by E. C., 12
Her breath was so quiet you could barely hear it. My friend and I were laying side-by-side on the grass by the old abandoned mill. The mill had been kept by the old Wilcot family for generations. But about seven years ago, the family disappeared. Some believed the Wilcots were never really there; others think they committed a crime so terrible they made new identities and never showed their faces. But I believe someone committed a crime against them, one so terrible you could be locked up and never see the light again. I think they were killed.
My friend, Sarah, liked to come here a lot with me. I could tell whenever she was here she was always thinking really hard on something, something important. Sarah had curly strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes. She always looked kind of sad like she just heard really distressing news. When she wasn’t at the old Wilcot mill, she was reading or drawing.
Sarah turned and looked at me, and I back at her.
“We should probably go,” I said. “I don’t want to stay too late.”
“You’re right, as always,” she still sounded as if she was thinking.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“No, I have to head home. Sorry.”
We continued to walk to my house in silence. We were about halfway there when she stopped. I turned around to look at her and asked, “Why are you stopping?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said.
TO BE CONTINUED …
Mount Horeb, Wisconsin
Bridge Ink 