How Was Your Day? - Chapter 7.2

The attic wasn't at all like Finnley thought it would be. There were stacks of boxes, and random pieces of furniture scattered throughout the space. He sat down on a battered purple sofa and dragged some boxes towards him, sneezing in the dust that billowed up from them. The place could've been a historical site.

In the boxes he found jewelry, letters, old books, and silverware. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the stuff, no organization that Finnley could see. "All this is your grandmother's?" he asked Mia in amazement.

"Some of it," she admitted. Seated crosslegged in an ancient aqua colored armchair, she was holding up a tarnished mirror. "Some of it is grandad's stuff too, of course some of it is just ours, and I think that even my great grandparents left some of their things up here."

"If this stuff dates that far back, we really ought to find something useful," Finnley determined, pulling out the contents of he next box with a renewed vigor. He sorted through pill boxes, ceramic figures, letter openers, and dried flowers. He was just reaching for the bundle of papers at the bottom of the box when Mia spoke to him again. There was something odd, almost choked in her voice that made him turn to her.

"I found something," she whispered. "I think it's her journal." She slid off the armchair and dropped onto the couch next to Finnley, holding up the diary. He didn't have to ask to know she meant her grandmother. Her finger marked a page somewhere near the beginning, and she flipped the yellowing pages open to that spot.

"'It took longer than I thought to recover from my adventure in the woods last night,'" Mia read aloud. She and Finnley exchanged glances as she continued. "'I think I killed the thing, whatever it was, but I get the feeling there's more to come. This isn't the first unusual occurrence- I suspect there's more to this forest, to this town than anyone knows. The steady trend of disappearances has come to a standstill, but that doesn't mean things aren't happening. I've saved the newspaper clippings from all of them, but from the looks of things that monster couldn't have been the source of all of them.

"'My mother told me that our family moved here long ago, that we had some duty in the town, but that it had long since been forgotten, even though the family remained. As horrible as it might be, I have the oddest feeling that this could be our duty, that it's this that we've forgotten: monster hunting. Protecting the town from the creatures that lurk in the forest- or in the town itself. I fear that I've just uncovered one part of something grand, something too big even for me. I don't want to involve anyone else... but I may have to. I can't-'"

"Mia! Mia, we're home!" Mia's father called up from below, interrupting her in her narration. "Mia?"

"I'm in the attic," she hollered back, abruptly standing up and closing the journal on her finger again. She glanced at Finnley. "Come on, I don't think he likes the thought of us up here." If it hadn't been Mia, he would've asked why they were up there if her parents didn't think it was okay, but this was Mia. There was no need to ask that question.

She pulled open the trap door and allowed Finnley to clamber down first, staying back to turn off the light. Then she nimbly stepped down the ladder, journal still clasped in one hand. She closed the trap door with a soft click just before her father came into sight.

"Mia! There you are." Mr. Hart was a tall man with greying hair, but a kind, if weather-worn, face. Finnley hadn't met him before, but Mia had told him that he worked as a florist. He grinned the same way Mia often did, but it was as if his had become softer with age in a way Mia's hadn't yet. Her smile still spoke of ludicrous plans and adventures and of a person who was too extroverted to possibly be sane. Finnley supposed that was why he liked her.

"Who's this?" Mia's father asked, turning to Finnley. His smile was still in place, and his eyes twinkled merrily. "The Fin you've been talking about, I take it?"

Finnley looked sidelong at Mia, eyebrows raised. She really called him Fin to her parents? Even his own mother didn't call him Fin, but there was no controlling Mia. She gave him a lopsided smile, as if she was telling him she had absolutely no shame.

"I'm Finnley Bale," he said, stepping forward to shake Mr. Hart's hand.

"So polite!" he said, glancing at Mia as if astonished she could actually be friends with a calm, polite person. She shrugged to suggest that she could, in fact, and she was. He looked like he was about to say more, but then Mrs. Hart came up the stairs. "This is Finnley," he told her, and Finnley smiled at her. It was clear who Mia had inherited her physical traits from.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said kindly. Then she caught sight of what Mia held in her hands. Following her mother's line of sight, she tried to hide it, but it was too late. "Been in the attic, have you?" her mother said, snatching up the journal. Anger and worry washed over her previously calm face. "Haven't we told you enough? It's not good to meddle around in your grandma's things! She wasn't in her right mind. She was older, you know how they get. It's best if you don't go through her things."

"I want to know where Uncle Fred is," she said defiantly. "Why is he shunned from our family? I have seen him in years!"

Mia's father looked uncomfortable, as if their heritage didn't bother him as much as it did his wife. Even so, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Your mother's right, Mi," he said. "Your uncle had his reasons for leaving, and he hasn't come back yet. We just want what's best for you- and for you to be safe." He glanced at Finnley. "We can discuss this later. Finnley, would you like to stay for dinner?"

"No, I think I'd better be getting home," he said. He wouldn't intrude on their family matters, and tried to ignore Mia's eyes telling him to stay. Her parents wouldn't even talk about it with him in the room, so why bother?

"If you're sure," Mr. Hart said, back to his previous, jovial self. "Let me set my jacket down." He went into a bedroom while Mia and Mrs. Hart walked back downstairs with him. He shook hands with Mrs. Hart and gave Mia a quick hug. When Mr. Hart came back out, they too shook hands.

Finnley left the house, blinking in the evening light. In his hand was the slip of paper Mr. Hart had just passed into his hand. It was an address.