby in her arms.

Overtaken by emotion, tears rolled down Stanley’s cheeks as he explained, in a hoarse voice, “It can’t be. My wife she…she passed away last year. After…after our only grandson died suddenly. She used to sing that song to him all the time.”

Katie knelt beside him and rubbed his back as an offering of comfort. I fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and placed it on the table beside him. Uncertain what to say, I sung The Mockingbird Song aloud, hoping it settled any heaviness that remained in the hearts of those in the room.

The package room smelled like carton. Carton boxes and boxes on top of boxes. Not the ideal place to meet a lover. It was not like the Bridgerton gardens where Daphne met the Duke. My affair was possibly the complete opposite of that- it started and only developed in the constraints of a DHL package room. What was worse than the impregnating, artificial carton smell was the tape. It would get stuck in my hair or on other places. Not even the classic service closet. Classy.

The cold dark wine room that a waiter push me into had only two tables with two chairs each, each one equally as cold as the room. As I thought I had enough of this place I turn the door knob and surprise to see it locked. I started panicking banged on the door screaming for help and doing that every five minutes. It has been 30 minutes since I came to the restaurant and 15 minutes since I went to the restroom by myself, this is not how my ninth birthday was supposed to go. My parents said I could do big girl things now like going to the bathroom by myself. I did not foresee that waiter with scars on his palms roughly push me in this room.

It’s been an hour now and somehow it started getting even colder it was feeling like an icebox also didn’t help that was 9 PM on my Frozen theme wrist watch. I started tapping and yelling at the door every 15 minutes but I’m not sure if they could hear me, I wish someone would let me out soon as I was already terrified.

Two hours later I started getting very sleepy I wondered if no one would ever find me or if I would be just like all those stacks of beef in the meat room next door all frozen and preserved, it was even colder now but somehow I didn’t care now I just wanted to go to sleep. …….. …………….. ……………………. Somehow a fairy appeared in front of me She said my parents were never coming to get me so it would be best to go with her where I would have fun all day every day she looked very warm and comforting I said I would love to but I can’t abandon them my parents I mean she then said she’ll stay with me until then, I said sure…

                                             =========Next day===========

The air was warm and inviting in the hospital compared to my Near death experience in that icebox of a wine room. I was found Close to midnight with a sheet of ice all over me I was then taken to the hospital where I Was given a bed for the night due to the hypothermia that developed according to the doctor. According to dad the guy who put me in here was arrested and will soon be in prison he was known to be a type of person Who would eat people and that people are the best when young. As for as how long it took them to find me? Well the waiter had gave all sorts of excuses during the night to prevent them from looking further. First normal things such as I was still in the bathroom or I wandered off but then he had made up that I had wondered out of the restaurant, or that apparently I had a note to run away, and that I was already kidnapped by some strange man.(ironic isn’t it?) As soon as he started saying those things they had called the police and the waiter with no way to stop them tried running away but he didn’t get too far and got caught.(serves you right!!) Anyway I’m fine now and have no problems other than my parents are being super Duper over protective right now.

Once apona time there was a girl who lived with her brother and they live in an apartment but just not any apartment he rented the scariest one it was full of random doors and cabinets that led to nothing but there was one door that was locked and it needed a key but they had no idea where the key was until one day they found it under the brothers bed and they were trying to decide if they want to open it so they did and it led to………… a room full of nothing it was an empty room so they explored some more and they found another locked door so they started looking for a key and the sister found it and the door led to ……….. a room with a bed, couch and a night stand and it was full of action figures.

I wake up on my back, blinded by fluorescent lights, and with a debilitating headache. It takes every ounce of strength I have left to get off the ground. Everything around me is bright yellow. It’s almost nauseating how yellow it is. In front of me are two female cashiers with a wall separating them down the middle. The girl to the left is in a bright red uniform and the girl to the right is in a dark blue uniform. They stand behind their registers, staring at me, unblinking, with great big Cheshire grins. It’s very unsettling.

I stand there for a few minutes contemplating what to do. I’m assuming I’m in a restaurant but there are no menus. I decide to walk up to the cashier on the right. The one dressed in dark blue. As I walk up, the cashier on the left, dressed in bright red, throws up her hands, scoffs, lets out an angry yell, and stomps through a door, which probably leads to the kitchen.

“Hi! Welcome to Dark Blue Eatery!”

“Uh, hi. What’s her problem?”

“You didn’t pick her!”

“Why would that make her upset?”

“How would you feel if you were bright red? And someone didn’t pick you? Pretty darn upset I bet! Plus since you didn’t pick her, the manager is going to hurt her!” She’s still smiling that Cheshire grin.

“What do you mean, ‘hurt her’?”

“Don’t worry about it! No turning back now!” she chuckles at the last part. “What can I getcha?”

“Umm, I don’t know. I don’t see a menu anywhere.”

“No menus! Just whatever your stomach is rumblin’ for!”

“Oh. Okay, then could I please just get a grilled chicken sandwich?”

She stopped smiling. “No. If you wanted MEAT, then you should’ve gone to the other REGISTER. To the other CASHIER. Do these colors look like carnivore colors? Huh?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. I don’t even know where I am.”

“I told you. I already fucking told you. You’re at Dark Blue Eatery. D. B. E. You stupid, inconsiderate, piece of shit.”

“Ok, I’m just gonna be on my way now.” I turn and head for the exit. Except there is no exit. There are no doors. There aren’t even any windows. There’s only a single table and a single chair bolted to the bright yellow floor.

“Hey uh, how do I leave? I’m not very hungry anymore.”

“Leave? You haven’t eaten yet. Come, come up and order!” Her smile is back.

“If I order, can I leave?”

“I don’t know. Can you leave?” Her smile is gone again. What the fuck is going on?

“Uh, may I leave after I order?”

“Do I look like a fucking teacher to you? Or your fucking mom?”

“Ok fine. Fuck. Let me get a Caesar salad then.”

“Okay, great! One Caesar salad. That’ll be… let’s see carry the one… divide by four… Plus three…. Okay, your total is $159,900.”

“What?”

“Haha, just kidding! Please just have a seat at that table directly behind you, your food will be out shortly.”

I walk to the table and take a seat. My headache has miraculously subsided. I don’t know how, because that was one of the most painful encounters I’ve ever had.

Minutes pass by and still no Caesar salad. The minutes begin to turn into what feels like hours. Then I hear a large thud. I turn to my right and see a man lying on the ground. I try to get up and check on him but I’m stuck. I can’t get out of the chair.

“Hey! Hey, you! Wake up!”

The man’s eyes slowly blink open. He gets up and stares at the counter. Both women are back behind the registers. That’s when I realize the man is me.

I watch myself contemplate which cashier to choose. This time I go to the woman in bright red. This time the other girl stomps off. And as my other self begins making his order, the woman in red pulls out a gun and shoots him right in the head. ———————————————————————————

I jerk awake. Oh, thank god. It was just a dream.

I look around and I realize I’m still sitting at the table. I try to get up again but I can’t. I’m strapped to the chair. In front of me is my Caesar salad. The woman in dark blue is still behind the register.

“Enjoy your meal!” she calls out.

I take a bite and my tongue instantly catches fire. Why the fuck is a Caesar salad spicy?

“Why the hell is it spicy?”

“You didn’t say you didn’t want it spicy.”

“Caesar salads aren’t spicy!”

“Ours is.” She flips me off and storms into the kitchen.

“Hey! This is inedible! It’s way too damn spicy!”

The girl in bright red comes out from her side of the counter. She’s covered in what looks to be knife wounds.

“Oh my god. What happened?”

“You didn’t pick me. Anyway, if you wanna get out, you’re gonna have to eat that salad. Just hold your nose.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Shut up bitch, you got me stabbed, just hold your fuckin nose.”

I hold my nose and take a bite. It worked! I devour the whole salad in a minute.

“Wow thanks for helping me. Even though I didn’t pick you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.”

“Why’s that?” Suddenly my stomach erupts in agony.

“There’s a whole lotta poison in that salad. You’ve only got a few minutes before you’re dead.”

“Why would you do this?”

“Seriously? You’re asking why? Because you didn’t pick me. Look at all these stab wounds you jackass!”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve picked you. I didn’t know.”

“The outcome would’ve been the same either way. If it was me then you’d just be poisoned by her. It's kind of like the illusion of choice. We make you think there are multiple ways this could end but there are not. There’s only one. With you dying. And once you die you’ll wake up right over there where you did before. Because this is your hell.”

The words seep into my brain but none of it is making any sense. The world around me starts closing in. The lights are getting brighter and my headache is back. My stomach feels like it’s on fire and then I start to vomit blood. As I lay dying, I look up and see both cashiers staring at me with their Cheshire grins. ———————————————————————————

I wake up on my back, blinded by fluorescent lights, and with a debilitating headache.

The room was composed of various shades of green. The walls, for example, were a soothing shade of sage green. An arm chair stood in the corner, draped in a forest green velvet. Curtains the color of leaves on a lily plant framed the open window, billowing in the warm summer breeze.

A child sat on the pastel green linoleum, surveying the emerald parlor. She, herself, was dressed in a crisp, white sun dress—accentuating her golden brown skin. The child was the only thing in the room that was not some shade of green.

It made her stick out. She felt strange sitting alone in that parlor, dressed in white. She examined the pristine emerald velvet. Everything about the room seemed precise. Just as the last room she was in, except it was yellow.

The young child did not know why she had wandered into the colorful, perfect home. She wondered how the rooms could be in such excellent condition. Her mother had told her the house had been abandoned years ago. When her mother was just a girl, there had been an eccentric middle aged woman who lived here with her great grandmother.

The child’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. She wanted to see the forgotten home. However, now here, the child has realized that the green parlor was not forgotten at all. Someone or something had been looking after the house.

The young girl’s attention was pulled away from the velvet arm chair by a faint, almost indistinguishable noise. Yes! There it was again. The flutter of wings.

Her eyes surveyed the room until she spotted it—a small butterfly with delicate white wings. It had flown through the open window. The butterfly gracefully glided over to the child.

She held out her hand, half expecting the butterfly to disappear before her eyes. Instead, the butterfly landed on her finger and she realized it was not a butterfly at all!

“Hello, dear.” Despite being so small, the creatures voice was crystal clear.

“Hi.” The child breathes, her eyes sparkled with awe. “Are you a fairy?”

“I suppose you could say that.” The fairy said. “I came to see if you would join me for tea.”

“Tea?” The child asked. “I don’t think there’s a kettle here.”

“Just follow me, dear child.” The fairy suggested. With that, the fairy fluttered up and towards a mirror opposite of the window.

Enchanted, the child follows the fairy. She was surprised to see the fairy slip right through the glass as if it wasn’t there at all.

And so it was the child’s turn to approach the mirror. She cautiously extended her hand, pressing her fingers against the glass. She suddenly felt a cool breeze as her hand went through the glass. Then her arm and her shoulder. The rest of the child’s body followed.

She paused, observing her new surroundings. The mirror in the green parlor had led to a lush, ethereal forest. The flowers and the trees were vibrant and they seemed about fifty times larger than normal. That is, until, the child realized that the forest was not big—no, she was tiny. Just like fairy who had brought her here.

“Honey?” The fairy’s voice inquired.

The child turned her head in the direction of the sound and saw a quaint cottage made out of a mushroom. Outside, sat a table crafted from small sticks and grass.

“Honey would be lovely.”

Funny how some place we thought we’d never step into can become a part of our everyday lives.

“Miss Gates! What a lovely surprise.”

Madame Thao says things like this so often that I’m pretty sure she plays into the irony. Someone like her, not expecting a guest? That’s the sort of thing skeptics joke about. She could very well be winking with a smile, but a heavy curtain blocks the doorway.

I push it aside and step through, ducking under the hanging beads that tripped me up my first time here. The lobby’s bubbling fountain muffles behind me.

“Yes, me again,” I say, and slide my hand into my coat pocket, just to check what I need is there.

This is all it should take.

The incense candles smell differently than what I’ve gotten used to - not floral. Vanilla? That seems a bit basic for this type of shop, but I can’t complain. Most scents are better than the sewage the road outside always seems to stink of, a wildly different world than inside here.

Madame sits at her chair like royalty would at a throne, head high, smiling gently like she’s holding back a joke only she would get. On most people, this type of posture would look forced, but Madame looks natural, as if she only ever waits for customers.

She stares into my eyes, calm but unflinching. Her only movement is her chest moving in and out, slowly.

I smile awkwardly and take a seat.

The cushioned chair is so comfortable it turns right back around into uncomfortable territory, like I’m not supposed to be sitting on anything this nice in my old jeans.

I put my feet down firmly and clear my throat. I’ve played this game with Madame before. I have to speak first, and I have to make my intentions clear.

“I want you to know that the tea leaves have helped,” I tell her, just as I practiced in the mirror before taking the bus here. “However, I think I need more for this to work properly. Something stronger.”

She cocks her head to the side so slightly and her eyes gleamed so quickly that I might’ve imagined it, like staring at a mirror in candlelight distorts your face until you blink it away.

“I think that Ame-“ Her jaw tensed. I know I didn’t imagine that. I cough and glance away, then look back. “I think that she gave this to me.”

My fingers sweat inside my coat pocket. I barely keep my face neutral as I pull out the tarot card she gave me last time, some ink stained on my skin. I was already going to wash my hands after being in this place, but now at least I can see what I need to wash off.

I carefully place the card onto the centre of the satin-draped table, like Madame has in other sessions, but I never take my eyes off of her.

Behind her, the candlelight brightens in a flicker.

I jump.

I feel Madame’s hand around my wrist before I see her move.

“Miss Gates…” she murmurs, and turns my hand to face upwards.

I try to think of something to say but my mouth only moves silently. I don’t think she’d let go even if I stood out of the chair and tried to leave.

“Have you noticed…” Her other pointer fingers traces down my palm, following an inky trail, across what she once called the life line. “…that she’s trying to talk through your hands?”

I glance at the card, covered in Amelie’s handwriting, lying forgotten. “But- what-what about-“

“Not the card.”

She’s never raised her voice around me, and this is no exception. Yet, it booms in an otherwise silent shop. Did the fountain in the lobby stop bubbling?

When she finally looks up at me, it sends a shiver through my chest, grabbing around my heart. Her eyes are normally a dark brown, thoughtful and deep, but now, they glow a bright, electric blue.

“I can’t save her,” she says, and her voice crackles in my ears, not like static - like the shock of electricity. “But…”

She lets go of me, and I instinctively hold my wrist in my other hand. I go to grab the tarot card back only to find an empty table. I stand up, chair falling backwards.

Madame Thao breathes in deeply, and the little light around us dims even more.

“I can save you.”

It took a lot of effort to push open the heavy metal door that stood in my way of success. There were thumps on the steps as I slowly dragged my feet down the stairs. I didn’t know this room was here or what it was, though I knew there was a secret room somewhere. Honestly, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s down here. I’m basically walking into the unknown. Luckily I brought my shovel with me incase anything goes wrong.

I finally get down to the bottom of the steps and I finally see the room I struggled so much to find. Wait. There’s nothing in here? It’s just a plain old room, walls made from old wood, the floors a cement that obviously hasn’t been stepped on in ages. Is that really all there is?

A voice in my mind says “look closer,” so I do. I run my hand along the brown walls, dust and dirt building up on my fingers. click. Found it.

The hatch in the corner of the room opened and revealed a small hole, perfectly sized for a body. Now that I look closer, there is an outline of a body in that hole. The room smells terrible and the dirt down here isn’t helping.

My face shows confusion because I am confused. Why is this stuff down here? Inside the hole I reached down and found some rope and tape. Who needs this room and why? Does someone plan on doing something bad? Of course, I already know the answer to that question. I bet my dad who followed me down here and thinks I didn’t notice also knows. What a handy shovel this is.

This door will never be opened again and I’ll make sure of it. Of course, the spot was perfectly cut for my dad. I mean, I did make it. I wonder how long it took him to see through my act.