Julian
Two years ago …
Dust filled Julian Harrow’s nose as he went deeper into Wingate’s attic. The attic was filled with Harrow history. An old tattered suitcase to his left was the one his great-grandmother had brought when she immigrated to this country from England. The green shaded banker’s lamp to his right had been on his grandfather’s desk at Harvard University for over fifty years.
Then there were the countless treasures from his adventurer parents’ travelers from all over the world. The masks, talismans and carvings lined the attic’s walls. But none of these things were related to the work his parents had been doing just before they died. None of it was connected to the “great discovery” that they were going to make public before their lives had been taken.
Julian was up here, because of a faint memory. The week of his parents’ deaths, he’d found the stairs to the attic lowered. He’d crept up them to the very top. His heart had slammed against his chest as a figure had emerged from the darkness, but it had only been his mother. She’d jumped in surprise just like he had, but then smiled and shook her head.
“What are you doing up here, Julian? It’s a beautiful day. We should go outside. Come on,,” she’d said and taken his hand, leading him out of the attic’s darkness and into the light.
I should have asked her what she was doing up here. Now, I hope there’s something to discover.
Flashlight in hand, he moved further into the gloom from where he’d seen her emerge fourteen years earlier. He didn’t look at the boxes or old furniture. Instead, he shone his light on the floor, walls and ceiling. Perhaps she’d secreted something away under a false floorboard or wall covering that he simply hadn’t found.
And that the thieves didn’t find either.
He waved away cobwebs as he walked, scanning the area inch by inch, until he reached the very end of the attic. The familiar pang of bitter defeat flitted through him, but then … then he saw it. Or rather heard it. Under his right foot, one of the floorboards squeaked and shifted. Perhaps it had loosened over the years because of the elements or maybe, just maybe, his mother had loosened it to stash something underneath.
He dropped down to his knees and used his fingernails to grip the edge of the loose board. It came up easily. Shaking, he aimed the flashlight into the uncovered cubby. It was filled with journals, ones that he had seen his parents write in countless times about their journeys. He reached in and plucked one out. It fell open almost as if he was meant to see this particular page first.
In his mother’s careful hand, she had written, “Vampires are real. We’ve discovered one of their cities. But I fear that they know we’ve found them, too.”
Julian
Two years ago …
Dust filled Julian Harrow’s nose as he went deeper into Wingate’s attic. The attic was filled with Harrow history. An old tattered suitcase to his left was the one his great-grandmother had brought when she immigrated to this country from England. The green shaded banker’s lamp to his right had been on his grandfather’s desk at Harvard University for over fifty years.
Then there were the countless treasures from his adventurer parents’ travelers from all over the world. The masks, talismans and carvings lined the attic’s walls. But none of these things were related to the work his parents had been doing just before they died. None of it was connected to the “great discovery” that they were going to make public before their lives had been taken.
Julian was up here, because of a faint memory. The week of his parents’ deaths, he’d found the stairs to the attic lowered. He’d crept up them to the very top. His heart had slammed against his chest as a figure had emerged from the darkness, but it had only been his mother. She’d jumped in surprise just like he had, but then smiled and shook her head.
“What are you doing up here, Julian? It’s a beautiful day. We should go outside. Come on,,” she’d said and taken his hand, leading him out of the attic’s darkness and into the light.
I should have asked her what she was doing up here. Now, I hope there’s something to discover.
Flashlight in hand, he moved further into the gloom from where he’d seen her emerge fourteen years earlier. He didn’t look at the boxes or old furniture. Instead, he shone his light on the floor, walls and ceiling. Perhaps she’d secreted something away under a false floorboard or wall covering that he simply hadn’t found.
And that the thieves didn’t find either.
He waved away cobwebs as he walked, scanning the area inch by inch, until he reached the very end of the attic. The familiar pang of bitter defeat flitted through him, but then … then he saw it. Or rather heard it. Under his right foot, one of the floorboards squeaked and shifted. Perhaps it had loosened over the years because of the elements or maybe, just maybe, his mother had loosened it to stash something underneath.
He dropped down to his knees and used his fingernails to grip the edge of the loose board. It came up easily. Shaking, he aimed the flashlight into the uncovered cubby. It was filled with journals, ones that he had seen his parents write in countless times about their journeys. He reached in and plucked one out. It fell open almost as if he was meant to see this particular page first.
In his mother’s careful hand, she had written, “Vampires are real. We’ve discovered one of their cities. But I fear that they know we’ve found them, too.”