Over the next month Jennifer became more accustom to her new home, well as best one can with considering the circumstances. She did as she was told and played along with being the man's son. He gave her more stories, each one creepier then the next, and she wondered if he was trying to tell her something. She told him that she liked his stories; for fear that he might react badly if she told the truth. Each story was making her feel even more ill at ease and wanting nothing more then to escape this nightmare of a place. Every time she told the man she liked the story he would go off happily to write another story for her. He spent a lot of time in his study and allowed her to go about her chores undisturbed. It appeared that as long as she continued along with his game she was refrained from being struck like that first night. Dread still boiled away inside of her little heart every time she saw that gun or those mounds of dirt in the back. She did not wish to end up like the real Joshua so kept to her chores in hopes that Greg would not be upset and "grind her up" as he promised in his poem. Before long summer started to turn into autumn as the cool north wind began to blow in, making her room ever so much colder with ever passing day. Her rose had quickly died, but she refused to take it from her room and allowed the flower to dry up in the glass where it sat. The petals turned black and fell to the desk one after another, but still she refused to remove it. She wished she could nurse the flower back to life, but felt it was in the same state as her own withering feelings of hope. She watched the rose in the middle of the night as she curled up with the thin blankets wrapped around herself, wishing to herself for something to free her from this place. During her chores she came across a room that was completely empty aside from a few boxes. Each box was marked with large letters spelling out the name "JOSHUA" and she reflected on if this used to be the boy's room. There was no sign of furniture or anything else for that matter, other then the boxes. She considered peeking inside and reconsidered, quickly leaving the room and her curiosity behind her, allowing the dust bunnies to keep their accommodations for the time being. The door next to this one was even more of a curiosity then the first. This one was boarded shut with many planks of wood, as if someone were trying to keep something locked behind the walls. She stared at the door for a time and suddenly realized that she had not seen the room the man slept within. He always made sure to lock Jennifer inside of her room before going off to bed himself, so this was the first time she actualized that he had no bedroom. She had searched the entire house by now and had counted only two bedrooms; if the room behind the boarded up door was just that; there was also the study, the kitchen, washroom and living room. Other then that she did not recall seeing another bed amongst the furniture. The living room, which took up the centre of the house, with north and south doors that opened up onto the "C" shaped hall, was small. There was a single couch the sat in the middle of the room with a long coffee table before it. A large fireplace took up the far wall and Jennifer wanted nothing more then to sit before the fire with a cup of warm coca in her hands. The first day she had entered this room she discovered loose newspapers were scattered about the room. It was such a cluttered mess that it made it hard to see the very floor beneath her feet. As she picked up some newspapers, folding them nicely and placing them upon the coffee table, she puzzled over where the man would sleep. If he used the couch it must have been rather uncomfortable. A few springs broke through what she supposed used to be velvet upholstery, upholstery that had now faded to a point that no longer resembled anything like velvet. She was not even sure that the man had any clothes other then the ones he wore. She thought this would be preposterous and laughed at the thought, grabbing another paper from the ground. Her laughter was cut short when she noticed one of the pages of newspaper and the article written upon it. "Luxury Airship Missing!" It read in bold lettering across the front page, "England's largest luxury airship, which just set out on its virgin flight - a flight celebrated across the country with great fanfare - was reported today to have gone off course and is currently missing. It is speculated that the vessel diverted from its course to avoid a low-pressure system approaching from the south, but its whereabouts are still unknown. Due to the heavy thunder and rain that have blanketed the area since yesterday, the search for the airship has faced many difficulties." The date on the page, June 23rd 1929, verified to her that it was indeed the same airship that she escaped not that long ago. Her hand had only just healed and seeing the newspaper made it tingle ever so slightly. She trembled at the sight of the picture above the article. It was a shot of the airship taking off and many people throwing confetti into the air. Who would have thought that only a month after that day she would end up a captive in a strange house with a man who insisted she was a boy. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and knelt to continue collecting the papers, trying to get her mind off the past. Then yet another headline caught her attention, "Another Unexplained Disappearance." The title screamed out from its page. Under the headline was a pair of photos of two young kids, one of a girl and one of a boy. Both were about her age and looked very much alike. She quickly scanned the article and could feel her blood freeze in her veins. "There has been another mysterious disappearance of a child recently. Following missing children reports on the 7th and 14th, police are now investigating this case as both a possible kidnapping and missing person. Local residents are advised not to allow children outside unsupervised and to take caution around any suspicious individuals." Her mind turned yet again to the two mounds outside and she felt a shutter wash over her. Her eyes spotted the date of the paper, June 21st 1929, only days before the airship crash. Could she really be right about those masses out back? Did he really kill two kids in the month before she met him? This thought did not bode well in the girl's mind. In the past weeks she had convinced herself that no children were buried in the back yard and now, faced with this newspaper, she had to face the reality that this man could, and might, kill her at any given moment. ***** To be Continued . . .
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