Whistling the tune stuck in my mind, I jauntily sway down the stairs, ignoring the ginormous spiderwebs which are dangling along the walls.

After months of sleeping under bridges and in public buildings, I can finally enjoy living in a home all for myself. How I was that lucky? An old man used to talk to me as his source of happiness (not to be conceited, but my jokes made him laugh!!), and for some reason his testament attributed his house solely to me. Well, he didn’t have any family, but it’s still an enormous act, especially for someone like me.

The door of the basement I was never in before creaks as I open it.

I stop the whistling. Even though I spent years with getting tough to survive alone, I am still scared of darkness. Therefore, I switch on the massive torch I had brought with me. On the streets it also used to be my only weapon, my best friend against everything evil. Not only once did it save me!

My eyes wander around the dark room. Furniture, lots of boxes, lots of spiderwebs again, and… My gaze falls onto something glittery. A book is laying in the middle of the floor, the cover is showing a pink elf and a… unicorn? I walk towards it and pick it up from the ground. Why would a book like this lay around here? The Lettering says ‘diary’. For a second I want to put it away, I mean, diaries are a very private matter, but then my curiosity wins.

‘11/11/2011: Dear Diary. Today is my birthday. Dad gave me this book, he said I write good. He called me his princess. I am 8 years now. Your Ellie.

20/11/2011: I hate myself, i dont want to live.’ The last entry is followed by the drawing of a skull.

I audibly gasp, caused by my accidentally held breath. The following pages are only worse. The little girl is talking about suicide and also… abuse. Her innocent descriptions of something evil her dad has done to her are paired with drawings. I turn and turn the pages, unable to stop reading about cruelties. As I reach the next page, my shock turns into fear. Something dark, probably red, is splattered over drawings of bodys and skulls. Something red, could it be… blood? My heartbeat fastens, I was by far not ready for this found. The book is shaking in my weak hands. What happened here? Was the friendly grandpa an… abuser? Even worse, a murderer?

The book hits the ground, I pick up my torch and run. Run, as fast as I can. The door shuts loudly behind me and the spiderwebs are fluttering as I hurry up the stairs. In the kitchen I slump on the chair, running my still trembling hand through my hair. “Holy…” I murmur in disbelieve.

My hand finds my phone, another gift of the old man. Back then I was so grateful, but what was the reason for his kindness? Why did he want me to live in a house in which basement a diary shows his brutalities? Was it even his? Or did he want me to figure out who ‘dad’ was? Questions over questions are overwhelming my mind.

A vibration in my hand brings me back to reality. My phone is welcoming a new notification. My heart races again, suspecting a scary message on top of all of these horror-movie-worthy events. A relieved sigh leaves my mouth. The message is from a friend who is asking me out on an ice cream date. I really need to clear my head now. A quiet voice in the back of my head suddenly whispers: ‘You should go to the police’ For fucks sake, the voice is probably right. Should I tell my friend that I don’t have time? Or should I enjoy the ice cream and shut my worries out for a while?

The chair is comfortable, I should just stay here!

I get up and grab my jacket. Time to think about it is what I need. I text my friend that we should meet up right now and leave the house.

My friend and I have been talking for a while, suddenly: “Hey have you heard of it? The police is searching for evidence of murder on a little girl who lived in yout area a bit ago.” My jaw drops slightly open in shock, my eyes widen. “Are you okay?” My friend asks. Am I okay? Oh my- “Sorry.. sorry, I have to go. I’ll text you. Don’t worry. Oh and I’ll pay you back for the ice cream!” I hastily get off my chair. I have to call the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“The case with the little girl… in the house I inherited I found a diary… of a girl. The diary had pages splattered with blood.”

After answering dozens of questions and handing the diary to the police, I am back at home. Did a murderer give it to me?

My questions shall be answered in not too long time.

4 weeks later

“The case is closed. We found the murderer.”

I fidget with my jacket. I didn’t know the girl but the case is so terrifying, and considering that the kind man is a suspect… I don’t want to live in the house of a murderer.

In the past weeks, I eschewed the basement and I tried to avoid diving too deep into the houses secrets aka drawers. I just used it as a rented place where I could eat and sleep, nothing more.

“Thomas Meyers, the previous owner, had some serious drug problems. He used to feel super guilty afterwards, but when he was high… signs are showing he is the murderer, but he is dead anyways now, so…”

I shut the phone down.

I am going to sell this house.

It was too big for me anyways.