By: Carla Sierra Arzuffi
Chapter two: Our little secret
I dont know how long I stood there, completely frozen, I was in shock, but must of all I was trying to figure our what old Tom was talking about. In a weird way, the letter made sense to me, I was destined to know more, that something, but I wasn't sure what that was. I knew there was something hidden in the letter, something that only I could understand, my mind was racing trying to swallow all the information. But most of all I was scared. I was scared for me: old Tom said that "they" were going to find me. I was scared of knowing the truth: because once you know something there is no turning back. And last but not least I was scared for my dear old friend: Where did he go? Why? Had something bad happened to him? Was I ever going to see him again?
I kept reading the same line over and over again "The answers can be find in the most obvious of places", and then it suddenly hit me, of course, his books. The first thing I did was I took the box of matches that was placed at his mantelpiece and I burned the letter. His words were quickly consumed by the orange and yellow fire. When I was done destroying the evidence I approached his bookshelf, I don't know how, but I knew the answers he was talking about were to be found in the books that he loved so much, that I loved so much.
My eyes scanned the hundreds of books, a title popped out, "The fair of the deceased" again I don't know how, but I knew that was the book.
When I was 15 old Tom had let me borrow this book, he told me it was one of his favorites, and it quickly became one of mine. What was so amazing about this book was not only the fantasy and unexplainable things that happened in the story, but the characters, so unusual, so unhappy, and to me: so real.
We didn't discussed this particular book, like we used to do with the other books he had lend me, but I remember his face when I returned it to him 3 days later after I had borrowed it, I placed it into his hands and said "I loved it, so much, too much", he smirked at me, and winked. And that was that, we never talked about it, even though I always wanted, and it was like it was our little secret, this book of unhappy deceased people unable to run away from a fair, where they where trapped, forever.
I took the book from the shelf and I carefully opened it. The book was the same, and at the same time, it wasn't. Something was different, at first I could not tell what it was, but then I noticed. It was not the book that had changed, but me, I could now notice the most obvious and special thing in the book.
"The fair of the deceased" by Thomas Cavagthar.
The book was written by my friend, old Tom.
To be continued.....
Im talking advantage of the very appreciated free days that Im having from work to return to my writing habits, hope you like it,