Young Writers Society

England, Camden

Friday, April 21st, 1945.

8:34 p.m.

My mouth formed the shape of a circle. My knees began to feel weak, and my shoulders shivered at the sight of her. My eyes pleaded to my father for an explantion.

My father hadn't brought up any of this nanny/guide nonsense for almost a week, and I hoped he forgot about it. But apparently no. He was just so dead set!

"You may call me, Ophelia. What shall I call you? Any special preferences?" she asked. She spoke as if she was speaking to an infant.

My lips formed a fake grin as to mock her, "Whatever feels fitting, Oph-el-ia! I can't possibly imagine why you wouldn't already know what I like to be called? Hasn't my daddy told you yet in one of your little super-secret-late-night chit chats?"

My dad reprimanded me with his eyes, and clutched his hands. I tilted my head to the side and poked out my bottom lip, then I batted my eyelashes and flashed my brightest smile. I thought maybe my attitude would scare her away, however instead she came closer.

" Of course. But as I mentioned, you must have some sort of preference.." she beamed.

I sighed. "Imogene. You may call me that."

I already had prejudiced towards this lady for a number of reasons. My father decided upon hiring her, even though he had only discussed it with me briefly; and when he did I so clearly disliked the idea. Plus, she was disrupting my time reading the diary and trying to find explanations from my mum.

"I understand you being skeptical of me at first, Imogene. This is a very hard time for you, but it's alright. I've had loads of dealing with children in your situation."she said.

"She has very much experience." my father confirmed. He gesured for both of us to sit on the coach. Ophelia gracefully fell into the leather coach and placed her luggage beside her feet. I sat at the end of the coach, and she slowly edged closer to me.

The couch in our living room was velvet, in contrast to the rest of the red room. We had very many shelves, which contained boxes of cigars. I spotted a spider dangling in a corner across the room, lucky him. I bet he doesn't have to worry constantly about being disturbed. As Ophelia and my father babbled about countless things, I took a resting stop. A resting stop, is when I'd simply shut my eyes and breathe deeply. I'd completely stop thinking, and fall somewhere between consciousness and unconscious, then I'd fantasize about being somewhere happy. I first learned this technique when I was ten. I'd found a pet frog by the pond in the park, and my father thought it uncouth that I'd keep such a reptile, so he took him away. I was upset of course, and I couldn't deal with all frustration I had against father. So I took a resting stop, and I imagined myself all grown up, where my father could no longer restrict me. When I took resting stops, all the sadness was temporarily forgotten. It became my own form of escapism. And at this time, I didn't to be at home meeting Ophelia.

My father sped out the room, and I had an overwhelming desire to catapult him with the penny laying on the ground. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

She stared deep into my eyes, causing me to almost wince. I suppose she was pretty, with her heart shaped lips and high cheek bones. She also wore a dress that seemed to be made with viscose and rayon fabric; her shoes were cork soled.

A very long wave of silence flooded over us. My eyes gazed off into the distance trying best to not lock eyes with her. I maintained staring at a spider in the corner of our living room, and I could feel Ophelia's breathing on my neck.

"Do you want me to elaborate myself?" she asked.

I whispered to the ground, "No, please..."

""Do you want to elaborate yourself? And do you undersand why your father hired me?" she said. I haven't even been with her for a very long time, and so far she is unrelenting. Who wouldn't already see that I clearly don't Iike her. Oh the ignorance...

I figured she might leave me alone if I spoke a little. "I need a maternal guide in my life. I guess that's it."

And maybe he did have a point. Maybe Miss Ophelia deserves a chance?

"Exactly. You can always rely on me for questions about new things you may be experiencing."

Mostly girls puberty wasn't considered a big deal. We just never talked about it, and most had very little understanding on what was going on inside their bodies.

"Alright." I bit my lip.

"I'm going to ask you some questions about your life, would you like me to do that?" I nodded my head because I knew she would no matter what my answer was. "How many friends do you have?"

"Are you a therapist or a guide?" I pressed my lips together.

"I'm whatever you prefer, Imogene." she challenged.

"I have loads, but my great ones are Arabella and Clementime."

"Do you always get along with them?" she rubbed her chin.

"Mostly." I smirked.

I showed her a tour of the house. She quietly scampered behind me, although she didn't seem surprised. In fact, she walked around comfortably as if this were already her home.

"It's just as I remember it..." she mumbled.

"What do you mean by that?" I questioned bitterly.

"Oh, nothing.... it's just that I already pictured your house in my head.." Miss Ophelia trailed. Nice cover-up, she was clearly being dishonest.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Positive!" she quickened.

I lead her into the kitchen, and displayed all our cupboards. I pointed to the telephone by the stove, "You can use it for emergencies, but you better think twice before making a call out of town. And for the bathrooms, they are located upstairs and there are three. Showers should only be taken once a week."

Little did I know Miss Ophelia was already in the living room admiring my mother's obituary picture on the table. I placed it in a picture frame, at least there would be one picture of my mother in this photo-less house. Her eyes suspiciously scanned over the picture, and he fingers lightly grazed over the frame. She inhaled deeply and her fingers then stroked her hair.

She whipped around. "Is this your mum? If she is, she was.... very beautiful." The words rolled off her tongue like they were rehearsed. They probably were.

"Thank you," I said.

"Just as I remember her...." she whispered to the floor.

I sighed. "Look, your room is the guest bedroom. That's downstairs, and across the hall, then back behind the storage room. If there is anything you might need, ask me."

I marched up the stairs before she could protest. I trailed to my room and presumed with my thoughts and searching for answers. I shut the door behind me and locked it. One thing that still echoed in my mind was my nanny. How would she effect my life, and was she for better or for worse? She seemed nice, but overbearing. I also had feeling my father knew her prior to the occasion. Making my father admit to these things wasn't hard if I tried, but even all of this was too much for me to handle. And then there's the whole aspect of my mother's diary, and her mysterious death. But I can solve anything...this will all be easy. Right?

.................................................................

Dear Diary,

28th of September, 1928.

She simply doesn't understand. Diary, you were fun and interesting to dabble with at one point, but those days are long due. She's even upset at Allen. You are entertaining, but dangerous and we're risking our lives. Who cares if we won't obtain the fortune you promised us! It's not worth it!

I never knew how awfully dangerous it was at first. The position I am in may seem enviable, but it's not. I'm going to pretend this never happened. Hopefully, she does understand one day. Goodbye, dear sweet, Mylynnux!

I slammed the diary down shut, and I processed what I'd just read. What was dangerous? Had this woman been the same "she" as the last diary entry I read? What was the Mylnnux?

I had to get my father in his most vulnerable time to get the truth from him! And that time was now...

..........................

I stood at the foot of my father's bed and flashed a light into his face The room itself was pitch black, but my flashlight lit it up. I maintained perfect balance, so I suppose those ballet lessons payed off. I calmly started to ask him quesions, "Do you know a girl named Ophelia?"she never actually did mention her last name.

My father mumbled. " Yes, we've been friend for quite awhile now.." he turned over in his bed.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" I crossed my arms.

"Ophelia figured you might enjoy it... due to your taste for mysteries.." his tired voice softened.

What she did took me. I think I might like her...

"Ah! And what was very dangerous for you and mom, then some other lady?" I spoke louder than intended.

His eyes slowly fluttered open. "Is that you Imogene?! Get out!" he yelled at me.

"This isn't Imogene! It's.. Jane!" I moaned. My father scuffled me out and promised to punish me the next day. However, there would need to be a lot more deter my determination... loads more. And on the bright side, I managed to snatch my father's yellow nightcap. Another item to the Peculiar Yellow Things.