𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

     Whoever said moving into a new house is easy sure didn’t love their old house or is running away from a dreadful past. Nothing hurt me more than telling my two exuberant boys Daddy had bought a new house, and we sadly had to move out of the old one. I remember their faces because I’m used to seeing them after announcing we’ve got to move out.

     “Not again, Mommy,” Kevin, the youngest of my sons had whined, his plump face puckering. I stared into the pale blue eyes he inherited from his Daddy and knew quickly that the idea of a new home didn’t sit well with him. He’d folded his arms across his small chest, raised his nose so high that I had seen his nostrils, and pursed his lips.

     “I can’t leave my friends behind. Eli and I have a baby bird in his house we’re nursing,” he’d said, and that was where it had struck me hard. My children wanted something permanent and weren’t used to our transient stay.

     I crouched over him and summoned one of my sweetest voices I hadn’t used for a while. I use it when I want to cajole them, which worked like magic on Kevin but not on Gilbert.

     Ruffling his massive thin hair which again he got from his father, I said, “I know, Kevin. It’s not easy. I also have to leave my friends behind, and it’s very difficult I want to cry, but we have to do this. Our old house isn’t ours anymore.”

     I knew it was another blatant lie since we don’t plan to stay here forever because of the house’s history. But if I grow to love the place, I might revert.

     I had pushed closer to him, caressing his plump cheeks. “We can always pay Eli a visit and guess what?”

     He was pissed, so he’d grumbled, “I don’t wanna guess, Mommy.”

     I had said almost in whispers, my eyes beaming, “There’s a beautiful garden where you can play with flowers and do your science thing.”

     His eyes widened. “Really?”

     “Yes!”

     “That’s cool. I want to see pictures from Daddy’s laptop. I’ll be right back, Mommy. I love you. You’re the best!” He kissed my cheek and dashed out of the room.

     Now it was Gilbert’s turn. From the look on his face, I knew he wasn’t going to buy my story. I’ve never been able to cajole Gilbert like his father, and I think it’s high time I made him understand that I’m in charge.

     I hadn’t opened my mouth when he said flat out, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Mommy. I want to stay here.” He had given me the look of a rebel.

     “Fine then,” I had said, “but you’re going to stay with Uncle Mark.”

     His face suddenly went pale, and I couldn’t hide the excitement from taunting him.

     “Uncle Mark? No way, Mommy! I’m not staying with that nerd!”

     “Language, Gilbert,” I had chided. “Then you’re coming with us.”

     He still had a frown on his face, and I was least worried.

     After a while, he’d said, pouting, “Fine.”

     The thought trails away, and I put the last batch of clothes into the wardrobe standing tall across the room. I use the bathroom and come out minutes later, dabbing my face with a towel. Sighing, I walk toward the window and look yearningly out into the quiet neighborhood. Dan is right about the environment. It’s so serene and comforting.

      I glance up. A man comes out of the house through the backdoor with a dustbin. It’s Monday morning, so I’m surprised to see him in the house. He halts and steers the dustbin to the far end of the backyard. As he turns back to the house, our eyes meet, and I freeze. He just stands there, looking at our house.

     Oh dear, he’s staring at me. I wish I knew what he’s thinking right now. I don’t want him to think that their new neighbor is invading their privacy standing in her room and watching them. What should I do?

     My lips quiver, and I feel a chill down my spine. I take in a deep breath and wave at him. That’s what my instincts told me to do. Wave. On second thought, I realize it’s the logical thing to do after being caught red-handed for spying. I feel so embarrassed as I watch him wave back.

     I smile out of reflex and later, I wonder why I smiled. He smiles back, then the back door creaks open. A slender woman with long dark hair carrying a toddler in her arms joins him. She’s about to talk to him when she notices me. This time my heart hammers, and I want to do the most childish thing I haven’t done in ages. Pee on myself.

     God, why did I come and stand here? I feel like a fish left on a desolate land trying to find my way back home. I widen my smile as both of them stare at me. It’s the most awkward moment in my adult life. I’ve never felt so embarrassed before.

     I wave at them again, and the woman waves back at me. I quickly backstep into the room and shut the windows, cutting the rays of light into the room. I exhale sharply, processing what just happened. That’s when I know it’s not wise to stand by the window and watch the view outside in a house you just moved in.

     I should properly introduce myself to them. I’ve been thinking of a housewarming, but I haven’t acted upon it. I don’t want to rush things. I thought they’d make the move, but they haven’t, which leaves me no choice but to make the bold move.

     I will discuss it with Dan when he returns. He’s gone to Gilbert and Kevin’s new school. We had applied for admission earlier before we moved in today. We didn’t want to settle in first before we went through the laborious task of searching for a new school. I stayed behind and tidied up before the boys arrived at their humble abode.

     I near the last paper box of our old items we don’t use anymore. I don’t know what to do with them yet, so I’ll be keeping them in the basement. Later, I’ll decide on their fate. I carry the box and that’s when I wish Dan was here. It’s quite heavy and if don’t apply a lot of strength, I can’t carry it to its destination.

     Summoning all my manpower, I pick up the box, then walk out of the room, climbing down the stairs. It’s only when I’m downstairs that I begin to sense the quietness of the house. My footsteps resonate in the background so loud that I think the house is vacant. The quietness is maddening and can drive a boisterous person mad. I’m used to extreme quietness, so I’m not bothered.

     I pass by the living room to the far end of the house, with Dan’s lectures during our little tour of the house reverberating. When I reach the door to the basement, I kick it forward. It slides open with a creak. Girding myself to climb another staircase, I sigh and move my right leg, placing it on the first stairstep. It squeaks loudly when I add the left leg, echoing around the room. I take another step, then another, till I reach the last stairstep. The darkness immediately blinds me.

     I place the box on the floor and grope the walls. Once I locate the switch, I flip it on. There’s a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It comes on, emitting dim light. I see a bit, and I dart my eyes around the place. It gives me an eerie aura. The surrounding air is musty, and it has the heavy smell of decaying woods and mildew. The floor is covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. Wobbly chairs and tables fill a section of the basement, covered halfway with white sheets.

     Water drips. I can’t locate the source, but I’m sure it’s coming from a leaked pipe. From the looks of the basement, I doubt the occupants used this place often. Suddenly the light goes off. I gasp.

     What was that?

     I start looking for my way out. Just then I hear a scuttling sound, like the movement of a creature, and I stand frozen on the hardwood floor. I think about the dead woman. Could this be her handiwork? God, no! Why would I even think that? I don’t know why I’d want to scare myself in this dark basement.

     I skitter into the room, trying to locate the switch again. Then my phone chimes. Crap! I brought my phone down here, and I’m busily searching for the switch in this dark. As I pull it out from my back pocket, the bulb flickers, and then finally stabilizes, emitting dim light again. I turn on the light from my phone and cast it around the room. Immediately a large mouse runs past me, and I almost jump out of my skin, reminding me of how much I hate them. It scurries into a corner.

     Using the light from my phone, I show myself out of the basement, but something lying on the half-covered table catches my eye. Wondering what it is, I near the abandoned furniture and pull back the sheets to reveal a book. A closer look shows it’s a diary. It belongs to Adrienne Styles because her name is scrawled across the cover.

     So the dead woman was called Adrienne Styles, and she kept a diary. This is the part where I should have said, ‘It’s none of my business,’ and walked away. But I don’t. Instead, I pick it up and wipe off the cobwebs that have tangled it with the sheet.

     I look at the diary, unsure of what to do. My mind is telling me to put it back and get the hell out of the creepy basement. On the other hand, my heart wants to know what’s inside the diary of a dead woman. Somehow, Adrienne’s dairy has dispelled my fear of the eerie basement.

     They say curiosity killed the cat. I’ve never understood that saying literally. But there’s only one way to find out if this popular proverb is true. I take the diary with me to the kitchen, and I do what most people will chide me for. Invade Adrienne’s privacy.