Journal of a Secret Keeper: Chapter 1 (edited) & 2 part1

Okay, here's the edited version of my first draft as well as the first part of the second chapter. Hope you enjoy!

The Intro

Dear reader,

This is a story of secrets and lies, friends and betrayers, the story of my life. You might be wondering why my life is one of such things. Well, if you truly want to know, then read on, but be forewarned: the contents of this tale will change your very inner being and cause you to question even the most basic of your beliefs. For my life consists of secrets, secrets that should never have been revealed and should have been locked away ages ago. So if you seek to know the truth, then be prepared for the truth that you will find told the way it’s suppose to be. But if you would rather wallow in ignorance, then this tale is not for you, and I suggest you put it down this instant.

You have been warned.

Natasha Maleski Beddingfield

Part I – Beginnings, 

Chapter I – The Letter(edited)

I spotted my mom waiting on the other side of the street, waiting for me. I hurried across and hopped into the car.

"Thanks for picking me up again mom," I said.

"No problem sweetie. I'm going to pick the mail up today. Is that alright with you?"

"Yea, sure. Maybe there's something for me." I chucked my backpack into the back. Every once in awhile my mom would be in a certain mood to just drive. I didn't mind it. Although I would rather go straight home... As we passed the mailbox, my mother pulled the car up and took the mail out, before slapping it onto my lap. With my usual sigh, I start sifting through the junk that we normally received in our mail. It was one of the few benefits of having the mail dumped on your lap. You were able to see what ever junk your family members received without being blamed for hacking into their e-mail account. And trust me, I’ve been there before.

As I’m sifting through all the bills, newspaper, catalogs, et cetera, my eyes catch sight of an envelope addressed to me. Okay, not terribly unusual, but definitely not normal either, especially since there wasn’t any reason for anybody in my family to write to me.

But this card WAS unusual, in that it looked as though it had been written on parchment. I only assumed it was parchment because it most definitely wasn’t the kind of paper you could buy at the store. I had a quill at home and I sucked at using it. Compared to how I handled one, this letter was written with a hand that knew how to use a quill and use it well. Though, of course, it was all scribbles compared to how I write with a normal pencil.

Deciding that it would be better that my mother not find out about the unusual nature of my letter, I waited for the car to park in our parking lot, got out, handed the other mail to my mom (whose name is Kristen, by the way) and headed for the door, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I made sure my mom didn’t see the letter, and managed to sneak away up to my room without being found out.

There, I dropped my bag onto the floor; eyes glued to the mysterious correspondence, I walked over to my bed and slowly sat down. Then I carefully turned the note over, slid my finger under the wax seal (yeah, I know, really old fashioned, right?), and warily slid out the paper that was inside.

So far so good, I thought with relief, until I read what the note said. Then, my jaw dropped, and I was suddenly very thankful that I was sitting down. It read:

Dear Natasha,

I am writing to you in haste, for I know that you are the only one who can help me now. In the box I sent with this letter are clues and stories that I have painstakingly rewritten so as to preserve the secrets that they hold. Unfortunately, the secrets they keep are dangerous and must not be allowed to become known. For if these secrets were to be revealed to the wrong people, mankind’s very existence would be at stake. I beg you, therefore, to please keep these treasures safe no matter what, and above all, do not reveal the truth.

KEEP THIS WELL AWAY FROM ALL PRYING HANDS. You never know who might turn against you.

Best of luck,

Kara M. Beddingfield

A Scribe

&

Friend in Need

I stared and stared at the last three words on the page. A friend in need, I thought. When have I ever been known to turn down the call of help from a friend? The answer was a simple one: Never. And I wasn’t about to break my personal record now.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps come striding down the hall. Nobody in the house walked like that except... Quickly but carefully, I hid the letter under the bed and took up my computer so that it looked like nothing suspicious had been happening. Luckily, it was Friday, so there was nothing wrong with me messing around. I heard the tap, tap of my dad’s fist on the door, the quiet creaking of the hinges, and the drop of something that sounded heavy, as well as the quiet, “This just came in the mail for you.” My dad never speaks very loudly. It’s a bad habit of his. I looked up from the blank screen of my PC to the box now lying on the floor of my bedroom. It was also addressed to me in the same untidy scrawl as the one in the letter. And then I remembered that the writer of the memo had mentioned something about a box and a ton of stories in it.

Well, this must be the all-important box of secrets in question, I thought with droll amusement. And, putting my PC down, I got off my bed, opened the box, took out a sheaf of papers, and began to read.

Chapter II – Forgotten Stories, Part I(unedited)

The next day at school, I kept the stories and clues a secret, though I couldn’t wait to get home to read the second story. I had finished the first one, only just managing the last sentence by bedtime, which for me was ten o’clock.

I sighed. I had been unusually quiet that day, and all my friends had noticed.

“Natasha,” they would joke. “Where are you, Cloud nine?”

My best response was, “And where are you, Jupiter?” and I would flounce out of the room, still daydreaming about what the next tale might hold.

Suddenly, I heard the bell ring. Yes! That was the last bell! The day was over! And so starts another reading of the Forgotten Tales, I thought. I had decided upon calling them that to make it easier to refer to them. I had no idea why I had decided on the word Forgotten though.

Walking out to the car, I asked, “Hey mom, you going to pick up the mail today?” I was hoping for more mail from the mysterious recipient.

“No honey, not today. Sorry.”

“You big liar, you’re so not sorry!” I said, laughing. I could totally tell when my mom was faking it.

“Your right, I’m not!” My mom laughed back. I loved the way my mother’s face lit up when she laughed or smiled.

My mom and I were closer then brother and sister, though I did have a sister, whose name was Kayla, though I called her Kay Kay for short. My mom was my best friend, but even so, I still didn’t like it when she went into my school in her PJs which she often did.

The moment I got home, I raced up the stairs, dropped my backpack, and thanked the heavens that there was no homework.

“Now, let’s see here,” I said, pulling the box of stories toward myself. I dug through the crumpled, yet thankfully stapled, sheets of paper for the one labeled “2” up in the left hand corner. I took a deep breath. Then I began to read.

*****

That night, I dreamed.

I dreamed I was skipping through a forest, until I became lost. I kept skipping, through forests of oak and ash, night and morn, over hill and through valley, until finally I came to a forest of birches where an old woman sat upon a stump by a spring.

The woman’s skin was a white as the trees around her and when she stood up the trees moved so that she would always be in the shade. The woman offered me a drink which I gladly accepted, thirsty as I was.

Then the woman asked if I would like to stay a while, and so I did, for eons or weeks, I had no idea how long. Then one day, the woman went away, and I was left alone in the forest, caring for the plants and animals, until finally I managed to get home again.

That was when I woke up, marveling at how I somehow knew that the woman in my dream was a fairy, the Mother of the Birch, and how I also knew that the woman was my mother.

“My mother is a- a- a Fairy!” I whispered excitedly to myself. I had always dreamed of something like this happening, but never to me. I was so excited that I was surprised when I found myself being shaken awake for school in the morning, having thought that I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.