Footsteps. Someone was behind the door.
It opened with a creak – I had never oiled the hinges. I wanted them to creak, so that no one could sneak in without me noticing. That was the idea, anyway.
It was Tina, my little sister. She opened the door just wide enough to look into the room, with a scared expression on her face.
“Tina!” I said, stepping out in front of her.
She did not see me at all. She stared right through me at the diary on the chair, the pile of magazines, and the broken remnants of the cat ornament on the floor. And then she glanced over her shoulder, moved into the middle of the room – and lifted the diary from the floor.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish