A blank slate. I was running through an endless fog, desperately trying to find my way back. Trying to remember. My brain pushed hard against my skull, ready to burst. What was it? What was I trying to remember? I thought it best to start with my name, rather than why my body wandered to this abandoned house.

I traced my fingertips slowly across the dining table, picking up layers of dust that blanketed the surface. The room was in ruins, yet I felt a comforting sense of warmth. It wasn’t a dining room meant for show. It was used. It was loved. I imagined the family that once lived here had shared many pleasant meals together. I wondered- …hoped, this happy family included me.

The stairs creaked the loudest as I climbed up to the second floor. The window at the end of the corridor was shattered, and a cold breeze blew through the heavy curtains. I folded my arms, fearful of what I’d discover on this floor. It was strange. Something was telling me to go back. To leave this place. I couldn’t. This was my only lead. I needed to know who I was, and maybe find some documents that could get me an ID card.

There were two doors by the broken window. One was shut tight, but the other was cracked a bit. I was hesitant at first, but with a sweaty palm I pushed the squeaky door open. The room was split in half, clearly shared between a teenager and a child. The room was in complete shambles, but I’d found myself drawn to the stains on the floor. I had no idea what they were, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. Why? Why did I feel paralyzed? What was the sound echoing through my ears?

Boots? Slow, heavy steps. Boom. Boom. Boom, up the stairs. I could feel their presence right outside the door. Their hand twisted the knob right before a woman sternly said, “what are you doing here?! Get out!”

“I came for my girls. Did you really think you could keep me away from them?” His tone was aggressive.

“They’re asleep, and they don’t want to see you. Not after what you’ve done.”

That’s where it ended. Where the world fell silent once again. Was that…a memory? My hands were trembling as I stepped even further into the room, approaching the fallen desk. Makeup and sheets of paper were scattered across the floor. Most of the pages were blank, while others were drawn on. I’d assumed the girls who lived here were artists. One who had years of practice but still a long way to go, and the other was in a very early stage. My face pulled back into a smile as I admired the drawings. I couldn’t help but dream of being so talented.

I’d rested the drawings back onto the floor as a little pink book caught my attention. It was smothered in stickers, and cute sharpie doodles of hearts, flowers, and various swirls. The word “diary” was coated in what felt like glitter. Like everything else, it was smothered in dust. I’d searched for a name, peeling off the stickers that may have been hiding it. Nothing. The book was locked tight, and it wasn’t one of those cheap diaries that you could open easily without the key. I didn’t want to destroy the diary. My fear urged me to leave the house, but I had a greater desire to find out what was written in this book.

I raised the desk, letting it lean against the wall, and then began my search for this key. I’d found one, but it was too big for the diary. Safe inside a small jewelry box, the key was spotless. I tucked it into my coat pocket…then the front door opened….