The House Had a Secret

When I was eight, I was in my bedroom playing with my mother’s old camera. I placed it carefully on my nightstand beside a red crayon drawing I had made. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When I returned, the camera was on my bed, several steps away from where I was sure I had left it. I told my dad what happened. He smiled and said I must have forgotten where I put it. I went back to my room, and the camera was on the nightstand again, right next to the drawing. I began to doubt my own memory.

I walked back downstairs to talk to my dad. I paused on the steps when I heard my parents speaking in the living room. I peeked through the wooden railing. They were discussing the boy who lived in the house before us. My father said, ‘We must not mention Leo to Clara. It would only frighten her.’ My mother replied softly, ‘I know.’